One Size Fits None

I have always hated fitting rooms. It’s not just that I hate the mirrors meant to trick me into thinking I’m skinnier or the curtains that never close all the way so strangers can glimpse me trying to squirm into too-tight jeans. What I really hate is why I have to go to fitting rooms in the first place: to see if I’ve distilled my unique body shape down to one magic number, knowing full well that I probably won’t be right, and it definitely won’t be magic. I hate that I’m embarrassed to ask a salesperson for help, as if it’s somehow my fault that I’m not short or tall or curvy or skinny enough to match an industry standard. I hate that it feels like nothing fits…

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