- That pair of jeans you outgrew 3 years ago, but keep quixotically folded up in your dresser drawer.
- That perfect dress that was a tad bit too tight when you tried it on at the store, but you bought it anyway.
- That gorgeous top in JUST your color that you’ve had forever, but have never worn because it’s never actually fit you.
We all have at least one of these: either in the form of a remnant of your former, thinner self, or a symbol of hope for the future, thinner you. Look in your closet, and it will tell you a whole story of what-ifs.
Personally, I’ve been one of these delusional clothing hoarders since high school. I often bought things while out shopping with friends, too embarrassed to try anything on and show any of them, but even more embarrassed to not buy anything when everyone else was. (No one ever asked why those clothes I bought when we were all out together never actually ended up on my body in public.) Then, after I’d gotten too big for all the clothes I already owned, I never got rid of them, and I’ve kept that habit throughout my entire adult life. Hell, just to add insult to injury (or insanity?), I’ve even done this with work-out clothes. Between the things I’ve kept in vain and the things I’ve purchased in vain, I could clothe an entire army of overweight women, each slightly larger than the last. And why do I do this? It boils down to that simple little lie I’ve gotten so good at telling myself: “It’ll fit one day.”
I did the foolishly optimistic purchase ritual as recently as this past Saturday. I was out with a new friend after we got our hair cut and after I was such a good little big girl at dinner when I resisted the chips and salsa and ordered a salad instead of a pile of enchiladas. In that “I’m so pretty and so well behaved!” mindset after being pampered and nutritiously fed, I ended up in a clothing store with my friend, who was all about the dresses. I’ve never in my life been a dress person; even if I were skinny, my proportions are bonkers and I always look like someone who stumbled out of someone else’s closet when I try to wear a dress. But, since this was a new friend, I figured I’d better find something to try on so she wouldn’t
think know I was a totally neurotic spaz, so I grabbed an oh-honey top off a rack and dragged it into the dressing room with me. Trying it on was like trying to squeeze myself into a tube of toothpaste. So naturally, I bought it.
Well, this morning, I thought I should try on one of those oh-honey shirts from my semi-past: January of this year, when I ordered a top online during a post-holidays sale for like $3.00. When it arrived, I pulled it out of the box and put it directly into my closet, where it has hung untouched for the past 4 months… until today. It’s so freaking humid all of a sudden that I couldn’t imagine spending any time outside with sleeves covering my now-somewhat-presentable arms, lest they immediately become drenched in sweat. Suddenly, the red sleeveless top from January stood out amid all the other what-if crap in my closet. It may as well have spoken to me: “Try me on, you frivolous nutcase.” So I did.
It FITS! I’m wearing it RIGHT NOW!
There’s a new reality, people. I’m not a delusional dreamer anymore who’s just waiting for the weight to get up and walk off of me by itself one day. I’m someone who is eating the right things and moving my ass every day to make that happen. As a result, I’ve lost 35 pounds since I bought that top in January. Of course I can wear it today.
And all of a sudden, buying that beautiful top over the weekend doesn’t seem like it was such a bad idea.
It’ll fit one day.