Wellington Straight-Sized Fashion Week

A wee break in my hiatus to have a tiny vent.

The inaugural Wellington Fashion Week is on.  I’ve seen a couple of blogs really excited about it, and that’s great – one of the things I love about Wellington is that it’s artsy, it’s edgy, it has a pretty amazing events calendar (more so if the Cuba Street Carnival ever gets back on its feet.)

The problem is, there is nothing in Wellington Fashion Week even for me, the in-betweenie epitome.

Of the designers who have size charts on their websites (and believe me, if you aren’t publishing that information I am not risking the embarrassment of having shop assistants look aghast at my temerity in requesting anything above a 12), listed according to bust/waist/hip measurements from the top bust measurement down:

Starfish tops out at a 16, defined as B118, W87, H117.

Trelise Cooper goes to an 18, if by 18 we mean B115, W95, H125.  The “Coop” line tops out at a 14, B95.5, W78.5, H108.5.

Ashley Fogel tops out at a 16 defined as B108.4, (true)W86.4, H113.4.

Robyn Mathieson‘s 16 is B102, W84, H111.

Storm tops out at 14, i.e. B101, W86, H103.

Moochi stops at a 14 defined as B97, W80, H109.

Ruby‘s size 12 is B96, W83, H108.

Kelsey Genna has no size charts but states all garments are made in runs of 10, and customers will be contacted for their measurements on purchase.  I’d be tempted to buy something just to see what response my particular size gets, but … not at USD$300 a frock, thanks.

Alison Blain makes wedding dresses to order, ditto Corina Snow.  Robyn Cliffe makes to order.

Designers with no available (or at least easily-found-in-logical-places) size charts (AKA “let’s just assume the “large” is a regular person’s “14″):  Hermione Flynn, Taylor Boutique (who claim they “work to a standard size grade” as though such a beastie exists), Philippa&Alice, Nicola Screen for GOODNESS (well, no sizes on the Goodness site and no separate Nicola Screen site), Julian Danger (random sample of items showed no sizes above 12, click the “About” page for some lovely cultural appropriation), Lucy McIntosh, neverblack (truly awful web design going on there), Silence Was, Pixel Ink (it says everything when your coats come in “One Size”), Voon, Paper Roses.

Designers whose websites are in development:  Liz Mitchell, Mardle.

Designers with no websites, please enter the 21st century any time now:  John Zimmerman Couture.

(Though I’ll at least give you credit for not being as obtuse as many of the no-sizing-chart designers above, who still offer online shopping services … without giving their customers accurate information about their product.)

Designers whose websites oddly aren’t listed on the WFW website:  La Shika Bridal (made to measure).

There’s two big points to be made here:  one, that fat and fashion are still clearly considered separate and mutually-exclusive things, especially by our fashion industry.

7/25 designers give clear (though sometimes hidden) information about their sizing.  Only 1 (Trelise Cooper) makes an even vaguely-plus size, i.e. equivalent to a City Chic XS, Autograph 14 or Carpenter’s Daughter 0.  (Starfish loses out on the waist measurement, but would match a Carpenter’s Daughter 00.)

But neither’s top-sized items are made to fit me – much less anyone well and truly over the plus-size line – and either no explicitly plus-size designers were invited to WFW, or they mysteriously declined a chance to get publicity.  I feel pretty safe in assuming the former.

The other point is one that seems to need a lot of explaining:  there is absolutely no consistency across different brands, designers or shops when it comes to sizing.  This makes it especially galling when a designer offers online shopping but just expects you (assuming you’re a straight size and want to take the risk) to guess if you’ll be a 12, or a 10, or if your boobs or ass are too big or your shape is too hourglassy.

And once you’re getting into plus-size territory, and clothes shopping is already a massively stressful, humiliating experience, it’s only worse.

It’s okay, Wellington Straight Sized Fashion Week.  You’re just young.  Maybe next year you’ll try to do something original and relevant to a larger section of the population.  I’ll have to wait and see.

Kinda-fat-o-sphere classics: You NEEDNT have

So, a new magical lists of The Bad Foods Which Will Make You Fat has come out in NZ, and bad news!  Fruit juice, honey and milk are now no-nos. Google it if you want to, I’m not llinking to that panic-mongering crud.

