It's Not the Size of the Ship

To reinvent a crude analogy, it’s not the size of the ship—or the size of the jeans, for that matter. For a long time, I felt very self-conscious about the numerical or hierarchical sizes on the tags of my clothing, so much so that I often cut off shirt or jeans tags so that nobody (myself included) would accidentally see them and be reminded of something that I hated: my body is not a small body. Today, I’m both comfortable with the sizes of my clothing and increasingly aware of how irrelevant those sizes are to begin with.

 I may be short, but I’ve never been little. Throughout my time in middle and high school and then into early college, I grew from a jeans size 4 to a size 8 and finally to a size 10. That double-digit number in particular always made me extremely uncomfortable, for no good reason at all. I would often stuff myself into a too-tight eight rather than purchase a ten and be in that dreaded range of double digits. And then, when I started rowing in college and gaining muscle on my quads, that strategy stopped working for me. I was fitter than I ever had been before, and yet my pants size was increasing. I purchased my first pair of size ten jeans, confused and upset about what I thought was weight gain.

 Fretting about the rumored freshman fifteen, I chatted with some of my teammates about the effects of rowing on our bodies, and they were having similar experiences. Pants didn’t fit the same way anymore—they were looser in the waist but too tight in the thighs [apparently none of us owned a belt?]. And then, we had this totally crazy revelation: what if we were gaining muscle rather than fat?! Yes. Obviously, yes, this was the answer to our concerns. Despite understanding why I had gone up a size in jeans, I still felt dissatisfied with my size. My self-worth was so tied to this numerical value, this random and irrelevant measurement, that I couldn’t get past it, and fought hard to get back down to a size eight.

 The thing is, getting faster at rowing and developing my leg muscles went hand in hand, making it difficult to size down in pants without sacrificing speed. As a novice rower, I enjoyed being one of the faster girls on my squad, and I felt proud of my times on the erg [rowing machine for those of you not personally acquainted with this particular type of masochism]. Once I began to value rowing and succeeding in that sport more highly, I was able to attach more pride to my legs and their muscles, even if those muscles changed the size of my pants. All this to say that I think that one of the first steps in my creation of a positive body image for myself was distancing my self-perception from the size of my clothes.

 Besides, I couldn’t be insecure about my legs—I was already preoccupied with the top half of my body. Due to a combination of broad shoulders, a well-endowed chest, and a persistent little tummy [my friends and I currently call this section “cookie storage” and I am happy to have a cute, soft little place to store my desserts], I’ve been a large in shirts for as long as I can remember. I’ve lost twenty-five pounds in the last year and that size hasn’t changed at all—although it’s definitely up for debate.

 Here’s a fun story: I went to Target yesterday [you know, because I love to spend money that I don’t have], and was characteristically browsing the clothing section even though my intended purchase was a plug-in air freshener. I also tried on some shirts that I didn’t buy, and had a familiar experience with the sizing. In an attempt to grow my running wardrobe, I tried on two athletic tops of different styles by the same company. In one, because they were out of larges in the color I wanted, I tried on a medium—and it fit perfectly. Then, I tried on a strappy tank top to discover that the large was snug in all the wrong places. What?? These tops were literally made by the same company and their sizing wasn’t consistent! I then tried another casual top and ended up purchasing it [whoops, sorry bank account] in an extra-large, not because the large didn’t fit but because I wanted to wear it as a more flowy style. So, now that I’ve recounted my entire shopping trip, I’ll get to the point.

 Not only are sizes irrelevant in terms of your self-worth, they’re often irrelevant, period. Just as my shirt size can range from medium to extra-large, I currently own pants that are sixes, eights, and tens. Seems like these numbers just mean literally nothing. I’ve gotten a lot better recently about not considering the size of my clothing, and considering the fit and the way it looks on my body instead.

 If worrying too much about clothing size is a problem you find yourself having from time to time, here’s a strategy that I like to practice. When I’m out shopping, I’ll grab items in a few sizes centered around whatever size I expect to be—which is sometimes based on the store, sometimes based on just my general estimate. Then, when I try them on, I don’t look at the size at all. In the past, I would sometimes refuse to purchase something in the size that was more flattering to me or more comfortable because of conditioned distaste for the number on the tag. Now, I don’t feel like that’s important at all. My body is my body, and it’s not worth less or more because it’s clothed in an extra-large rather than a medium, or a ten rather than an eight. First of all, these sizes vary by a large margin between designers, and secondly, the numbers have nothing to do with your personal value.

 Also, who cares? Nobody needs to see those numbers but you anyway—and if you find yourself in a situation where someone is taking your clothes off and purposefully allotting time to read the size on your labels rather than checking out your awesome bod, get out of that situation immediately. That’s super f-ing weird.

 That said, I definitely understand how hard this can be. Especially if you’re working on your health and fitness and feel like you’re making progress and then try on something that’s normally your size and it doesn’t fit—yeah, that can be frustrating and disheartening. But don’t forget how nondescript sizing really is, and don’t forget that numbers shouldn’t determine your happiness. Also, doing all the things that you love to do can be a big part of what makes your body look the way it does [aside from that main thing, you know, genetics]. For instance, I love running and exercising, and that makes my legs strong and my thighs and calves on the thicker side. I also love eating ice cream, and that helps me retain my little tum. So, I try to associate my body with those things and appreciate that it allows me to live the life that I am enjoying so much.

 Clothes, of whatever size, are just what covers your body. What’s underneath is what’s important, and satisfaction with your body itself shouldn’t be influenced by the size that it wears. If you’re unhappy with your body, that’s a different problem—and detaching it from numbers can only help to start remedying that.

 To close, one of my favorite [and oh-so motivational] quotes: “the thicker your thighs are, the more snacks can fit on your lap.” Don’t forget that.