So, OASOS (the queer support/activity group I attend) is having its annual talent show on Wednesday, and I will be doing drag. This means that I had to go shopping for girl clothes. (I perform as drag queen. Dressing in men's clothing wouldn't be anything different than what I normally do, and besides, I don't identify as female.) All I wanted was to find a simple but still slightly sexy white top to go with a really cute skirt I already have. In the process I was reminded of what I had almost forgotten.
Women's clothing is evil.
It is! First of all, it's unnecessarily complicated. For hilarity, imagine me in the thrift store dressing room flailing around going, "Augh! Too many straps! Why so many straps!" Then I couldn't get the damn thing off!
But, really, that's not why it's evil. It's truly evil because I genuinely suspect that it's designed to make women feel bad about themselves. I have many neuroses, but worrying about my weight is not one of them. I weight somewhere between 130-140 pounds (I don't own a scale, so I can't be sure), and I've always considered myself slender. If my jeans stop fitting, I take it as a sign that I need to buy new jeans. I always figured that the lack of worry simply meant that that specific aspect of female socialization had missed me. Plenty of others had firmly lodged themselves in me, so it's not as if I didn't have other shit to worry about. Now, I'm beginning to suspect more and more that my lack of anxiety about my weight comes from not wearing women's clothing (aside from shoes and socks) more than three times a year max since I was thirteen.
Putting on dresses, I begin to worry about my stomach sticking out, and I see how long I can suck in my breath. Today I began wondering if size 11/12 is considered fat these days. (I don't know what size I am, but I think it's over a ten.) I thought, "I could ask people on lj." Then I thought, "NO I CERTAINLY WILL NOT. BECAUSE IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER." I really was thinking in capslock. (And seriously, don't tell me. It doesn't matter, or, at least, it shouldn't matter, and I'm not going to validate that kind of thinking in myself.)
Also, what are women's clothing designers thinking these days? All I really wanted was a simple white top. Why was that so much trouble? Because everything I tried on was so thin as to be practically see through. I'm fairly certain that ones nipples shouldn't show through one's shirt if it can be avoided, and I'm very, very certain that one's areolas should not show through. I was wondering if I just have unusually pointy nipples, but a call to my mother assured me that shirts are made like that these days.
Speaking of my boobs, there's another reason that shopping for women's clothing is such a headache for me that's more personal: I'm not proportional. Tops and dresses that fit me in the arms, waist, and length all too often don't fit me in the chest. Simply put, my boobs are too big. This creates problems. I remember looking through hand-me-downs from my mother's best friend's daughter. We were the same weight, and her clothes were often designer brands that hadn't even been worn. But, you guessed it, they wouldn't fit around my chest. I was looking a nice white top at Buffalo Exchange (a ritzy second hand store--the thrift store yielded no results) that was my size, then noticed a ring of lace around the middle of the chest area. "What the hell?" I thought. "Why is the boob area full of holes?" Then I noticed two triangular pieces of fabric above the lace. I realized that my boobs were supposed to go there, except there was no way that was enough room.
I'm not used to these problems. Normally, when I buy shirts, I go to the size I wear, and find something I like. No mess, no fuss. I got so fed up, I eventually bought a blouse that's too tight, and only slightly see through, just because I was so sick of the whole thing.
But, but, but! I don't want you to think the whole day was unpleasant. You see, I really do love cute/sexy/beautiful women's clothing, and I came away with some real finds. (Well, I like them.)
The first is a top that's so gloriously tacky that I soon as I saw it, I knew that I had to have it. It's fuzzy pink and purple leopard print with a hood and a zipper up the front. I love tops with zippers up the front. It's incredibly sexy. Actually tops that fasten up the front are sexy in general. There's nothing sexier to take off than a button up shirt. Unfastening the buttons one by one, going ever so slowly, teasing your lover with your eyes... mmm. Zippers are not as sexy to take off, because it goes too fast, but they're much sexier to wear. You see someone wearing something with a zipper in the front, and the first on your mind is how easy it would be to pull that zipper down. (Er, well, it's the first thing on
my mind.)
This leads well into the other top I bought. I saw it and literally thought "That is the sexiest piece of clothing I have ever seen. I think I might like to have sex with it." It's black vinyl with a zipper up the front (of course), and it's very short. I kept raising my arms above my head and jumping, worrying that I'd end flashing. Of course, it's not as if I'll get much use out of it. The only times Id feel comfortable wearing it are to a Rocky Horror Picture Show showing and with someone I was in a deep and intimate relationship with. But I couldn't not buy it.
So, er, yes. Was that a little too much sharing?
