Let’s Try + Get My Pucci Into That

I recently bought a pair of pants in a size zero.

Yes. A size zero (?!).

Let me try to get my Pucci into that. Maybe with some fishing line and Crisco (if special requests can be taken, I prefer extra virgin olive oil, I might as well get a little DIY spa treatment out of this affair) it’ll reach the halfway point before cutting off all circulation. Stand there and look pretty, you say? I could if that were my intention. But try me and I’ll knock ya: just because I’m in a straitjacket from the waist down does not mean my arms aren’t free to take a swinging hook.

I have my first degree black belt, you know.

Now the strangest thing of all—yes, I do have my black belt—is that I did manage to get my Pucci into a zero. No squeezing, no unsightly shimmying or corsetry involved. No Crisco, no olive oil. I’m slumped; (American) sizing continues to fascinate me.

Which brings me to this: stop looking at the tags. Numbers are just numbers—don’t become fixated on becoming a certain size. Sizing differs from manufacturer to manufacturer, and then from country to country. I’m a size zero in some places, a two in some, a four for most, and a six from time to time. Put me in a changing room overseas (or just across borders) and I’ll probably reach for tens. Squeeze into a smaller size, and what—congratulations? There’s no prize for this sort of self-deprecation. You’re lying to you.  Stop yourself: forcing what doesn’t feel right isn’t neither beneficial to your self-confidence, nor is it doing your body justice. Wear the size that fits you perfectly, regardless of the number or letter, and you’ll look good always.

Guaranteed.

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