The foods are called the “NEEDNT” foods, in possibly the silliest, smuggest use of acronym-generation since the PATRIOT Act.

Fortunately, the listmakers also gave us suggested substitutions, which are heavy on the “artificial sweetener” front – funny, I thought artificial sweetener was also going to make us fat/give us cancer etc.

I’m going to let my own personal goddess Sarah Haskins take it from here.

The joy of towels

It’s a total cliche, but sometimes it really is the little things that count.  It makes sense, really:  it’s the little niggles and jibes and comments that get me down about my size or make me question my awesome sexiness, so it must also be the little choices I make which can combat the negativity and shrug off the hate.

Which is all a long and flowery way of saying I love my towels.

The partner and I did a bit of a household shopping spree in the Boxing Day Sales last year, and one of the things I was absolutely determined t0 purchase were some new towels.  We had plenty of towels already, sure, but as well as being a little old and tired they were just too small.

That is, they wouldn’t cover all of me post-shower.

It’s a little thing, but it was also a big thing – to be blunt, having a bit of tummy poking out at the world set off a whole big flowery bunch of anxiety issues.  It’s like the airplane seat thing – you can remind yourself firmly that it’s the damn manufacturer’s fault for making the damn seats so damn small, but years of social messaging just keep making you wonder if it isn’t just that you are the wrong size.

Solution, in this non-airplane instance?  Buy bigger towels.  “Spa” sized towels, apparently.  It makes sense, since spas are where you go to feel relaxed and pampered, and swathing oneself in a gigantic fluffy towel makes me feel pretty damn relaxed and pampered.

As you can see from the picture, these are pretty damn big towels – wider than your average household door and about up to nose-height on me, say around the 5-foot mark.  Lovely.

Self-care, people:  it doesn’t have to be big and complex and involved.  It can just be a towel.

Revisit: Columbine stockings

So a while back I ranted fulsomely about four pairs of Columbine stockings which all developed the same laddering-from-the-crotch issue within two wears.

I emailed Columbine on the topic, and they asked if I could send the pairs to them to be analyzed.  I had to apologise to them on that score, for sadly in my frustration I had binned the damn things post-photographing and never wanted to see them again.

Columbine subsequently sent me replacement pairs anyway.  Go Columbine!

I must admit, though, I wasn’t too hopeful of getting any greater service from these pairs.

This post has been a while in coming because of course the brief Wellingtonian summer promptly hit and thus deprived me of stocking-wearing opportunities.

I’d hoped I’d be able to thrash these pairs to death before giving a verdict, but what I can say is that they’ve all lasted more than two wears, which is an improvement!  Still a little baggy in length, but I’m not looking for miracles there.

You’ll note from my previous post that the stockings, albeit the same “Pretty Plus” (vom) brand, had silver packaging, and the replacement pairs are in pink, with a differently-formatted size chart on the back.  I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that the silver ones are an older batch, and some minor change or upgrade since they went to pink has fixed the issue.

They’re not perfect, and I’m not holding out hope that these pairs will last me through the next winter, but stockings never do.  But Columbine did do me a good turn on these, they are performing better than the other pairs, and I will be willing to give them another shot next time I’m buying.

Wednesday Wanty: summer shoes

So, that whole getting-back-into-work thing kind of hit me like a big scary truck full of unanswered emails.  But I figured you’d all be here when I got back anyway (those of you who aren’t, you know, friends from Facebook.)

Speaking of Facebook!  A Large Pink Woman now has a page there, for your convenience and my own self-aggrandizing.

Anyhow, to the topic at hand:  summer shoes.  Always a problem in Wellington, what with summer being pretty nonexistent, or at least appearing only in 6-hour snatches in between gross humid rain and cold sleety rain.  Generally, one spends half the summer months still in stockings on the offchance, or in the same waterproof closed-toe flats one is bored sick of through constant winter use.

Add to that my personal list of criteria for summer shoes:

• some heel
• not too much heel
• super-comfortable yet super-cute
• preferably on sale for under $100
• “looks right” (massively subjective call based on pure gut instinct)
• fantastic enough that I am happy for them to be my single pair of summer shoes for a few years to come, given the aforementioned crap weather and thus lack of chances to wear the damn things

… and you can see where I might have a wee problem.  Thankfully I have a smaller-than-average shoe size which is usually in stock or I’d be right up shit creek.

