THE CONDITIONING

I’m attending a wedding next month where the dress code is ‘cocktail attire’. My closet is void of fancy dresses. I don’t think I’ve dressed up since that time I was the Bearded Lady for the AIDS Walk Open four years ago. So I have been on a grueling hunt to find something fancy to put on this current version of my body. I pulled ten dressed from a sales rack in Nordstroms and finally when I got to the last one, I thought “Oh…I like this.” The material felt nice. The style was versatile in that I could dress it up or down. I was sure that it was the one. Then I took it off and saw the price tag that read $445.00 and it wasn’t on sale.

So the hunt continued.

While I was skimming through dresses at Nordstroms Rack, I overheard a young woman say “Oh! I really like this one!” I looked over to see her holding a formal up to her body and I remembered that it is homecoming season. Young women were out looking for dresses for the first high school dance of the season, which feels very Jane Austen. Then I heard her mother respond to her daughter “It looks way too small for you.” and I cringed for the girl. I saw the girl look at the tag and say “It says it’s my size.”, her voice wavering slightly. This did not soften her mother who then said “Well it looks too small.” And there I was, swirling in a pool of comments centered around my own weight, every hand slap as I reached for a second dinner roll, and the reasons why I’ve consistently worn oversized clothing all through life. I wanted to tell that girl not to listen to her mother, try the dress on, make your own choices about your own body. Tag sizes are meaningless. I’d just spent weeks trying on dresses “in my size” and each one was too tight here and too big there.

So, fuck corporate fashion sizing and their non-standards.

If I was braver, I would have told that girl to not cultivate that seed of doubt her mother had just planted. I would have said to her to not even let it take root. Spit it out now or end up with an overgrown garden of poisonous plants. You will waste so much time and money trying to remove the poisonous plants so that you can cultivate a beautiful garden of wild flowers and sundrops where you can feel good about how your body looks. You will forever be pulling weeds. Then I thought about that mother and how she’d been conditioned to plant seeds of doubt and how each woman in that family was probably nothing but poison gardens. Shedding those seeds onto other woman is the only way of life they know.

Is this the reason I chose not to have children? Did I think I would be like these women and be unable to see my child without criticism? When asked about my choice to be childless, I’ve always said that I didn’t think I had it in me to raise a good human being. Now I know better. The answer is that I didn’t/don’t want the responsibility of raising a good human being because what if I was the one with the critical eyes, shedding poisonous seeds of self loathing. Though I know that’s not true because of the visceral reaction to this mother/daughter interaction and my desire to protect that daughter. I have spent a lot of mental space, reimagining that scene and how I should have just blurted out “size guides are stupid. Let the girl try it on before you make her feel like a poopsicle.”

I did manage to finally get a dress, though I went about it in an unconventional way. I found a shimmery shear kaftan on the Anthropologie sale’s rack and a slip dress with lace trimming in a matching color at Nordstroms Rack to go under the kaftan. I plan to match it all with strappy heals and subtle jewelry. I purchased new mascara and lipstick. The outfit is appropriately uncomfortable and fancy. I’m sure I will look appropriately uncomfortable and fancy as well. But while I’m all dressed up, I will be thinking of that young woman wondering if she was able to shut out her mother’s voice in order to find a dress that makes her feel beautiful and good about herself.