In my early twenties, I had a friend named Cathy. A self-employed silversmith, she was my first fat friend.
Her weight ranged between 200 and around 350, depending on where she was in her current cycle of dieting and regaining.
Though bright and talented, Cathy had dropped out of high school in the ninth grade and only years later returned
to take her equivalency exam so she could enroll in art school.
She'd quit high school, she told me, to escape from the harassment and verbal abuse she experienced there, from
classmates, teachers, even the administrators at her rural school. Her tormentors had targeted her not only for
her weight but her wardrobe: at a size 54, her only attire, in school or out, was one of the two house dresses
she owned from the local Lane Bryant's--the only items of clothing she had been able to find anywhere that fit
her.
Cathy's story illustrates how big a factor clothing is in the lives of fat women. I have often thought how different
my own growing-up might have been--I was a supersize child, too, and my town didn't even have the dubious benefit
of a Lane Bryant store--had it not been for one fact: my mother could sew. And not just sew, exquisitely, but alter
patterns to fit my women's-size child's body, so that her tomboy daughter who disdained any interest in clothes
could have, for all the years of her childhood and adolescence, a wardrobe fit for a storybook princess. Compared
to Cathy, my early years were spent in relative tranquility. This, despite being the only kid in school whose parents
were divorced and the only one living in an extended family with her mother and maternal grandparents--factors
which in the 50's set me apart from my peers almost as much as my weight did.
Looking back, I am certain my relatively hassle-free childhood owed much to my perfect little-girl wardrobe.
It allowed me to pass for normal in a world to which I otherwise did not belong.
Fond memories of the clothes my mother made me, which at the time I never fully appreciated, linger like half-forgotten
fairy tales, marking my passage through the years by association with events along the way. There was the Christmas-red
circle skirt that matched my mother's, complete with appliqu‚d felt poodle with its shiny sequinned collar...the
western shirt with lavishly hand-embroidered yokes that gave life to my Annie Oakley fantasy and was the next best
thing to having a horse...the Easter Parade coat-and-dress ensembles I showed off each year at Sunday School to
admiring "ooh"s and "ah"s.
By the time I reached high school and finally began taking some interest in what I wore, I was already the best-dressed
student there, though size prejudice denied me that title in the school yearbook. My mother, a fat woman herself
(though dieting at the time) and the highest-paid female executive in our city, still managed to keep me fashionably
turned-out through all my high school years. When kilt skirts were the rage I had mine, fastened with the mandatory
oversized gold safety pin at the front. And the year all the women's magazines featured jumpers with matching Mod
caps and spats on their Twiggy clones, my mother produced a copy in my size, right down to the nylon-knit turtleneck
and matching stockings she made that completed the outfit.
But the crowning glory of all the wonderful clothes I remember is a dress I can still picture in fine detail
even today, more than twenty-five years later, a dress she made for me to wear to a dance--the only date I had
during high school. It was like
something out of a dream to me...yards and yards of billowing, floating chiffon in shades of pink from pastel to
deep magenta, gathered at the waist, with a sleeveless shirred bodice and oh-so-slight dcoll‚tage ending in a chiffon
rose. In that dress, with my gold sandals and evening bag, I was Cinderella going to the ball. And even though
my Prince Charming turned into a toad--he subsequently took a thin schoolmate to the prom for show and expected
that I'd still go out with him afterwards--just for one night I got to live a girlish fantasy.
Considering the key role that how we look plays in the socialization of women in our culture, the political
implications for fat women of having, or not having, access to appropriate and affordable attire are the most graphic
demonstration possible of the lack of esteem we are held in by our society--they say we aren't supposed to exist.
This is both personal and political disenfranchisement at their most basic level, cutting us off from even the
most mundane activities--say, a walk around the block if we can't get a coat that fits.
Society's implicitly judgemental attitude (overweight, outsize) becomes explicit when we consider which items
of apparel are not available in which sizes. The severity of restrictions placed on our dress, and by extension
on our lives, is directly proportional to the degree to which we exceed our culture's norms--the greater the measurements,
the smaller the access.
At the lower end of the spec- trum, in what are now called Plus (formerly women's) sizes, the declaration of
BBW magazine's former editor, Linda Arroz, that the fight for fashionable clothing in large sizes is over might
almost seem to be true.
