I sometimes speak without thinking, and I really have to watch this as my words have a way of influencing people. While I usually use these powers for good, I am all too often guilty of issuing some friendly fire, really hurting or dominating a woman I see as a friend without even realizing I’m doing it.
Such as one case where I expressed my extreme distaste for capris on plus sized women. A woman I was having dinner with looked at me sideways. “Er, I’m wearing capris.” Personally, I was stunned she considered herself plus size although later conversations brought out that she definitely qualified at a size 22. 1 That fat has become a matter of a size number is another issue – I’ve seen women who wear up to sizes 18 and 20 sporting six-pack abs – I swear I’m taking pictures the next time I find one of these women. There clothing alteration lives are hell.
As the conversation continued, she made it clear that she was aware I was probably judging everyone’s outfit as they walked in the door. Sadly, that’s a bit true. The body is a palate for expression – when you choose an outfit, it is a way of telling the world how you want to be handled/treated that day. I learned this lesson in high school when, as a naive MC Hammer fan in 1990, I wore a T-shirt that had “U Can’t Touch This” emblazoned across the back and one of the boys I went to school with actually started screaming at me for wearing the shirt. Frankly, I never wanted him to touch me and his behavior is a good sign he’s in prison somewhere now for sexual assault, but at the time it brought home the message that possibly the people around me weren’t quite as good at separating messages on T-shirts from the users who wore them. Given the way T-shirts have taken off as their own cult of design, this experience is probably an indicator of its beginnings.
Still, for this woman, I felt truly bad – there were so many days where I’d just show up in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, or one of my patented “I hate my body” outfits that are always baggy, dowdy, and scream “don’t look at me.”
When it comes up in conversations that I am a fashion blogger, women always get uncomfortable. They admittedly assume that I’m judging every single one of them, even though, most of the time, I’m not. I reserve my observations for strangers and enjoy that odd, anonymous movie pacing down the sidewalks of Minneapolis, especially downtown. For people I know and connect with, I barely look unless something catches my attention in a really positive or really negative way. But its part of the female competitive game, and by having this blog and people who read it, I’ve somehow given myself a powerful advantage that I hadn’t intended to grab. I just wanted to point everybody out to good clothing and let people know that the plus size market isn’t limited to one or two stores.
The reaction to me isn’t unwarranted – women assess each other’s status by their shoes, by their nails, by some strange pattern of who has more money, power and better sex. Women are in this silent competition all the time, and it does start with fashion – a fashion that says “here I am in the race, and here’s how I feel about myself.” Even the women that don’t compete, compete. Now if only there were a way to stop competing while still enjoying pretty, pretty clothing.
We’re still in the growing pains of feminism. The movement isn’t 100 years old yet, so there’s still a lot of tripping around and finding ourselves to do. Once we work out a way not to fight with each other, and to respect each other whether or not we care about shoes, we will go a long way towards making the world better for everyone. And I still care about shoes while I’m a feminist. So let’s work it out, OK?
- Apparently I see dead people but despite being fat I frequently don’t “see” fat people. [↩]
