Tuesday Stuff

Want My Clothes? Here Take Them. Please.

So, the whole crying on Sunday thing I alluded to yesterday…

If there is one thing that I CAN NOT stand to do, and I mean, I avoid it at all costs, is clothes shopping.

I absolutely, positively, can not stomach shopping for clothes.

I have no problem shopping for my boys or my husband, but for me?


And one of the biggest reasons I DON’T shop for myself? Because I’m a tall Amazon woman and the numb nuts in the fashion industry simply DO NOT design clothes for my body frame.

Here are my biggest problem areas:

I have football shoulders. Seriously, they are wide. And I have thick arms, which accounts for my current obsession in whipping these logs into shape before summer because they’re just hideous.

And I have a long torso. And a long, er, inseam.

And I find it nearly impossible to find anything that fits me.

So, I hang out in t-shirts because they are the only thing that even remotely cover my huge frame and they’re comfortable.

But let’s be honest, t-shirts? Ain’t sexy. And my poor husband would like to have a wife who exudes just a little bit of sex appeal. It’s an ego thing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I look at clothes. In fact, it’s safe to say, I’m almost obsessed with looking at clothes. But I’m worse than the Chandler character on Friends: I pick everything apart and nothing is ever good enough for me.

The sleeves are way too short and will highlight my thickness. (Seriously. What asshole designer thought that cap sleeves were EVER a good idea for a woman??)

Shirts/blouses are never long enough and end up hitting me at high waist. And if I’m lucky enough to FIND something that is long enough, it inevitably shrinks in the wash so I MIGHT be able to wear it for a grand total of two times before that happens.

I can’t wear boatnecks, halter tops or thick-strapped tank tops because it draws attention to my linebacker shoulders and makes them look even wider – if that’s even possible.



Any pants that I buy? Have to be specially hemmed in order to be long enough (Thank God for Land’s End or I’d be walking around in high waters my entire life).

So, even though I can wear Misses size clothing, I can’t. Because of the reasons stated above. So, I shop Tall – only, the Tall selection? Not so good. Think fugly maternity clothes – limited selection and what is up with the fabric choices?!

In a nutshell? Clothes are my Achilles heel. When I’m lucky enough to find something that fits me, I tend to hoard it, and only wear it on select occasions because I’m terrified of washing it too many times for fear it will shrink.

But when I wear it, I feel confident that it looks good on me.

And then, I find out that something I’ve been wearing and feeling good in? Makes me look pregnant.


It was a company picnic. And I wore this cute little top with 3/4 sleeves (hide the fatty arms), that draped to my hips and plunged low enough that I wore a cami underneath it and showed just a hint of cleavage. In my eyes, this baby did a good job of covering up my flaws – even the color suited me.

But Kevin told me over the weekend (and this picnic was last summer!!), that someone asked him when I was expecting!?!

AARGH!! He said it was because of the empire waist, that it ballooned out just enough to make it look like I was hiding a poochy belly …

which I sort of was, but that’s beside the point.

I love empire waist tops. I just think they’re cute. They are tight around the bodice but billow out around the waist so that a woman can hide the rolls and back fat. A win-win situation, apparently.

Kevin? Hates empire waists – on any woman, because he thinks it makes them look pregnant.


Kevin told me this right before Bible study on Sunday and I’m ashamed to admit this, but I didn’t pay attention to anything that was discussed during Bible study because I was too busy feeling incredibly angry about this stupid clothes situation. Apparently, I can not find a healthy balance between something that fits and is sexy. It just frustrates me to no end.

And when I get that frustrated? I cry. And if you ever see me crying? Do. Not. Approach. I will savagely tear you to shreds because I can’t stand to cry and I can’t handle people seeing me cry.

I shut myself off in the bathroom after Bible study and had a really good cry. The hard, silent, uncontrollable cry that only happens to me once every ten years.

I know it seems silly to cry over clothes, but this is something I’ve struggled with my whole life. It’s an ongoing battle that is never far from my mind.

AND the reason I loathe spring and summer so much because I’m forced to wear more revealing clothes that do not flatter me.

After I got over my crying bout, a red-hot searing hatred for everything in my closet consumed me. So much so, in fact, that it motivated me to clean out my closet and stuff nearly every article of clothing that I own into trash bags and give away to the Goodwill.

Five 1/2 trash bags, to be precise.

tackle-tuesday And that’s where Tackle it Tuesday comes in. (Finally).

