Saturday, August 23rd, 2008 07:44 pm
this is the voice of irritation
I went with Vannezsa to shop for bridesmaid's dress. This should be a fairly painless procedure, since she left it up to us. Strangely, it's just as horrific when you get to choose.
That was--wow. A very special hell.
Part of it was the sizing, which didn't apply to any planet I know of. The girl with me, who is a freaking size zero she's so small, was in a six, which meant that none of my usual understanding of my own size applied. It was dizzying and terrible for the ego, but worse for the fact that the dresses are not made to be flattering on anyone, even her. I'm sorry, when a girl with a waistline in the low twenties looks weirdly unproportioned, you know something is wrong. I actually liked one floor length blue one, unfortunately spaghetti strapped, but cute, and it actually looked okay on us both, which is saying something. We ended up with a just-above-tea-length a-line one with a halter that shockingly looked really good. We're getting them done in chocolate brown taffeta, for which God be praised is a color that works on pretty much anyone. I can get alternations done to fit better, but the fact that I'm still resisting the fact my cup size is actually a very low C and no longer a B may have something to do with the fact I'm just not comfortable in anything now. I liked B. I was happy with B. The C thing isn't working for me at all and worse, doesn't look it until the bra try-ons start and I stare in horror. Very low C. Like, more a B+. Why is there not a B+?
This is perhaps the first and only time in my life I've considered dieting. The sizing was really, really traumatic. I pulled out pictures of myself in a cheerleading uniform to remind myself of the days I weighed one thirty and looked like a survivor of some sort of famine (my cheekbones weren't just prominent--they looked liposuctioned). It's hideous enough to send me for the bread and cheese whiz. Just--no.
Sometimes, I hate being a girl. I hate this awareness of my body that I can't get away from, no matter how many t-shirts and sweaters I buy and jeans I own. I hate thinking in terms of my body and what it is supposed to be and what it isn't.
It's so tiring.
I also hate my tooth and the fact Tuesday seems very, very far away. And my sister somehow got two of my hydrocodone and I really can't work out how she got them; this time around, I carry them with me or hide them in random places, like under the living room couch or in the car. There's a pretty good chance I left them on my bed to go to the bathroom once.
My mood, let me show you it. I am re-reading Cigarettes by
basingstoke to let Fraser lead me back to Zen (well, technically, I suppose Bayliss as well). For some reason, this one is the one I read most in the series.
That was--wow. A very special hell.
Part of it was the sizing, which didn't apply to any planet I know of. The girl with me, who is a freaking size zero she's so small, was in a six, which meant that none of my usual understanding of my own size applied. It was dizzying and terrible for the ego, but worse for the fact that the dresses are not made to be flattering on anyone, even her. I'm sorry, when a girl with a waistline in the low twenties looks weirdly unproportioned, you know something is wrong. I actually liked one floor length blue one, unfortunately spaghetti strapped, but cute, and it actually looked okay on us both, which is saying something. We ended up with a just-above-tea-length a-line one with a halter that shockingly looked really good. We're getting them done in chocolate brown taffeta, for which God be praised is a color that works on pretty much anyone. I can get alternations done to fit better, but the fact that I'm still resisting the fact my cup size is actually a very low C and no longer a B may have something to do with the fact I'm just not comfortable in anything now. I liked B. I was happy with B. The C thing isn't working for me at all and worse, doesn't look it until the bra try-ons start and I stare in horror. Very low C. Like, more a B+. Why is there not a B+?
This is perhaps the first and only time in my life I've considered dieting. The sizing was really, really traumatic. I pulled out pictures of myself in a cheerleading uniform to remind myself of the days I weighed one thirty and looked like a survivor of some sort of famine (my cheekbones weren't just prominent--they looked liposuctioned). It's hideous enough to send me for the bread and cheese whiz. Just--no.
Sometimes, I hate being a girl. I hate this awareness of my body that I can't get away from, no matter how many t-shirts and sweaters I buy and jeans I own. I hate thinking in terms of my body and what it is supposed to be and what it isn't.
It's so tiring.
I also hate my tooth and the fact Tuesday seems very, very far away. And my sister somehow got two of my hydrocodone and I really can't work out how she got them; this time around, I carry them with me or hide them in random places, like under the living room couch or in the car. There's a pretty good chance I left them on my bed to go to the bathroom once.
My mood, let me show you it. I am re-reading Cigarettes by
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From:Bridesmaid dress sizing is a horrible, horrible racket designed to make you feel shitty about yourself. Don't buy into it!
Which isn't to say that I can't empathize with bigger boobs, or something like that. I just don't want it to be because of some arbitrary sizing system that makes no sense to anyone.
I may be a little bitter.
