April 12th, 2006

pirate amelia

I hate fashion.

Although I've become painstakingly aware of my growing pant size (and hip/waist/breast/BODY size), today's fashion doesn't make me feel any better.

Since I've been getting "better" or, my body is getting better, so has my eating. In that I eat more. And less chemo = less vomiting up my food. In essence, I've grown into a fatty.

But don't let that fool you. Even though it's sometimes hard to work out when your hemoglobin is low, I do what I can to keep the poundage off. I walk the treadmill a couple times a week (and, when I feel well enough, I work out on an EFX) and even though I have a weakness for ice cream, I like to think I keep things in check.

Fucking fashion doesn't help. Although I know I've grown in size, the rate at which I bloom seems to be inversely proportional the actual clothing size. Fucking "tunic" style shirts and cropped outer wear doesn't help.

I hate hate hate long "tunic-style" shirts

1) because I'm short and they end up looking like dresses, and 2) because they're made for size 0 beauties. I am neither. Short and stout, like a teapot. So goes the joke.

It would be nice to avoid fashion at all costs, avoid buying anything, but as my body blossoms, the older clothing that I once was comfortable with, i.e. shirts/boot cut pants/chucks/belt cannot fit me anymore. Thus the new clothes buying part. It would seem to others that maybe I just like buying stuff, which I can't deny, but the need for clothes to fit right exceeds the need for me to be trendy.

I'm too big to fit into my old comfy clothes, too small to shop at Torrid, and disgusted by the rest of the fashion industry.


*scampers off to the rec center*