Plus it seems that comfy flat sandals are basically forbidden from being cute/edgy/punk; compare Ultra Shoes’ flats-and-sandals page to their high heels and you should see what I mean.  Ziera, always in conflict between its comfortable-shoes-for-the-older-demographic and young-and-funky-but-coincidentally-really-comfortable styles, is definitely channelling the former this season.

Molly N, my beloved Molly N, provides a beacon of hope.  But they’re not in bloody Wellington any more, thank you so much Mr Recession, so my shopping ability is curtailed.  This makes me a little grumpy, because really, nothing should ever be seen as a positive reason to move back to Auckland.  So you Aucklanders can just have your pretty bright comfy summer shoes.  I shall remain Wanty.

More thoughts on New Year’s resolutions

A few far more kickass bloggers than I have posted their thoughts on New Year’s resolutions, particularly as they relate to pressure to lose weight/go on diets/generally screw your health up in the quest for impossible anatomical change:

sleepydumpling at Fat Heffalump is making 2012 the Year of Living Fatly:

However, after stumbling across some douchecanoe on Twitter whining about being offended by seeing “fat, lazy people”, I’ve decided that I have a goal for 2012.  Are you ready for it?

Here it is…

I am going to be willfully fat this year.  Offensively, obnoxiously fat.  All over the damn place.  In fact, I’m fatting at all of you right now.

s.e. smith at This Ain’t Living is talking about how Fat Hatred Kills:

Every January, people, especially women, hit the gym and cut out sweets and drop pounds. Maybe they keep it up for a few weeks or months. Then those pounds come back on and they return to the starting point. Maybe they repeat the process in the next year, feeling guilty about their failure or pressured into it by someone else, like a ‘friend’ who insists on having a weight loss buddy. This is known as yo-yo dieting, for the constant bouncing up and down between weight points.

And, it turns out, it’s not very good for the body.

Go forth and read!

Quelle terrible!

Spotted on stuff.co.nz earlier this week:

[Description: a screenshot from a news website; two fat white people sitting in a pool drinking a bubbly alcoholic breakfast with the headline A GROWING NATION / KIWIS OVERWEIGHT CIDER-LOVERS / New Zealand getting heavier: Only 35 per cent of Kiwis fall within a healthy weight range, according to a new report.]

My immediate reaction? MY GODS, STUFF.CO.NZ IS SPYING ON ME because “overweight cider-lover” is totally how I’m going to introduce myself in future.

In answer to the usual questions, yes, “healthy weight range” was based on BMI, and yes, not just BMI but self-reported height and weight figures, and yes, they just randomly picked two of the stats from the study and conflated them into a WE’RE ALL FAT ALKIES headline.

We’re also more likely to eat Indian food, so I can only wonder why they didn’t go for the much-more-believable headline, CIDER TASTES AWESOME WITH CURRY.

Oh, right, because that wouldn’t add to the OBESITY EPIDEMIC BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA meme.  (H/T Marianne Kirby and Kate Harding; buy the book!)

Berry berry nice … dress!

My one regret about purchasing this most excellent dress from City Chic is that I lacked the funds to also get it in blue.  And then in leopard print.  And then in the third colour they released it in which has totally slipped my mind (what can I say, it’s nearly Christmas!)

The colour is amazing, the shape is lovely, the top is a nice basic black stretch fabric.  Although it can be a little transparent, I live in Wellington, so adding a singlet or short-sleeved top under it is par for the course anyway.

And above all, the height of clothing awesomeness as far as I’m concerned:  dress.  With.  Pockets.  At some point I should try to isolate why I find that such a gold star for clothing – initial hunches go to a combination of adding texture, adding utility, and breaking down stupid gender barriers.

It’s also a pretty casual dress, but fortunately I work in an office where casual/edgy looks are fine as long as they’re not sloppy, and it’s very easy to make it look more business-appropriate-but-obviously-still-bright-fuchsia.

First look:  with newly-cut straightened hair, which does frankly always make people read you as more “professional” or “put-together” (no racist/class assumptions here, no sir.)  But it was casual Friday, so I made it fun with the stripes and comfortable with my still-barely-hanging-in-there black Kumfs boots.