I shut the bedroom door and I ripped into the task with a vengeance that kind of scared me, if you want the truth. I was purging on a frantic, animal level. If I hadn’t worn the article of clothing in the last year, it was out. If it was borderline, it was out. If I had been hanging onto it for the past several years thinking I would wear it again once I got a job outside the home where I was required to wear something nice, I got rid of it.

I went from this:


To this:


In an hour.

And it felt GOOD. I felt FREE. And then immediately felt an overwhelming wave of sadness.

Now what?

Even though it would thrill Kevin for me to walk around naked all the time I’m pretty sure it would scar the boys for life. Not to mention scare small children and make otherwise complacent animals turn rabid.

AND, did I mention that we’re going on a cruise in June?

Hello?! Vacation pictures!! *insert banshee screams here*

If I ever needed convincing that I have the best husband in the world (which I don’t), this would be the point where I realized it. Kevin saw how upset this whole clothes thing was to me and he went through a JCPenney catalog and marked everything he thought would look cute on me.

Of course, I shot down everything he marked (the sleeves are too short, it’s not a size tall so the waist won’t be long enough, the color won’t flatter me, etc, etc), but it was the thought that melted my heart.

Because I was in one of those rare moods to actually HEAR someone give me constructive criticism, we went online and searched several shops for clothing that met my criteria.

He offered his opinion, and I listened. We volleyed back and forth on various options (and I’m sad to say, there weren’t many) and our conclusion?

I look best in sporty-type clothes. Dainty feminine stuff? Just looks ridiculous on me. And if anyone in the fashion industry happens to come across this post? How’s about making some clothes that flatter tall women?!

Here is what I DO look good in:

3/4 sleeves – seriously, I was made to wear this length. But it’s not exactly ideal when hanging out around the equator – have I mentioned that I exude three football players’ worth of sweat every single waking moment??

Spaghetti straps. I mentioned that I can not wear tank tops, but for some strange reason, I can carry off spaghetti straps. So, here come the camis.

Sleeveless turtlenecks. I can’t wear sleeveless in any other style because once again, those damn football shoulders.

V-necks and regular t-shirt collars are okay but square necks, or boat necks are OUT.

Pants that flare at the bottom – straight legs bring attention to my wide load, otherwise known as my hips and butt.

I can wear low-waisted pants, but only if I wear a top that comes to my hips. Remember the whole long-waisted problem? This way, it all blends.

And that’s it. Everything else? Doesn’t work for me.

My options are limited. My wardrobe is boring.

And I’ve given up on trying to be sexy.

4 thoughts on “Want My Clothes? Here Take Them. Please.”

  1. I don’t know why clothes have to be so frustrating. At least you’ve figured out what to look for. That’s a start!

    I can’t really sympathize with you on the height thing (I”m 5’2″), but clothes are frustrating for me just the same. That’s because I don’t have a waist. If pants fit my waist, they are baggy everywhere else and slide down as I walk. If a shirt fits my waist, it’s baggy on the shoulders/chest area and I tend to flash everyone as it slides around. No winning here!

    Oh, and I have people asking me all the time when I”m due. I just look at them and say, “The same day you are.” It’s irritating, but I’ve learned to not let it get to me too much. Many times, I DO look pregnant just because that’s the way my body is shaped!

  2. I hear you on the highwater pants thing. My inseam is 34 inches, just the same as Dave’s. Levi’s are pretty much the only TALL jeans that fit length wise. They actually look normal and everything. I also have a long torso so I’m just stretched out all over. I don’t have football shoulders though. Mine are teensy tiny and straps fall off of them constantly. Plus, they’re so small my gigantic hips look even wider than they are. Good times.

  3. LOL! Boy, can I SO relate to that!!

    And my husband (gently) suggested the big and tall and that’s exactly what I said – “they are all about the big, not the tall!!”

    Thanks for your comment. 🙂

  4. I’m sorry for your pain. I can empathize – my husband is tall, like Amazon tall. You’d think he could just go to the “big & tall” section of the department store, but we’ve learned over the years it’s for the “big” not for the “tall.” It’s a struggle, for sure…

    And, I had to laugh at your comment about t-shirts not being sexy for your hubby. Last year, I got tired of my t-shirt wardrobe, so I went out and bought a really cute top. I was so proud of myself. I finally had a cute shirt to wear on date nights with my husband!

    The next date night I got ready, put on the shirt, met my hubby in the living room, and announced I was ready. He turned around and said, “Why are you wearing a pajama top?”

    Argh. I just can’t win…

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