Size Really Does Matter

Women's clothing sizes are the devil, and this
tape measure is the noose the devil uses to kill
you and drag you to hell.

Size really does matter. There, I said it. No, I’m not talking about anything associated with “natural male enhancement,” or Cialis, or Viagra, or anything like that. I’m talking about women’s clothing sizes, and specifically, how I have been hoodwinked by clothing sizes starting from back when I was just a teenager. Now, we all know how wonky some clothing sizing systems are. You go to Macy’s and you wear a 10, and you are pretty sure that that is your real size and the size you would normally wear in most brans of clothing. But, if you head out of the Macy’s women’s section into the juniors section, you find that you now wear a size 17. First, what is wrong with junior’s sizing that they have to do it by odd numbers, second, what is the idea behind using a human fetus as the model for an entire clothing sizing system, and third, who really wants to wear red and white striped star spangled hot pants anyway?

And it is not just juniors sizing that is so messed up! Have you ever gone clothing shopping at Target or Old Navy? The results are so unpredictable that they give the weather during hurricane season a run for its money! Here is the typical scenario for a size 10 woman who goes to Target because she just wants to find some affordable work clothing, and she doesn’t have the money to spend the big bucks on the good stuff: (Note: clearly this woman is not me because if I wore a size 10 you would all have known immediately upon my discovering this fact, as I would have hired a plane to skywrite it for you.) So, this size 10 woman goes to Target and she pulls out a pair of dress pants in a size 10. She tries them on and they are too small. I mean, like, shockingly too small, almost as if she has tried to fit herself into a little girls’ size 6x. The woman immediately questions herself, wondering if she is actually fat and has just never realized it, which prompts her to feel embarrassed because who doesn’t realize it when they have gained a few pounds? She then tries on the 12, which also fits her like a children’s ski hat fits King Kong. Feeling considerably depressed, she goes back out and gets a size 14 and a size 16, tries them on, and then realizes that the size 18 is what fits her in Target dress pants.

Absolutely crestfallen, she takes her size 18 pants and goes back out onto the floor in search of a shirt to go with them. Because she does not have high hopes, she gets a size 2XL shirt, even though she normally wears a large. She tries it on and it fits her like a tent. So, she goes back out and tries on several other sizes, and eventually realizes that a small shirt is what is going to fit her at Target today. She is ecstatic! Perhaps if she averages the size small shirt and the size 18 pair of pants she will get her actual size, a 10. Further, she is realizing that the Target women’s clothing section is sending her more mixed messages than the last four guys she has dated combined, and contemplates giving up dating altogether to just hang out in the Target clothing section on Friday nights. It would apparently be about as satisfying as going out with on dates with men is, but actually way better because, you know, there are Icees and soft pretzels in the cafe, and she can go in her sweatpants and t-shirt and stuff.

Then there are the times that it is not the actual clothing sizing system that has hoodwinked me, but rather my misperception of said clothing sizing system. I remember it well—I was 16 years old and a senior in high school. I was out shopping for prom dresses with my cousin, Carribeth. I found a dress that I thought was really cute, and I got it in the size I wore at the time, a 12. I thought it looked a little small on the hanger, though, for a 12, which, instead of sounding a warning bell for me actually just made me feel way happier than it should have. I tried on the dress, and after I got it over my head, it was very difficult to get it down over my torso. I did it, though, and then realized that I was encased in the dress like a sausage and that I couldn’t even breathe, let alone move. Realizing that something was definitely wrong, I tried to remove the dress over my head. The problem was that I could not even get my fingers under the edge of the fabric to remove it—that is how tight the damn thing was. Feeling panicked and trapped, I called out to Carribeth who was in the dressing room stall next to me.

Now, even though we are cousins, and even though we were still, essentially, kids, Carribeth and I never did the things you see female friends do on tv, like getting dressed and undressed in front of each other with no inhibitions. We were both pretty modest about stuff like that when we were together, so I was a little embarrassed that she was going to have to come perform prom dress triage and basically undress me, but my panic had reached such a crescendo that I was beginning not to care. She came into my stall, and she started pulling the dress up toward my head. It slid, inch-by-inch, and the part where it had to come up over my arms was particularly harrowing, but we made it through. We heard a rip as she was pulling it, and finally it popped off over the top of my head. Carribeth gave me a few minutes alone; to both recuperate from my terrifying experience, and to redress myself. I looked inside the dress at the sizing label, and, what do you know, it was actually a size 2! I had somehow envisioned a phantom 1 on that size label, either due to poor lighting or wishful thinking. I checked the dress for rips and found that the zipper was somewhat ripped away from the side of the dress in one spot. I showed the dress to the sales clerk, and told her something was wrong with the zipper, neglecting to mention that what was wrong was that I had forced my size 12 body into the size 2 dress.

Don't put on men's jeans thinking they
are women's. It will only end in tears.

Another time that I was a victim of my own misperception of sizes was when I was in my early twenties, and I had been losing weight. In my early twenties was the first time I had ever had a weight problem, and I was in the sad situation of having gained 60 pounds. The weight gain was—surprise!—related to a boy (are we sensing a theme here?). Anyway, I had started losing weight, and I had lost about 20 pounds, and I went to try on my size marker jeans. In case you are unfamiliar with the concept, a piece of size marker clothing is a shirt, dress or pair of pants that you try on when you are losing weight, and, if you can fit into it you have a big old party and dance around your bedroom. Well, I tried on my size marker jeans, and, blissfully, they were several sizes too big! “I have arrived,” I thought, realizing that I would finally know what skinny felt like. Looking down at the jeans, I started to notice some things that did not look quite right. The jeans were not quite the right color, and they were too long. It was then that it hit me that these jeans were actually a pair of my dad’s jeans that had ended up in my clothes by mistake (I lived with my parents then.) I sadly removed the jeans, found my real size marker pair, and put them on. My pair was still so tight that I could not zip or button them, and, there I sat dejectedly, hoodwinked again.

I figure that my struggle with clothing sizes is probably something universal. I could probably travel to India, or Peru, or Iceland, and I would find women who share this problem. In fact, there should be a universal sign to show that you have just tried on a mis-sized pair of pants, kind of like the universal signal for choking. Then, when you gave the signal, any woman in the vicinity would run up to you and help you remove the offending clothing, you know, if you had accidentally put on a 2 when you were a 12, or, if the pants were too big she would run out and get you the correct size. I think this idea has many merits, and the way it would allow women to bond while promoting female solidarity is killer!

So, the next time you go clothing shopping, please remember that you are not alone. If you go to Target and you have to buy a shirt that is 6 sizes bigger than what you usually wear, I totally know how you feel. Just try to remember that if you go to a department store you will be more likely to encounter standard sizing. And if you ever accidentally put on a dress that is 5 sizes too small for you, first, congratulate yourself on possessing the necessary acrobatic skills to accomplish such a feat, and second, don’t be too embarrassed to accept the help of your shopping companion or a store clerk to remove yourself from it. Then take a deep breath, and realize that a woman who can remain composed while squeezed into a tiny, tiny dress is a woman who can do anything!

Tape measure image courtesy of http://www.orvis.com/intro.aspx?subject=626

Men's jeans image courtesy of http://www.gap.com/products/mens-jeans.jsp