At this point, I’d sell baby-flavoured donuts for good boots.  And by “good” I do indeed mean “boots which perfectly fulfil my requirements regarding style and price.”

The fabric tie around the belly came with the dress, but I swap it out whenever a more formal look is called for (see below) or I feel the need for a little tension around my waist.

Thus to my second look, another product of that flash of inspiration I had about my wardrobe finally being in a somewhat-versatile state.  The fuchsia cowl-neck top I got from Staxs donkey’s years ago isn’t quite the same shade as the skirt, but I figured I could get all crafty.  And by “crafty” I mean “I figured I was wearing dark berry glasses anyway, so let’s just throw everything pinky-purple I own at this and see how it goes.”

I think it went well.

The belt this time came off a Jacqui E dress and looked frankly awesome as long as I checked it every now and then to check it was still nicely lined up and holding together – it’s entirely ornamental, so no buckles, no studs, the whole thing stays “belted” through the sheer friction of plastic on plastic.  Which is not much friction at all.

Long sleeves are another good way to fake office-wear-formality and the cowl neck simultaneously hides and draws attention to the potential for cleavage.  Cleavage =/= office wear, apparently, and I base that on a masochistic reading of far too many Stuff comments.

My stance, forged in the fires of working retail and facing borderline sexual harassment since these puppies showed up at the age of 11?  There is no hiding my boobs.  Sometimes they get squished together.  If their presence and the evidence of their squishedness is what makes me “look trashy” then I am condemned to looking “trashy” whether I’m in my pyjamas or a raincoat.

So … I’m going to dress how I like, and sometimes that will mean throwing a bone or two to the haters in order to decrease some of the stress in my life.

I’m also going to laugh myself silly/roll my eyes at the contradictions, as shown above:  yeah, hiding my bust by draping bright pink fabric over it, that’ll work.

The chief accessory was my beloved Diva’s Championship necklace, a gift from my bestie last Christmas and not-very-subtle signal to any other WWE fans out there that I am one of their kind.

Lipgloss is a pretty ancient Sephora purchase, annoyingly sticky yet the best purple shade I’ve managed to find.

Shoes?  My beloved checkerboards from Molly N, the one true way to take attention away from my cleavage.  Or my messy hair.  Or anything, really.  I could probably be wearing hot pink capris and a t-shirt saying “Fornicate the Constabulary” and no one would notice if I were in these heels.

Outfit 1: dress and shrug – City Chic
Boots – Kumfs

Outfit 2: dress – City Chic
Top – Staxs
Shoes – Molly N
Necklace – wweshop.com

Continued stocking angst: Lyric

So after the previous stocking annoyance, which struck Columbine off the list of brands I’ll pay money to have disappoint me, I thought I’d return to a brand which has normally been good to me: Lyric.

Where “good” means “they fit!  Just sacrifice a few oxen to ensure Farmers bothers to stock a single M/L among the three dozen S/M pairs on the rack.”

Paying careful attention to that above sentence, you’ll note I said M/L.  Yep, for years I’ve worn an M/L in these tights, no problem, usually favouring the more fishnetty varieties.

So I’m feeling pretty self-righteous that when I went for a more opaque pair, and saw the strange and little-seen beast – a size XL – on the rack, I assumed they’d, you know, fit.

And of course the size chart on the back was no help at all.

That’s right, in comparison to Columbine’s top stats of 6’0 and 94kg, Lyric goes for the niche 6’2″ 89kg fattie-market.

I defer to the Rock on this one.

Quick googling of fairly dubious Internet sources informs me that the perfect person to fit these vital statistics, at 6’3″ and 83kg, is …

Irene van Dyk, professional netballer and woman you do not want to try to take a ball away from.

Now, Irene deserves well-fitting stockings too.  And it would be great if Columbine or Lyric wanted to mark some sizes or styles as “for very tall muscular athletes”.

But it would also be nice if they could remember that there are plenty of women shorter and fatter than Irene van Dyk who also want to buy stockings.  And we’re pretty used to getting the items marked with big scary Xs and euphemisms like “plus” which everyone is well aware means “too fat to be a normal woman”.

