It's Kind of a Long Story... about JEANS

If it doesn't fit, you must admit

Hey Drama Goblins,

I’m exhausted this week. My routine is to write my first draft of this Substack on Sunday night, revise and add the recs on Monday evening, and do a final once-over and record on Tuesday.

As has been advised to real writers, I somewhat jealously guard my writing time. When I have something else to do on a Sun, Mon, or Tues, it really impacts my mood and flow when I write. I feel more pressure. More anxious. I like plenty of what I call “white space” around almost everything I do.

This writing practice is good for me in so many ways, and like everything good for us - eating right, getting enough sleep, exercising - it’s not always fun or easy. So be it. As I have had occasion to say often in the last few months, “Nothing beautiful is birthed without pain.”

This week though, I was away for the weekend at my cousin’s wedding, didn’t sleep well, and don’t have it in me to take on one of the topics I’ve been mulling over. This week’s post is the last from last summer when I had an abruptly-interrupted month to do almost nothing but, rest, write, and work on my shizz.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lara

Fall Into the Gap

Short Story:

I ripped my jeans, and unraveled a lot of feels.

Long Story

The thing I knew would be hardest about moving back into the house after being displaced for two years was coming home to a big wardrobe of stylish, quality clothes I’d accumulated almost exclusively second-hand that meant a lot to me and no longer fit.

I’ve gained about 40 pounds in the last two years. I’d successfully taken off most of the pandemic weight when the tree fell, and then the weight came creeping back through a combination of stress, eating out, eating for comfort, lack of exercise, and lack of sleep. I’m sure perimenopause didn’t help. And, as I posted after the Hobbes decision overturning Roe vs. Wade in June 2022:

For a lot of reasons, I've gained a lot of weight over the last few months. Over the past few days, I've been eating whatever the eff I want both because it's my go-to comfort and soothing substance (I'm not a drinker) and because I want my body to be MINE

I want men to know my body is not for their CONSUMPTION AND AMUSEMENT 

I want them to see it and find it not to their liking and know THAT WAS INTENTIONAL

Their opinions about my body and what I do with it MEAN NOTHING TO ME 

I want gaining weight to not be the WORST THING A WOMAN CAN DO when the world is on fire

And yes, I won't feel this way forever, because I don't actually feel physically comfortable at this weight, I have a lot of nice clothes I want to wear, and I'm still a product of this culture.

And yet, I didn’t lose any. I kept gaining.

And indeed, when I got back into the house, I went through my closets and dresser drawers and put about 90% of my wardrobe into boxes. Each piece of clothing held memories of when I bought it and where I wore it. They were the trophies I had earned by losing weight. Going through them was the last of the move-in projects. It hurt. 

True Skinny Curvy

On the plus side, I found a pair of Gap Size 14 True Skinny Curvy jeans in my grubby clothes drawer, and they were not grubby. At one point they had been too big, but still in good shape, so I had set them aside to wear when I was painting or working in the yard.

I’ve been wearing them a lot over the last few months. They are cute and comfortable and even a little big on me. Big on me! Not much has been big on me in the last year. 

Then while on a hike, I slipped on a rock and ripped those jeans. Not in the knee where I fell on them, but in the inner thigh where I had worn them down. Because now my thighs rub together. That is an old, very shameful thing. I remember as a tween wearing holes through the thighs of my pants. The skin squished through and rubbed together and it hurt and got red and irritated and probably infected. I tried to fix them myself with iron-on patches, but that didn’t work very well. One time the patch detached and fell down my pant leg onto the floor. I stood with my legs together and walked with small steps so no one would see the holes. 

Why didn’t any of the grown-ups in my life notice and get me new pants? You’d have to ask them.

Why didn’t I tell the grown-ups in my life I needed new pants? It wasn’t… safe. It would have been met with annoyance and anxiety about the cost and shame that they were worn through at the thighs and I might have sparked a fight between my divorced parents which would result in anger at me and it just wasn’t worth it. 

But I’m an adult now and can buy myself a new pair of jeans.