What is true is that the years since the early 80's have seen an explosion in the availability of fashion in
the Plus size range as manufacturers and retailers have finally discovered how big this market really is. The Big,
Beautiful Woman has indeed come a long way from the bullet-proof polyester tents and pantsuits that were the staple
of her wardrobe in the seventies. Almost everything available in Misses sizes is now offered in Plus sizes, from
swimsuits (even bikinis) to wedding gowns and maternity wear. Even some of the last holdouts are coming around--haute
couture designers bringing out lines like Givenchy en Plus, chic upscale departments like Salon Z popping up in
posh stores like Saks Fifth Avenue, and boutiques like Great Changes in Los Angeles catering to Hollywood's stars
of size and their well-heeled sisters.
Mind you, the Plus woman is still segregated to shopping in special stores or sections of stores, and often
by mail, but if she's willing to make the extra effort (and often pay the extra price) she'll find almost everything
she wants. One major exception to this rule is in specialized sports apparel. It can be disheartening to realize
what women over size 14W aren't supposed to do--play in competitition or team sports, for example, though one popular
winter sport has opened up with the availability of skiwear in Plus (and some super) sizes. Fat women who break
the unwritten rule against participation in such activities must create alternative sources for the necessary items
of apparel, like one I know of who competes in horse shows: all her riding habits and boots are custom-made, at
considerable extra expense.
Ironically, for supersize women, the Plus-size revolution only made it harder to find clothing in our size.
Like poor relations, supersize women are in much the same situation today vis a vis Plus sizes that our Plus-size
sisters were to Misses sizes in the late 70's. Each year brings us better options, as what catalog giant J. C.
Penney has dubbed Extended Sizes (26W - 32W) find their way into the Plus range in items in many lines, mostly
sportwear.
There is, in fact, a plethora of sportswear in supersizes, while there is a dearth of just about everything
else. Some beacons of hope have appeared in recent years, with a few retail operations and a proliferation of small
mail-order--and most recently, web-based--clothing catalogs catering to supersize shoppers to size 70 and even
beyond. Even those bellwethers of large-size fashion, Lane Bryant and Roaman's, now offer most of the items in
their catalogs up to 32W, or 52, with a surprising number of tops, pants and yes, dresses in 54 and 56. Had my
friend Cathy been attending high school today, the variety of reasonably acceptable clothing available might have
afforded her considerable relief from the size harassment she suffered.
Though most resources are low on dresses and even lower on two-piece suits, it is now possible for a supersize
woman to find a selection of well-made, fashionable clothing appropriate to a career in the office, hospital, classroom
or lab. This represents a major step up from the 1980's and reflects the increasing consensus in our country that
size discrimination is unfair.
But if supersize women are now permitted in the office and at the beach, other restrictions still remain: the
supersize woman going to the prom, having a formal church wedding, or up for CEO will still come up short on appropriate
attire. And for the fattest of us, perhaps the truest test of how far we've come, the answer is almost no distance
at all. Thousands of supersize women a fraction of the size of the late Walter Hudson--the world's heaviest man
at around 1200 pounds--live as he did before his unwelcome celebrity, cloistered in their homes. They are imprisoned
as much by lack of wardrobe as by socially-sanctioned self-hatred and size abuse.
As supersize women become more visible--and more vocal--like our Plus-size sisters did in the '80's, so will
the supply of available clothing in the upper ranges. The catch-22 cycle that keeps us chained--no clothes means
no access to jobs, and no jobs means no money to buy clothes--is the end result of a system that values our worth
as women according to how well we conform to the prevailing cultural aesthetic.
The restrictions placed on our dress directly reflect the degree of stigma attached to our size, from that of
second-class citizen to pariah. To break the chain means challenging this hierarchy, as persistent and resourceful
fat women are doing in increasing numbers, carving niches in the job market wide enough to accommodate their abilities
and somehow acquiring the wardrobes necessary for their professional and personal lives. To begin, we need to establish
in place of the narrowly-defined standard judging us inferior by degree a broad-based aesthetic, one that validates
diversity and affirms the beauty and strength in every shape and size. When we believe that everybody is good,
right, and beautiful, we make it possible for everyone to look and feel good at any size. Then the politics of
dress becomes empowerment: fashion in our own image, a vision embracing every aspect of our lives as people of
all sizes work together to create a size-friendly, size-informed, and ultimately size-blind world.
Karen Stimson is a writer, poet, graphic designer and long-time radical supersize activist who serves as
Co-Director of Largesse, the Network for Size Esteem.