Dr. Stupidclothingsizes, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Ribs

http://inkdot.tumblr.com/post/7243925631/no-shit

A friend posted this link on Facebook and I read it. It talks about the fact that the reason rich people look so good in their clothing is because it’s all tailored. People spend so much time trying to buy things off the rack that fit, yet nothing off the rack is actually going to fit you perfectly because that’s just not how things work. As the author of that blog states, it’s so simple and makes perfect sense, yet it’s also not something you really think about.

Frankly, it made me angry. Not her well written post, which I found informative. But the information that I was informed of sent me into a fit of rage. I swore, I stomped around… and then I punched myself in the rib cage.

It hurts when you punch yourself in the rib cage, in case you were wondering.

My ribs and I have a difficult relationship. They are there and they function quite well. However, for whatever reason, nothing fits them. Things will fit me perfectly in the waist and (if I can get them to zip) will fit me in the bust. Nothing fits me in my ribcage. I have spent so many hours struggling with zippers wondering why I have the ribs of a wildebeest that things will Just. Not. Fit. I have cursed my ribs out for being these horrible, misshapen, disproportionate creatures that destroy clothes shopping experiences. I have hung so many cute dresses back on the rack to the sigh of “it just won’t zip over my ribs.” It’s something I can’t do anything about. The amount of fat on my ribs is minimal. Were it my stomach I could tone and lose weight, but I simply can’t lose the bones that are my ribs. I have squeezed them into things and felt like I was corseted, unable to breathe and wary of sitting down. All attempts to buy larger sizes just resulted in large gaps of fabric that would show off far more bra and breast than I could ever be comfortable with (and I show a lot of cleavage on a regular basis, so this is saying something).

All my fashion woes have been blamed on my ribs, my large and awkward and unbending ribs. Years of anger directed to them, and guess what? It’s not their fault.

I, like so many people, have always had body image issues. I’ve struggled with my weight even though it’s never really been a problem. I’m tall and subsequently longer than most average clothing will comfortably fit. I love that I have pale skin and dark hair, I love that I’m tall and leggy, but truth be told I don’t really look like any kind of ideal. I’m not quite tall enough to look like a super model, and even if I were to try modeling I’d never be able to get out of the plus-size range because of insane standards. Frankly it’s never bothered me because as much as I love playing dress up I love cleaning fish tanks more and I just can’t see any way to reconcile haute couture with siphons.

I determined long ago that since I’d never be able to find myself pretty (regardless of what other people think… or remind me of daily) I might as well dress well. And of course, when I say dress “well” what I really mean is “however the fuck I want.” I don’t do designer labels; I do sales racks, sun dresses, five inch heels and anything I feel like. I own some pieces with amazing necklines, crazy sleeves, and fantastic patterns. I own enough animal print to choke a tacky prostitute. I own a leather mini-skirt, and it’s been worn in public (albeit on Halloween). My jewelry is large and loud. I love how I dress, even if I can’t love how I inherently look.

I still can’t love my rib cage. I feel bad for punching it, mostly because it put me in pain. And I’m frustrated I’ve spent years blaming it for something it just couldn’t help. In a perfect world my clothes would fit all three of those torso areas perfectly. They MUST fit my rib cage perfectly, and then in this perfect world they can be tailored to fit my bust and my waist. There would be no more buckled zippers and evenings where I felt light headed. I could stop feeling like a Victorian and only feel like I was wearing a corset when I actually chose to wear a corset (because I do that sometimes).

Maybe I’ll get lucky; maybe I’ll start researching tailors and realize that there is someone out there who can accommodate my wildebeest ribs and my grad student budget. Until that day comes I think I’m just going to have to learn to stop blaming my rib cage for the fashion world’s problem.