Recently I had the pleasure (sarcasm) of going jean shopping for the first time in awhile. I arrived at American Eagle and grabbed a couple pairs that I liked in a size 4, my size. I went into a fitting room and tried them on. The first pair I couldn’t even pull over my butt. The second pair wouldn’t button. I went out and grabbed sixes, and to my dismay they were loose around almost every part of me. It was that, or pants that wouldn’t fit at all.
I looked for another size, tried on a few more pairs and had no luck with any of them fitting properly so I settled for the sixes. I left the dressing room to find my mom. I was a little disheartened that I had gone up in pants size, and she sensed that. She said “Oh honey, I’m sorry.” I went home and I actually cried about the change in size. I tried to find a reasonable explanation as to why this would happen to me. What had changed? Why was this my new normal?
And that’s when it hit me. Why? Why am I so upset by being a size 6? Why is she sorry for me? Why am I crying? Why am I standing in front of a mirror wondering what caused this? It was because my "normal" was a size 2. My normal body was a size 2 and a small top. Oh, woe is me. I’m a size 6.
The sizing charts for women these days are crazy. Just look it up. Look at the average size when Marilyn Monroe, the biggest American Sex Icon and a true feminist, was alive. It's said that she would be a size 16 in today's measurements, but even that isn't accurate. These clothes don't account for real women with real bodies. Bodies that are bigger around the butt or smaller around the bust, bodies that are real. Bodies that are normal.
It’s a number. A number on a piece of fabric that will be worn out before the season is over. It means I’ve gained weight. It means I’m… getting fat. Because God forbid I love myself in a size 6. God forbid I love myself in a size that isn't the American "average." A size that isn't even large, a size that happens to fit me.
Companies tell us what to wear, what’s in fashion, how much to spend, what color is in season, who will be attracted to us based on our fashion sense, and most importantly what size is “normal.” I dare you to find an American Eagle ad with someone who looks higher than a size 6 that isn’t labeled “plus size.” In fact, I dare you to find any jeans ad for regular sizes that features someone above a 6. You won’t be able to. In this day and age we say we want diversity. We say we want equality for all. But how are we expected to reach this kind of “diversity” we so often say we want, when a size 6 isn’t normal? When a teenage girl who was born curvy looks in the mirror and wonders if she should skip a meal to fit into the size 2 she was three years ago? When I am apologized to for going up a size in jeans. Because they're just that: jeans. They do not define me. They do not tell about how I'm capable of immense love. How caring I am. How deeply I feel for the people around me. It's a number on a piece of fabric that I will outgrow or rip or stain or shrink in the dryer. A number on a pair of jeans. It's the number 6. And that's my new normal.
