The truth about women’s sizes

A few weekends back, I went shopping. There was a time in my life when shopping was fun and exciting, but as a mom who’s spent most of the past two years being pregnant, it is less so these days.

After weeks of trying to squeeze into my clothes that had fit me pre-baby number one, pre-pandemic, and pre-baby number two, I decided it was time to find some new clothes in which I could feel both comfortable and confident.

Prior to this outing, I could not tell you the last time I had been shopping in an actual mall. It was also the first time we’d taken our two girls out shopping in this capacity, so it was really an adventure for us all *insert eye roll here*. So not only was I uncomfortable because I was trying on clothes in a cramped dressing room, but I could also hear my 2-year-old shrieking out in the store which, as you might guess, is not super relaxing for anyone within earshot.

I’m barely 5 feet tall, and up until my first year of teaching, I could comfortably fit in a size 2 or 4 jeans, and that number steadily increased as I entered a high-stress job, got married, had kids, and just aged. As I discussed in my post A Letter to My Body, I’ve been doing a lot of work to unlearn the fatphobia that has been with me ever since I can remember. Still, I did not want to go up to “double digits” in pants sizes, since I’ve been at a comfortable 8 for a couple of years, and it just felt so final for whatever silly reason. However, I decided that I was going to buy myself some things that fit me comfortably, regardless of what the size on the tag said.

We decided to go to Old Navy first, as it seemed like a safe choice since they have a wide range of sizes and styles for our whole family. I picked clothes off the racks, piling them over my arm until it felt more like a workout than a shopping trip, while my husband pushed our girls through the store in the stroller. I had absolutely no clue what size I’d wear anymore, so I was going based solely on how the garment looked. I picked out clothes ranging from small to XXL, and went back into the into the dressing room hopeful that something would fit.

I was eager to try on one specific shirt because it was adorable and on mega-sale (I’m talking $3), but the only size they had left was small. I knew it was a long shot, but it was a shirt that’s supposed to fit loosely, so I thought, Why not? And to my surprise, it fit perfectly. I was super jazzed and feeling pretty great about myself. Then I tried on some jeans. I had grabbed a size 12 because my brain convinced me I’d feel better about myself when they were too big for me, but the problem was…I couldn’t even button them, so I was back to feeling crappy again. I decided to go for the safe bets next, and found about a dozen blouses and dresses that I loved, ranging from mediums to larges. The last thing on the rack I had yet to try on was a cute yellow sun dress. I picked it off of the clearance rack even though it was an XXL because it was on sale, and I thought at worst it’d be too big for me, and I’d have to put it back. When I could barely get it over my head, I knew it was a no-go. I stood there, buttons gaping, and couldn’t help but laugh hysterically (hopefully no one else in the dressing room was traumatized by my cackling). In what world do I fit perfectly in one shirt marked “Small,” fit loosely in a dress marked “Large,” but bust out of another garment marked “XXL?” And how does a pair of size 10 jeans in one brand fit loosely, but a 12 in another is way too small? None of it is standardized. None of it makes any logical sense. So why have I been feeling any type of way about myself, good or bad, when the sizes and numbers fluctuate and change?

I went into this shopping trip looking for some clothes that fit me (and I did get a nice haul!), but I came out with a new resolve: Women’s sizes are truly pointless, and I’m no longer going to let some arbitrary letters or numbers on a tag dictate how I feel about myself.

In case you need it, here’s your sign:

Go out.

Get some clothes that fit.

Give yourself some grace.

And carry yourself with such confidence that you turn heads.