So, I put on my other pair of jeans, which were also bought last-minute when my previous favorite pair of jeans ripped just before my trip to Mexico. I had to get them at Target because I literally had no time to go anywhere else. It was those Target jeans that were the first item of clothing in a size 14 that I have bought since I lost enough weight to get down to a 14 many years ago. Then, 14 was a triumph. Now? a failure.

The Target jeans don’t fit very well. They have a frayed hem I don’t like and they slip down my butt so I’m constantly pulling them up and they cost more than Target jeans should, but at the time I needed them to wear horseback riding in Mexico and I bought them and I was glad to demote them to 2nd class status when I found the Gap Skinny Curvys.

So I grab the torn Gap jeans and head off to the mall. I took them with me so I could get the same ones again from The Gap. That’s the whole point of jeans from The Gap, right? You find a pair that works and wear them for the rest of your life. 

I’m sure she’s still wearing those gauchos.

Headin’ for a Fall at the Mall

I get out of the car and the sun is annoyingly bright - the kind of bright that feels like it’s boring a hole into your head. And annoyingly windy - the kind of windy that makes your hair fly around and stick to your lipstick and irritates your eyes and nose and makes it unpleasant to be in an outdoor mall. It made me uneasy and uncomfortable. 

And the mall is upscale and full of things and clothes I can’t afford and people who have so much more than me and who have lives that allow them to be at the mall in the middle of the day - which I know I do now too but that’s different. 

When I was at my skinniest - which for me was a size 10/150lbs, which for some people is huge - I joked that I loved being able to walk into Saks 5th Avenue like I owned the place. My size and clothes and overall “nice white lady” vibe gave me entree anywhere I wanted to go. No one knew I was really a fat girl and that my entire outfit cost $20.

Now? I’m on the outside looking in at Saks and almost everywhere else. One of the things I loved when I was smaller is that my body and weight were off the table. I didn’t have to think about them or what people thought about me because of my size. It was a non-issue. The freedom of that is very hard to understand if you’ve never felt the lack of it. 

As I walked through the mall I thought to myself, “Why did you bring the jeans? You could have just taken a picture of the label. Why didn’t you at least put them in a bag? You’re walking around the mall with a pair of jeans in your hand like a big weirdo. And why are you walking through the landscaping? There’s a path RIGHT OVER THERE!”

As I walked toward The Gap I was getting more anxious. I had a vision that I’d be able to replace the jeans efficiently and easily. I even thought I might use a Visa gift card I’d gotten from Comcast when I installed my internet to offset the cost of buying them at full price which I never do. But things are never that easy.

When I walked in, I didn’t see a display of Curvy True Skinny. Just Regular True Skinny. The label read, “slim in the hip and thigh, skinny leg.” No. Oh no. I am not slim in the hip and thigh. At any weight. Ever.

I decided to ask someone for help rather than walk around the store looking for what I knew was a non-existent section where the Curvys might be hiding. 

The only store staff were working the checkout and there were several people ahead of me in line, all of whom had major business to conduct. Complicated returns. Applying for credit cards. The wait was made even more interminable by the auto-tuned pop music blaring. I know this makes me seem like a cranky old lady, but I can. not. stand. the piped-in pop music at retail stores. My shoulders clench. My teeth hurt. My head throbs. I can’t wait to get out of there. I once even looked up if it was possible to be allergic to autotune. It’s so bad I think it’s some kind of neurological dysfunction. My brain can’t take it.

The kid at the counter didn’t look promising. He was very young and had scraggly facial hair and a black t-shirt with several gold chains and a big gold cross and he just didn’t look like the kind of guy who was going to be able to help me.

And indeed, he couldn’t. “Uh… yeah... We don’t have the Curvy anymore. We just have the True Skinny with the mid-rise and high rise.”

I wanted to yell, “I don’t care about the rise! What difference does the rise make to my ASS?”

Dressing Room Dressing Down

But, I didn’t. Against my better judgment, I went to the display and selected a pair of size 14 Regular True Skinny. The Curvy were a little big on me, right? I had even thought I might try a pair of 12s, so maybe the regulars will work.

Oh no. They did not. I peeled off the Target jeans and struggled with the Regulars and it was clear from the get-go they were going nowhere.

