An (A)Typical Shopping Venture
I wake up early, giving myself enough time to get ready. I take extra care with my hair and make-up, knowing I’m going to be spending a lot of time looking at myself in a mirror, only putting mascara on my top lashes. I deliberately plan my outfit- choosing a pair of jeans, as they will go with anything, and a fashionable top that makes me look and feel good. I put on a pair of boots, even though I probably should wear flats, because they make it easier to walk tall when you want to cry. Once ready, I climb into my car and drive to the mall, getting there not long after opening to secure my parking spot near Nordstrom.
I get out of the car, grabbing my purse and headphones. I walk in with Lizzo blaring in my ears (because, of course) and, like a plane on autopilot, immediately head upstairs. I start making my way through racks and racks of clothes, first looking for garments I like then for garments should fit. More often than not I’ll grab something in two sizes just in case. It doesn’t take long for me to feel people’s eyes staring at me. After all, I’m the size of an average six- or seven-year-old yet am walking around unsupervised in the adult clothing section...not something most people see every day.
Finally, I make my way to a dressing room and start trying on clothes. I take my time, trying on something in the larger size first. Tops are easy...usually. I had finally found a men’s style blazer and am cautiously optimistic that it will fit. I slip it on and, surprisingly, it is the perfect length. The sleeves, on the other hand, are too, too long. I’m neither shocked nor upset...I’m disappointed. I’m faced with a dilemma: Do I give up on this great find or spend more money to have the sleeves altered (and lose the buttons on the cuffs)? I send pictures to my mom (who is not allowed to shop with me) and my aunt (who is) because they are quite familiar with my struggles with clothing. Both agree that the alterations will be worth it.
I set the jacket off to the side and keep trying on clothes. Nothing is fitting right and with each item I find myself getting more and more frustrated. I finally try on a final pair of pants. They’re high-waisted, flowy, with a split leg. Lo and behold they fit...well almost. I could probably make a second pair of pants with the excess fabric that will wind up on the cutting room floor. Again, I ask myself, are they worth it? After all, these aren’t a pair of jeans I can wear with anything. I send pictures to my mom and my aunt and wait...and wait...and wait. Unable to wait any longer I FaceTime my mother, hoping at least the ringing phone will remind her to check her text messages (sorry, not sorry mom). She answers and I show her the pants. This time I’m not asking for her approval for alterations, I’m asking if they’re possible. She says yes and, for the moment, I believe her.
We hang up and I set out on a mission to find a salesperson. I walk onto the main floor and immediately feel people of all ages staring at me again. Yes, it could also be due to the fact that I’m walking around in pants that go way past my feet, but still, I thought our parents taught us it was rude to stare. I finally find a saleswoman who tells me she will send someone from alterations right up and I retreat to the dressing room (easier said than done when you can’t see your feet). A few minutes pass by before I hear a woman ask “Who needs alterations?” I step out and she gives me a familiar look- one of befuddlement (Is she old enough to be wearing these clothes?), understanding (Obviously she needs alterations) and shock (OMG, a dwarf). The moment passes and no more than ten minutes, a few pins, and some chalk lines later the pants are ready to go. I quickly and carefully (do not want to get stuck by a safety pin) change into my jeans and put on the blazer. As she starts measuring she makes a face and says, “You know, I’m going to have to cut off the buttons?” I politely smile and tell her that I’m aware and I want her to cut the sleeves anyways. She nods and quickly marks the jacket and twenty minutes later I’m walking out of the store happy knowing that my new items will arrive on my doorstep within the week.
The rest of the shopping day does not go as planned. I go from store to store, ignoring stares and pointing from both adults and children, singing along to my Spotify playlist. At each store I repeat the process of grabbing items in multiple sizes and trying them on...to no avail. Nothing works... even if altered. A couple hours later and I resign myself to leave the mall empty-handed. I leave the mall as quickly as I can, trying not to draw more attention, and it is not until I get into my car that I allow the tears to flow.
This was an (a)typical shopping day. Why? Because I walked out empty-handed yet I bought two clothing items (typically the only bag I walk out with is my purse). I’m happy, excited for my new clothes, yet all I can focus on are the pairs of eyes, too many to count, staring at me. I can’t shake the feeling that society is telling me I don’t belong. Writing this, I’m fully aware that everyone has clothing struggles. But not everyone walks into a store expecting nothing to fit because it was not designed to fit someone my size.
