One of the big struggles I've had since I gained this weight is what to wear. It was particularly hard in the winter, because I had to find pants to fit me, and that required buying new ones. Now that it's warm, I can pretty much live in t-shirts and skirts, which is my preferred summer wardrobe. Even so, I feel self-conscious about my clothes and how I look in them.

"Skinny" jeans and pencil skirts have come back into fashion, and they are both unflattering to pear-shaped women like me. I look best in A-line skirts with a slight flare. I've had to resign myself to buying clothes that are flattering and make me feel attractive, rather than following the latest trends. This has been a journey of aging, as well. It feels strange to not be on the cutting edge of fashion, but rather choosing well-made pieces that flatter my figure and will last. I feel like...well, like my mother. Heh.

Some clothes are really hard to find at this weight. T-shirts seem to universally be cut very, very narrow and long these days. Again, this is unattractive on women who have excess belly or hip weight. I prefer not to wear skin-tight clothes that outline every roll of fat. But it's difficult to find t-shirts in a more square shape. I may try ordering some online.

Dresses are the easiest thing to wear at this weight. The soft jersey wrap dresses that are in fashion right now are wonderful for women my size and larger. I have several, and they make dressing for work or even going to an event easy.

Getting rid of clothes that no longer fit me is hard. I always think I'll get back into that size eventually. Well, I might someday see size 6 again (MAYBE), but I'll probably never see size 2 and I should remove those from my wardrobe rather than pine after the days when I could wear those white jeans. I am innately thrifty and hate to get rid of something I could use again, but it's not a good idea for my mental health to hold onto clothes that just make me feel back about myself.

Hopefully as time goes by and I continue to get more comfortable with this weight and how I look, I will find clothes that flatter my figure the best and make me feel pretty. I may not look the way I used to, but I might like the new me, who knows?

The blogosphere is buzzing this week in response to Robin Givhan's columns as part of presidential candidate profiles in the Washington Post. Inevitably the entries are outraged that anyone would think clothes matter, especially in the realm of something so serious and important as politics. Those of us in the beltway know better, I think. That's the cynical insider in me talking, maybe.

Project Runway is on and I'm doing laundry. This is the Project Runway where Jack leaves early because of an infection. The room erupts in tears as he says, "This was the best experience of my life." The room erupts in cheers as the producers bring back Chris, who was booted last week.

I don't care about clothes, I think. I'm not watching this because I'm gay. I'm not sure why I watch it, actually. Even in the beltway, clothes matter.

Just as I washed and folded my boyfriend's Air Force T-shirt, he called to say that his new job was OK, that I sounded funny, was I sure I was alright, and that he had a lot going on and couldn't talk. "I have to wake up early. I can't sleep in anymore. I know you hate it when I don't call. You get all alpha male."

"No, I don't."

"It's fine. You're sensitive."

"No, I'm not."

Calling's a chore. I know how that can be.

Walking home from the subway one night a couple weeks ago, he in uniform, me in my sloppy office dress, a woman accosted him. Not accosted, I guess, but approached. "Are you in the Marines?"

"No, the Air Force."

"That's what up."

I fumed. "In uniform, I can't say anything," he said, head cocked to the side smiling that smile.

"I can." But I don't.

I'm fuming now, at the shirt, at his refusal to talk, at my insecurity. No surprise there. Introspection is necessarily repetitive. No man changes his stripes so radically he can't recognize himself in the mirror.

My room smells like fabric softener, as he said it always does last weekend. "I think of you whenever I'm doing laundry." There's comfort in that declaration.

Even in the beltway, clothes matter.

Song: Clothes Artist: Barlow Girl 

Clothes aren't what they used to be
They don't seem to fit you and me anymore
Modesty is out the door
Flaunting what we've got and more is in
Yeah it's in

Clothes that fit are fine
Won't show whats mine
Don't change my mind
I'll be fine.

I HATE shopping. I hate it so much.....one of the reasons why I hate it so much is that I can never find anything that fits me. The pants feel cling-wrapped (that bothers me in more ways then one, I also have sensory integration issues...can't stand tight clothes) the shirts show everything, and are either 3 inches too short or three feet too long, and it frustrates me. You know what also bothers me? Changing clothes sizes. What used to be a size 3 is now a size 0, and come on, I know as Americans we aren't shrinking!!!!!!! I hate trying on clothes going, hey, this would fit my six year old little sister and it says size adult medium??? I'm sick of it. Do you know what that does to a teenager? Maybe not, but believe me, I have enough friends who have struggled with Anorexia to know that even clothing sizes and numbers effect people. What can I do about it? Not much, but I do have a voice. Barlow Girl has started a campaign called "speak out." I'm looking for ways to speak out in my community. Today its with clothes. Does anyone know how to contact companies like Ambercrombie and Finch?, or Hot Topic? Or any other stores that sell clothes for young adults/teenagers? If so, could you share? I think it's time that I wrote them a letter-I just don't know how, or where!!!

So if you happen to have any info, and could pass it on, thanks in advance! I may not change anyones mind, but atleast I'm doing something.

The school clothes are back and here are the secrets.

Red guitar

Swim Goggles

and the viking helmet still not gold :(

Thats all for today!

Mr Squeakens

Summer clothes were very simple.  If you lived alone with your parents, you might wear a dress with no petticoat, wear your hair down and go barefoot.  If there was a creek or spring where you lived, you might play in it almost every day.

bonnet 

 pioneer dress