I don’t buy into the whole retail therapy thing. I certainly did at one point in my life, but a rather frugal year has made shopping real low on my priority list. I haven’t ever really liked it though. Stuff never seems to look right on me. I hate undressing under the fluorescent lights, and having to go back and get a larger size like, four times in a row. I hate the fact that I have to take deep breaths when I try something on. I hate snippy salespeople. I hate spending money on stuff that makes me feel and look bad.
But at some point, you need a new pair of jeans, right? And so you know what I did today, my friends, don’t you. That’s right, the epitome of everything I hate about shopping was my destination: Old Navy.
Now, to be fair, I don’t think it’s Old Navy’s fault that I can’t fit into any of their clothes these days. I have gained weight since the golden age of 1998, when I was going shopping every weekend it seems (also, I had a paycheck then) and coming back with something cutish. This was back in the day before everyone was required by law to wear capris in various lengths of unflattering. But still, it’s not anyone’s fault but mine.
I just sort of hate it that there has to be a “fault.” I’m trying to eat better and exercise more, and nothing really seems to be happening. I find it very depressing to think about my weight, and my looks over all. I start feeling ugly, and then I wonder if people don’t like me most because of my looks or my personality. Then, if I’m really on a roll, I will start comparing myself to every woman I pass on the street. “Oh, her ankles are so tapered and slim, unlike these paint cans of mine.” “What nice arm definition she has, diametrically opposed to my batwings.” “What you don’t see on her is a jelly roll around her middle. What a concept.” You see where this is going. These thoughts never make me feel anything but worse, yet I can’t seem to stop them. This is no treat for whoever happens to be around me…they always say something like “You are so not ugly,” which is the opening for me to say “Uh huh. Whatever.”
It’s really hard for me to judge what I look like. One time I told Carl that I needed other people to tell me if I was hideous or at least acceptable, because looking in the mirror just didn’t give me any clues. I hate it when people tell me that “you have to think you’re beautiful to be beautiful,” because, see, that’s the problem. I don’t think I’m anything. I can’t seem to see myself other than a bunch of unrelated parts: big thighs, big butt, big feet, frizzy hair, oily skin, so on and so forth. Certainly I think I look okay on some days and not so great on others, but I can never get that to be a general idea of I Look Just Fine In General or Run, Don’t Walk Away Because I Am Not So Easy On The Eyes.
And you know what is really the icing on the cake here? I know I have “body image issues.” Who doesn’t? I just hate it that I have them. I once read this great book that said: imagine what you could do if every time you said to yourself, “I hate my body,” you wrote a letter to your senator? Or volunteered an hour in a domestic violence shelter? Or called a friend and told them you loved them? I know I waste so much time on this…but knowing that doesn’t make it any better, of course. It just makes it worse.
Well, anyway. I have a couple of letters to write to my senators. Also, remember yesterday when I got my swimsuit at the lost and found at the pool? All a big lie. I hadn’t even gone there yet when I wrote that. When I did go, it wasn’t there. So I have to get a new suit, because I really do like swimming quite a bit. And just so we don’t get too depressed, here is a transcript of a true conversation I had with the kid who rang up my stuff today.
[A medley by The Artist Formerly Known As Prince begins to play over the loudspeakers.]
Chiara: Is this totally your favorite part of the day, when the Prince medley plays?
Kid At Register: Oh, totally.
Chiara:Do you, like, take it home and play it at night to fall asleep to?
KAR: Yeah! I love Prince! Except this isn’t Prince. It’s Ginuwine.
Chiara: Oh. Man, I am so, so old.
KAR: It sounds just like him, though.
Chiara: I think that’s what we all want.
KAR: No, I wish I could just look like Prince!
Chiara: Oh, totally. Don’t we all.