Like the climber oblivious to crumbling rocks and snapping twigs that foretell the downward slide, I didn't notice that I was at the gates of plus-size hell. Others, however, did.

"Look, they're having a sale," my mother said as she handed me the department store ad. The circular touted specials on flatware, linens, handheld power tools and (you guessed it) women's plus-size clothing.

I didn't give it much thought.

"Do we need to stop in here?" asked my friend Cat. We were at the mall, passing by the entrance of Lane Bryant, the women's clothing store specializing in plus sizes.

I gave her a puzzled look, and we kept walking.

My plus-size revelation came during another shopping trip. I was with another annoyingly svelte girlfriend, and we were trying on jeans. The misses-size jeans all gave me "muffin top," that unflattering effect that happens when fat balloons over the waistband of too-small pants.

"Do you think I should try on plus sizes?" I asked her after I had exhausted the outer reaches of standard sizes.

"Well, it's important that they fit," she said cautiously.

"OK," I sighed. "Will you come with me?"

And then we crossed that invisible but palpable line. We entered the women's department.

"Look, even the mannequins are bigger," she squealed.

"That's not helping," I said grimly.

"What? No, that's a good thing. That way you can tell how things will really drape."

"OK. That's enough."

"No, really. It's not like clothes will fit the same as misses sizes."

"Please, don't speak again."

So began my journey. The table of boxy sweat shirts with applique snowflakes and cutesy phrases about being a grandma almost sent me reeling back to the misses department and muffin-top jeans. But I persevered, and managed to snag a pair of dark-rinse jeans that weren't heinous, and actually fit me pretty well. I found a flattering top with tiers of silk ruffles to hide my tummy roll and a cute cropped cardigan that camouflages my church-lady arms.

I took my new plus-size outfit home and modeled it in front of our bedroom mirror. It was refreshing not to be beholden to what I think my size should be, and dress in something that fits my body the way it is right now. I decided to wear my new clothes to Candice's birthday party that night. I've always envied Candice's sense of style, and I was anxious about how she would receive my extra-large ensemble.

"I love your outfit," she cooed as I hugged her hello.

"Thanks. It's new."



October 11, 2006
Chicago Tribune

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