For #mmmay17: I'm wearing a Comino Cap top made of tentacle patterned knit from Spoonflower.
This is my second year participating in Me Made May*, and I want to do something a little different this time. I will spend this month not only wearing my own handmade clothing (my pledge is here), but also examining my relationship to clothing in general, and why it's so important to me, in a series of essays. (*Me Made May is an excuse to wear clothing you've made yourself, and maybe to post pictures of your garments online, in case you've never heard of it.)
A Month of Clothing Philosophy -- Part One
The Metaphorical Elephant in the Room
Long ago, in the halcyon days when my beloved E.K. lived right down the street instead of across the country, she once called early on a Saturday morning with some spontaneous plan for the day. She said she would be right over to pick me up and I said, “Give me 30 minutes -- I have to get dressed.”
E.K. laughed and said, “You actually do that, don’t you? You ‘get dressed,’ but I just put on clothes!”
It was true then and it’s true now: I get dressed. I dress with thought and purpose, and spend more time thinking about, making, altering, and spending time with clothes than many do. (You’ll notice I don’t spend much time shopping for clothes, but we’ll get into that later.) And yet I’m not a fashionista. I don’t usually post OOTD snaps on social media, and although I often receive compliments on my outfits in real life, I’m not especially flamboyant or colorful. It’s likely I’ll never sport the candy colored hair and exquisitely chosen accessories necessary for social media success amongst the clothing elite.
I do get derisive looks from strangers, however, and have been on the receiving end of unpleasant stares far more often than I would like.
You want to know why? It’s simple enough: I’m fat.
I’m what I think of as “medium fat” -- mammoth by Hollywood standards, of course, but completely functional in the real world. I’ve never needed a seat belt extender on an airplane, for instance -- and being spared that particular indignity may be what brought home the concept of relative privilege for me. I may get less abuse than many fat people, but I still get some -- you know? I “read” as thinner than I am, which also gets me better treatment. I have a strong jaw and prominent chin, so my double chin is less apparent. I’m not very busty (and am in fact three dress sizes smaller at the bust than at the hip), so I seem smaller than I might otherwise. I’m pear-shaped with a definite, smaller waist. I have a lot of relative privilege. I know that.
But I am definitely, demonstrably fat. I am plus sized, if you want a coy term. I am not euphemistically curvy, “overweight” (over what weight, exactly?), or -- god forbid -- fluffy, a term I despise more than almost any other. I’m simply fat, and when I use that word to describe myself I mean it just as a physical descriptor -- like short, or pale. I don’t mean it as an insult.
It took me years to find this level of self acceptance, but fat is finally a neutral term for me, and it’s what I call myself.
So, now that we have that out of the way, we can begin to examine why I come to clothing with a different perspective than many, and why dressing well is both a creative and a political act for me. I’m not only here to shock the bourgeoisie (as fun as that can be), but I’m here to be visible, to represent an unfairly vilified segment of society.
Clothes can be a serious business, and they’re serious to me. Representation is important.
Clothing is important.