I know weight is a universal battle for many people, especially women. I’m very grateful it’s not one of my issues, though I have plenty of others.
I do think you have to discover what looks good on you, whatever your shape happens to be.
I’m tall and skinny, but my legs lengthen from the knees up, not down, therefore something long doesn’t compliment me at all. My friend Camille’s legs do the opposite so when she slithers into a gown or skirt, she does it justice. I look like I’m wearing a potato sack that zips up the back.
She’s also chestier than I am brandishing cleavage like Elizabeth Taylor. I need to tape those babies up, so instead, go for tight and fitted rather than out and in your face.
I’ve mentioned another model we know named Tabitha who in her sixtieth year put on a few pounds. When we met at the Carlyle for drinks she was stuffed into a wraparound dress that had her spilling over the sides. It was an eyesore to say the least, like her skin was running away from home.
If it were me or Camille making such a fashion faux pas, we could tell the other in polite terms…IF YOU DON’T GO HOME AND CHANGE YOU CAN’T COME TO DINNER… but because Tabitha is more of an acquaintance, it made the whole thing much harder.
I opted for tact.
‘Tabitha, isn’t that dress a little uncomfortable, the way it’s pulling across the front?” (her boobs were smashed against her chest like broken headlights)
“A little, but like my mom always said, you gotta suffer to be beautiful.”
“Yeah, but to what degree,” added Camille.
“You’re so beautiful Tabby. I bet you’d look great in a plain, straight sheath…you know, like Jackie always wore.”
“Ugh…she was so boring in all that Cassini crap. No, Versace has me all over it.”
“It certainly does,” said Camille. Tabitha is a little slow on the take so Camille’s digs eluded her for the most part. I of course, was mortified. I wanted her to change, not go home and hang herself.
It’s hard when your whole life has been about your looks because when they change, you better be ready. I look at myself sometimes and say, who the fuck are you? That’s not my cute button nose, and why are my thighs waving like banners? It’s like seeing yourself in a fun house mirror, just on your own wall.
I have to say men weren’t too turned off by Tabitha’s flesh that seemed to be expanding before our very eyes. I decided she was retaining water from all the bar nuts she was eating. Her body seemed to be suddenly filled with helium.
I knew Camille wanted to escape, but how. You didn’t want to hurt her sarong’s feelings. There had to be a way to get her safely into a blouse and a pair of pants.
Then the matter, like so many, was taken at least, out of my hands. A man at the bar somehow knocked over my glass of red wine all over guess whose white, skimpy ensemble? Tabitha looked as if she’d been shot. I eyed Camille’s elbow whistling, pleading innocent.
“Oh no,” she said, “look at me. I can’t go to Tao like this.” Tao being a big social, pick-up place for sexy singles, the biggest reason I had no desire to go. Imagine the butcher’s but instead of Elsie, you’re the one featured on a hook.
Camille, pretending to feel bad shook her head.
“No you certainly can’t go like that…Let me put you in a cab…my treat, and we can go carouse another night.”
Tabitha, as though she were just hit over the head, let Camille do just that while I waited at the bar.
“Well you sure took care of that,” I said, when Camille got back.
‘”There was no way I was being seen with a 5 foot nine pork sausage on a Friday night.”
“And if it was a Wednesday?”
“I might have agreed to pizza.”