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From:The bra size thing is freaking me out. I don't know *why* or where it came from, and I only noticed when I realized all my bras were starting to look low-cut when they weren't, well, low-cut. And hurt. Gah. Hate.
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From:As for the tooth, have you tried the clove oil? I really does work.
~L
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From:~L
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From:Bra sizes... try a different brand before you succumb to Tit Trauma. Nothing Victoria's Secret makes ever fits me (they also measure me strangely, being high on the band size and low on the cup size -- and those don't fit, either) and I've ended up going full circle and returning to the Warners and Maidenforms of my early bra years. They fit, they're comfortable, and while they don't come in fuchsia, I'm maybe getting old enough that that doesn't bother me anymore.
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From:I'm writing this down for the bras. I can live without fuschia, but I cannot deal with a bra that feels either too tight or too loose.
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From:on the bra thing: there's some company that makes half-size bras, and I think they do like, A-and-a-half, B-and-a-half bras.
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From:Playtex "Thank Goodness It Fits" line has half-sizes.
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From:Semi-formal if you squint for the wedding party. She used to want formal, which I wouldn't mind since floor length woudl be good, but Texas in April is not a good time for that and an outside wedding.
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From:Here is one! (http://pics.livejournal.com/tropes/pic/000khxb8)
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From:I wish you could have gotten in to see the dentist sooner, though. That royally sucks. Clove does work, at least on the short term, though bourbon is better (not with pain meds, though). Or I could come by and hit you on the head with a board, if you promised to do the same with me the next time my back acted up.
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From:Anyway, I have always wondered why the bridesmaids' dresses have to be exact the same outfit for everyone. Why not just the same color? It's not like the bridesmaids would be actually sisters or back-up singers or anything. And when some of the bridesmaids are size zero and some are 18, it tends to look rather ridiculous. So why the uniformity?
(where I live there is only one best man and one best woman, two in some cases, and no adult bridesmaids at all. If there happens to be a relative under 10 years, a girl or a boy, then she or he might be one to throw flowers.)
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From:Ah ha ha ha ha. There's a clothing store near me (in the US) that organizes its import jeans according to (European) size, with all the brands mixed together. Every time I go there, I have to walk up to the salespeople and ask them where to start. I was like, "Is it 30 centimeters at the waist?? Is anybody that small?"
Let us merely say that I have tried on a lot of jeans where I can't get them up past my knees. I... think I wear a 40, but really, I just can't remember.
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From:I have a friend who is size 32 (which is the smallest size that can be found from a rack), but who has recently lost weight due health reasons. She visited a posh shop with american sizing in Middle Europe and when she went to ask if there was a smaller size yet of a pair of trousers she was trying out, (they didn't have any smaller) the sales lady looked her up and down and was like, "you are size zero, right?" My friend was like, "Oh no! I'm not! Take that back!" She obviously wasn't very happy to hear that she had the same size as, say, Nicole Richie ;)
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From:As long as European shoe sizes don't change on me, I'll be fine.
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From:I think that the public dismay would prevent putting those sizes for sale in Europe. At least Cheap Monday, a trendy jeans label, put their 00's on sale as children's' clothing on kids' section, only with too long trouser legs for children. Kinda creepy, that.
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From:So the bride will feel like she's in control? I dunno, I bought a bunch of gorgeous teal silk and my two attendants made their own dresses, in completely different designs to suit their completely different body types, but in the same fabric.
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From:Also, I have so much sympathy for you re: the boobs thing. Oh man. So much sympathy. You have seen me quite recently! For shits and giggles, take a guess at my cup-size.
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From:Or, I could be wrong. But it's a theory.
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From:I've spent the last few days clothes shopping because I'm starting a new job, and it wasn't nearly as traumatic as it usually is. I guess I've finally internalized Clinton and Stacy's advice from What Not To Wear.
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From:Congrats on the new job, btw! It sounds amazing.
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From:It's not us, it's those damn dresses.
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From:Not claiming that dress sizing is in it for your self esteem, not by a long shot - it just helps me sometimes to think of it as quirkily old-fashioned instead of trying to sell me diet patches. And I feel you on the "not being able to get away from having a body that society thinks needs regulating" feeling. I hate that. Hate.
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From:Seriously, it makes me break out teh cookies and cheese whiz so *fast*.
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From:I've been a bridesmaid several times and I've never worn a dress that wasn't ill-fitting, of loopy design and cheesy fabric, and that didn't make me feel like circus clown. The topper was when eight of us had to wear a style which flattered only the maid of honor...who was nine months pregnant. On the up-side, "you can use it again", turned out to be true. The dress slipped off the hanger onto the floor and my cat made a comfy nest out of it. He slept in it until his dying day.
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OT
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Re: OT
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