This is a jacket I bought the other day. As I was trying it on, my mother pulled a pained face, leaned in and whispered, “Sweetie, I think you need the size up.”
She does this every single time. Anything I try on, even if it’s two sizes too big for me, she tells me in this little whisper, “try the size up”
i took these pictures to prove to myself i’m not imagining things, that i’m not actually subconsciously squeezing myself into a straining piece of barely-there fabric. it’s not flattering but i wasn’t looking to buy a flattering jacket? It was the warmest I could find. And it fits. But just like every single shopping trip I’ve ever been on with my mum, it just about breaks me down and I have to silently cope with all the progress I’ve made with my body image because I know the disdain and scorn I’ll be faced with if I voice it.
This fits me. This fits me. This fits me.