So, as I say, many serious problems, blah blah blah. And one of these, by gum, is the sizing system for women’s clothes. Now, I say ‘sizing system’ but we all know the truth, don’t we? There is no system, there is nobody in charge and there is no way to avoid having to take three sizes of any top you like into the change room because you have absolutely no idea which, if any, will fit you.
I mean honestly: I’m as self conscious as the average girl when it comes to my thighs touching, my belly rippling or my cheeks dimpling but, for a start, can we stop it with the vanity sizing please?I know how wide my hips are and what size my boobs are. Finding myself swimming in a size 8 T-shirt does not make me think I have suddenly lost 10 pounds. It makes me fucking irritated that I have to leave the change room to find another size.
The only thing worse, of course, is slipping into what your head tells you is your ‘usual size’ only to experience the sensation of trying to fit a plastic bags worth of creme fraiche into a condom.“I swear,” you say as you wrestle with the zip, “I don’t feel like I’ve gained 200 pounds.” Filled with shame you drift out without buying anything, heading back to the shop where size 10 means size 14 and buying a skirt you despise just for the kick-factor and to ease your guilt about those two Jester's pies you had for lunch.
And while I’m on it I’d like to propose we do away with the whole small/medium/large system altogether. What do these arbitrary ideas about size even mean? Small compared to what? Large in what sense? As our population gets fatter are these sizes slowly inflating or are we just adding an extra ‘X’ in front of the ‘L’? Since when do people only come in three proper sizes and, even if we're sticking with the S/M/L can we at least decide what they mean and just how medium is medium?
Can we not just agree on what measurements correspond to what sizes? Can we not establish some goddamn order in this ridiculous charade? Can I not just take one freaking T-shirt into the change room with me and have some expectation that it will neither tent around me nor cling to me like a second skin? No of course we bloody can’t - that’s why the world is so fucked up. Other than the clean drinking water thing, I mean.