Have you ever noticed that people refer to certain elements of their wardrobe with adjectives attached that relocate complete responsibility onto the clothing, rather than onto themselves? What I’m describing is I’m pretty sure called transference, but I think that’s only when it refers to essentially blaming other people for your weaknesses, which is not actually the same thing as placing it on inanimate objects. What I mean is like this: “I’m trying to get back into my skinny jeans in time for _insert random special event here_.”
And of course it’s not the jeans that are skinny. (Or not.) It’s me.
Now, just to be clear, when I refer to my own skinny jeans, I’m not talking about inappropriate young cool-pastor or super-mega-hip megachurch worship pastor skinny jeans. My skinny jeans do not contain Lycra (nor any other stretchy fabric), nor do they conform so tightly to my person that wearing them would place me right at home in a photo shoot with my knees drawn up to my chest that will inevitably debut on the cover of Vanity Fair magazine. Nor do I pair my so-called skinny jeans with a V-neck of, let’s say, 70% opacity or so, which plunges perilously close within striking distance of my navel. I simply mean an altogether ordinary, cheap pair of jeans from Old Navy that are in a size not too far off from what I was able to wear when I graduated from high school. (I would tell you what that size is, but I have been sworn by several people important in my life that I will no longer disclose my weight or sizes on the Internet. And anyways, that’s of course none of your business.)
I can actually (sort of) squeeze into my skinny jeans at the moment, although I haven’t run for weeks because I’ve been ill and busy, so it would be profanely inappropriate to do so. In my closet, I have a skinny suit and a fat suit, and an assortment of skinny shirts and fat shirts. Most of the time I don’t call them by those classifications, but certainly I’m making silent mental decisions when I choose what I’m going to wear on a given day. Basically, at the moment, if you get married, I’m gonna show up overdressed. But if you die, well, I’ll blend right in with everybody else. (My current fat suit is black, and my current skinny suit is brown.) If I could manage to say no to a few more Quarter Pounders with Cheese and yes and to a couple hundred more miles running, I’ll be able to tip that back the other way. (Honestly, that’s been not going too well in either department lately.)
You know what it seems I don’t have any of right now? Any clothes that I’d count as just “in-between.” Mentally flipping through everything hanging in my closet, I can’t think of a thing that’s just straight-up adequate. Or even reasonable for that matter. Only fat or skinny.
But that’s probably just me.
Do you have some favorite “fat” clothes? (I won’t even ask about skinny clothes, because of course everyone has favorites of those.) What are you willing to put yourself through to get into the clothes you want?