Fashion for the Full-Figured

Yesterday was a bit of an anti-climax. Being the hopeless procrastinator that I am, I waited until Monday morning to work on my presentation. After two days pretending to be a headless chicken, I was a nervous wreck by Wednesday morning. Our meeting with the Secretary-General of Ministry X was scheduled at 9 am. The Minister himself promised he would drop by. We were already through the turnstile at that big august building near the lake in Putrajaya when our senior associate called to say the meet had been called off on account of Tan Sri Azizan's demise. The presentation is deferred until next week.

Ah, well. There was nothing we could do, so we trooped off to Souq to eat fake nasi dagang and be overcharged for breakfast. I was just a little dissapointed because I had turned up in something nice for a change - decent enough for people to trust me with money, I thought.

I mean, it wasn't easy : I had put in an effort to find my togs. If you're a woman you might find this familiar, err scratch that, if you're my husband you might find this familiar. You see, I am 5 feet 7 and a half, and I weigh about 150 pounds. By no stretch of the imagination would you compare me to an Angela Lindvall. Add to that the trophies of 3 childbirths - heavy pendulous breasts and a potruding belly - what you're looking at is more fat donkey than clotheshorse. Now, after a few months of gym, I was conceited enough to think that I could shop at somewhere else other than Ms Read or Dorothy Perks or the plus-size section of WH (or more likely, Pasar Malam Taman Tun). I bithely walked into Zara. Their stuff was just divine! My mind was racing -- oooh I would look good in this and that and this, eh wait -- the largest size on the rack (on every rack) was a 40. A size eight. I hung my head and walked out with my tail firmly tucked between my size ten hiney.

Of course I tried the others, only to be utterly defeated. The experience reaffirmed my theory that designers envisioned their clothes worn by wispy women with no hips. At last, in the tangle of garments that was the residue of an MNG sale - I found something in size 42. It was pale pink, a jacket and pants ensemble. I paid for it, brought it home, tried it on and regretted the purchase almost immediately. I looked like a big fat cotton candy. So in the end, I wore the pink blazer with a french cuff stripey shirt and black pants. (thank god for black pants)

It's a conspiracy, don't you think? Women are forced to believe they don't fit if they're not skinny. I have stopped going into regular bra shops - if they do carry anything bigger than 34B it's usually in granny brown and looks like a toolbelt rather than lingerie. The Triumph woman would look at me and roll her eyes when I head for the sexy stuff, stopping me short with a "eh, tak ada la awak munya size". I comfort myself by saying that I would never have this problem in Victoria's Secret.

This is why I applaud people like Jennifer Tai, who has this blog to help big girls like me get dressed. Hey, beauty doesn't come in one-size fits all. Ask any happy husband.

Now, what do I wear for next week?







mokciknab muttered at 5:06 pm ~ ~