So when stocking brands use those labels and then limit their official sizing (which I think I’ve also pointed out is rubbish, because I fit Lyric M/Ls pretty perfectly in more netty styles and still own just-slightly-too-small pairs of the “straight” Columbine styles – and which makes no allowances for different muscle/fat distribctuions/body shapes) to someone who looks like Irene van Dyk … yeah, I’m going to feel pretty ripped off.

Next up: will crap grocery-store brand stockings hold the key?  At the very least, it’s less money down the drain …

 

Annoyance corner: Columbine “Pretty Plus” stockings are a lie

This … could get a bit long and bitchy.

As unsubtly hinted in my Smurf OOTD post, I have issues when it comes to shopping for stockings.

These issues can roughly be summed up as “stocking brands hate fat women and want us to be uncomfortable as a daily reminder of our supposed failings as human beings”.

Anyway, winter was coming to an end and I thought I just needed a few more pairs to get me through the dying, hurricane-esque weeks before spring.  So I nipped down to Kirk’s and purchased 4 pairs of Columbine “Pretty Plus” tights (I’ll wait while you barf at the name) in XL.

First mistake people will accuse me of: not following the size chart.

My response:  I’m not on the damn size chart.  5’6-7″, 104kg.

My closest choice, according to the damn size chart, is indeed the XXL, which will fit someone my height and 10kg lighter.  Or someone half a foot taller than me and nearly thirty kilos lighter.

So I went with the XL.  And my excuse is this: I have a few wearable-under-boots-on-casual-Friday pairs of opaque Columbine tights, and they’re an Xtra Tall in the straight sizes (which I am also not on the size chart for).  They pinch and roll a bit at the waist but they’re about the right length for my legs.

So guesstimated; an XL in Vomit Plus could be a slightly-fatsized XT in straight sizes, and the XXL was probably for fatter women.  Or seven-foot Amazons.

And I was right.  The XLs were a bit of a tight fit, especially over the thighs, but new stockings always are, and there was sufficient extra length bunching around the ankle to require pretty regular tugging.

Problem solved, right?  Stockings acquired!  In the right size! $13 a pair!  Two basic black, a red, an aquamarine which would make me look like an adorable secretary Smurf!

But.

There’s a rule to stocking-shopping: you always expect the first pair you put on to ladder/tear/explode/unmask and reveal itself to be Bruce Wayne.  That’s why you buy two pairs.

ALL FOUR PAIRS developed a ladder.  And sure, ladders are par for the course with stockings, especially $13 a pair stockings (and $20 a pair, and $30 a pair …).  And sure, I have long nails so need to be careful.

But ALL FOUR PAIRS developed the exact same issue in the exact same place: a narrow ladder starting from the crotch, or to be specific the “gusset”  – which is apparently designed for fat @sses by someone who’s never seen a fat @ss, or by fathaters who think our bodies deserve to feel like they’re wearing a loose diaper (and yes, while the tights are also bunching slightly at the ankles) – running down the inside of the thigh.

And whenever I went to gently readjust the damn things, the ladder sprinted anklewards to freedom.  So even though one might (if one were inclined to have me yell at them a lot) argue that it was just a minor issue and probably no one noticed and they were totally re-wearable, by the end of the day (or the day after, for the pairs that lasted 48 hours) I was so freaking frustrated at the whole damn thing I wanted nothing more than to throw them in the bin.

Then retrieve them, photograph the annoyance, and re-bin them.

ALL FOUR PAIRS.  Within TWO WEARS.  $52 down the drain and I can tell you, one hell of a black mark against fucking Columbine.  You can either sell us fatties shit or be condescending wanks about it.  Not both.

And sure, I could track down Columbine’s customer service number and tell my sob story to some bored call centre operator, or get a condescending “stupid fattie, you picked the wrong size!  Try one that doesn’t actually exist because we don’t make it next time!” email (I have a few from another company which I use when I need to enter a berserker rage).

My eternal quest for well-fitting stockings must start anew (it already had, and suffered a further setback, by the time I got to writing this; so if you think I’m just a Columbine hater, wait till you hear what I think about fucking Lyric.)  Until then, it’s back to ill-fitting-but-at-least-they’re-not-talking-down-to-me “straight” sizes; until, that is, those pairs finally bite the dust and I probably can’t even replace them because the sizing has changed.  Hurrah.