And in that dressing room, I was in all of the dressing rooms with pants that didn’t fit from the time I was 9 or 10. That familiar claustrophobic feeling of the fabric tightening. Of having to shop alone and not knowing how to navigate the styles and sizes. Or shopping with a parent and the shame of having to tell them the pants didn’t fit, knowing they’d be even more upset than they already were to be there with me dealing with this chore and having to spend the money. 

And why the hell did I eat two pieces of chocolate chip pumpkin bread for lunch and too many peanuts and M&Ms for dinner last night? I felt big and fat and flabby and gross and ashamed and I know I’ve been through a lot in the last two years, but the least I could do is not get fat. It’s the bare minimum standard women need to meet to be full participants in our culture.  I was hot and flushed and squeezed into the pants and my heart raced and my breathing got shallow and I had to get out of there. 

I had a hard enough time accepting the reality of the 14s, there was no way I was going back to the rack to try the 16s. 

I left the store into that same oppressive sun bearing down on me. That same wind taunting me. 

It’s not a long drive home, but the universe conspired to put obstacles in my way. There was road work being done. School was letting out. All of those moms in SUVs who get to pick their kids up. I never got to.

The Wild Ride Home

I was stuck behind a bus. I got stopped at every red light. It was like Mr. Toad’s wild ride. Thing upon thing in my way. And why was I listening to Erasure? You had just been telling people that on your leave you’d only been listening to light jazz or silence and how great it was and a sign you were taking your mental health seriously and that taking a leave of absence was the right thing to do and look at you, you big faker, you’re listening to Erasure!  I felt my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, my teeth clenching, and my chest tightening. Breathing was quick and shallow. Not quite a panic attack, but not not a panic attack.

When I noticed my teeth clenching, I noticed that they hadn’t been clenched while I’ve been on leave. For the last year, they had been in perma-clench. I suffered from pretty bad TMJ for a while, and often would suddenly realize I’d been clenching my teeth for who knows how long and have to make an effort to relax my jaw.

I needed to get home to my couch and my computer and get this story up and out of me.

I started writing right away and as the keyboard keys clicked I felt myself exhale. My chest lightened. My teeth unclenched.

I was also hungry. I hadn’t had a proper lunch - just the pumpkin bread that was put out as a snack for us toat the Post Partum Support Center where I had been volunteering that morning so I didn’t know if my hunger was real or anxiety. When I eat on the regular plan that helped me lose weight, I know. 

I thought about those peanuts and M&Ms and was really, really close to getting some. But I summoned the strength to have popcorn popped in the microwave in the gizmo that doesn’t need oil, and a fresh peach. It did the trick. My hunger, whatever the source, was satisfied. 

EPILOGUE: I bought another pair of Curvy True Skinny in the exact same size on eBay and they fit completely differently! The old pair was quite loose and generous while still being tapered and fitted. The new pair is just tight. The Gap can kiss my size 14/32 ass.

Old jeans on top, new jeans on the bottom. You’d think they’d fit the same, no? No!

Lara Sez…

Listen!

80s Deep Cut of the Week! This one hit wonder uses the term “hit” very loosely, but that doesn’t take away from the bouncy synth-pop fun of this song. I dare you to not dance when you hear it!

Read!

Jonathan Franzen was canceled before cancelling was cool, but I absolutely loved The Corrections when I read it many years ago. It would probably have been a good idea to do a re-read *before* I recommend it. It might not hold up. If you’ve read it recently lemme know what you think.

Listen!

On “If Books Coud Kill,” Michael Hobbes and Peter Shamshiri break down and debunk airport bestsellers that captured our hearts and ruined our minds, including titles like The Rules, Rich Dad, Poor Dad, Atomic Habits, and Lean In.

Watch!

The gimmick of 1939’s “The Women” is that there are no men in the entire movie! This witty, campy, and gorgeous to look at film has great performances from an all-star cast including Joan Crawford, Rosalind Russel, Paulette Goddard, and Norma Shearer. L’amour! L’mour!

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Before I let you go…

Win a notebook with the Drama Goblin Urban Dictionary entry:

“Someone who gleefully and unashamedly welcomes and shares (relatively) harmless gossip.”

I ordered ‘em by accident - my good can be your gain!

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