I, like many women in the U.S., suffer occasionally from Does This Make Me Look Fat Syndrome. In my case, it’s entirely possible that, yes, these jeans do make my butt look big. It’s much more likely that my ghetto booty makes the jeans look big.
If I had to make a choice between Pancake Butt and Ghetto Booty, though, I would choose the latter. I don’t mind being a woman, and as such don’t mind being shaped like one. And I don’t get the trend of girls looking like 12 year-old boys. It’s the potential for muffin top in incredibly low-rise jeans that bothers me. Since super tall and super skinny is super popular, t-shirts are now about a foot too long for me to wear without looking ridiculous, and need about six extra inches of width for me to avoid that potential muffin top.
I have found one brand of jeans that is both affordable and comes in sizes I can wear (that is, they’re called “short” and they actually are short). Unfortunately, they’re made to appeal to the aforementioned 12-year-old-boy/girls and, if you click on the link to their site, you’ll notice that by the 80 pound weaklings featured on the front page.
Since I hit about 24, my metabolism has slowed down to a crawl. In the summers in Indiana I never want to eat. This slows things down even more, but my appetite disappears when temperatures hit about 85. I also spend as much time as possible immobile, in air conditioning. In the winter, however, I start to lose weight again because I begin eating more frequently throughout the day. Generally speaking, though, I’ve been a hair over to the chubby side of things for a few years. And because I don’t want to wear grandma pants that come up under my boobs, where I would normally buy a pair in, say, a size 9, in the juniors’ department I cross over into double digit sizes in the low-to-mid teens.
We got a gift card with a 2-year contract renewal of our cell phone service the other day. Since I’d paid for it, Charlie said I could have the fifty bucks. I decided to go to Macy’s and use it on two pair of jeans “for fall.” Also, because I only have two pair that fit well, one of which I got at a thrift store and have paint all over them.
I tried on the size I usually wear at first. And by “tried on” I mean got one leg in and started sweating as I attempted to squeeze the rest of myself in. I went back and got a size larger and had a similar experience. I finally settled on a size referred to on the tag as “13/14.”
I know I shouldn’t let this bother me. I’m practically twice the age of the average girl that should be wearing juniors’ jeans. But I’m not a good enough seamstress to adequately hem up the four-plus extra inches a dwarf such as myself has at the bottom of regular pants and I’m entirely too lazy to take a $24 pair of pants to a tailor and have them hemmed up professionally.
I paid for the jeans and briefly considered cutting out the tag so I wouldn’t have to be reminded of the size. But I didn’t because, ultimately, I don’t care that much. I’ve had every size in my closet from a six to a twelve, all at one time. If I did care, I’d be at the gym more frequently than once in the past eight years. I’ve never had a doctor tell me I’m overweight, and I know there are a lot more people out there who have it a lot worse than I do. But there is some truth, I think, to the idea that media and popular culture affect our body image and self esteem. No woman I know is six feet tall and 112 pounds.
Besides, if I lost a bunch of weight, the first place it’d come from would be my chest. I’d rather be a little chunky with boobs than skinny and flat-chested.