being the cool aunt

something my niece said to me today is going to be the perfect segue into a post on the concept of retail therapy.

i have to say, i really like what i was wearing today. when i was in canada recently i bought a very cute black waistcoast (vest, for the americans/canadians reading). i have a long black flowy skirt from zara with beading on it, which i paired it with - together with a gorgeous sheer pale dusky pink shirt i have. the shirt has ruffles at the front, and long sleeves with flowy long cuffs. i had the silky ruffles falling from inside the lapels of the waistcoat; a feminine highwayman, if you please.

when my niece saw me this morning (i'm staying with them this shabbat) she exclaimed "i love love LOVE your clothes!" My niece is eight, nearly nine, and just about the most girly girl you can imagine. she likes clothes, and ballet, and barbies, and make-up. She is just about as far away from the nerdy bookworm I was at her age that it is possible to imagine (not because I was fat at her age, I wasn't. But I was a shy, awkward bookworm all the same).

My niece often compliments me on my clothes. In the same vein, one of my friends recently told me that she thinks I'm the best dresser she knows. I was almost rendered speechless by that compliment.

There is so much behind my reactions to things like that. Being the cool aunt that my pretty, girly niece admires. Being someone who is seen as cool or funky at all! If we go chronologically, then I'd say it's the nerdy little kid who was always bullied for being uncool that finds it quite amazing.

Then, of course, comes the fat, awkward teenager, who was never complimented on what she wore or what she looked like. okay, it was the eighties, but still. (and in fact, i cringe when i think of what i had to wear during the eighties even when i dieted and spent about six months at a kind of normal weight - baggy sweatshirts and leggings are not the ideal wardrobe for someone curvy like me. I need to accentuate my hourglass figure, or I just end up hiding my figure altogether.

But things just got worse after that. I lost weight briefly when I was sixteen during my first foray into weightwatchers, but by 17 it was all back on again. I felt like an alien when my friends would discuss what to buy where, where they'd found a particularly cute skirt/pair of trousers/top. When they'd pore over fashion magazines. I was an alien, let's face it. None of those clothes would have fit me. When I got to my all-time high of 250lbs...well, I don't even need to say it, do I.

If I'd done anything other than sink into myself when anyone mentioned the joys of retail therapy, it would have been to laugh bitterly. What did I know of retail therapy? Retail torture, more like. Every time I went to any mall, all I could do when I saw the shops with all their gorgeous trendy clothes would be to walk past, on my way to the one outsize shop that had sizes for elephants like me. Those shops were for people from other planets; it would be too humiliating to even walk in. I was sure that people in there would just look at me as if to say - what's she doing in here? Nothing in here will fit her.

My friends often tell me that even when I was very overweight I still looked good; that I dressed well, etc. (That I always had a pretty face, etc). And of course, I tried to buy nice clothes. Tried to select from the one or two shops that catered to my size the clothes that weren't made for grandmas. But actually going shopping...picking up clothes from the racks and taking them into the changing rooms to try them on? A very particular form of torture - from having to face what size I was picking off the rack, to having to look at myself in a full-length mirror. I didn't do that very often. I just felt loathing when I did. I wanted to recoil from myself. How can you escape, when it's your own body that you want to escape from? I often wonder what kind of stresses my body was under when I think of how I loathed it myself. Can your cells understand how much you are repulsed by them? How much you long to be someone else? Somone normal? Like all your friends, who can go into shops and get whatever they want?

As I lost weight, shopping for clothes gradually became easier. (It was damn expensive, going through approximately 7 clothing sizes, but oh so worth it!) At first it was just exciting to be buying smaller sizes, although I still didn't like the reflection in the mirror. I remember the time I first realised I could shop in regular shops, even though I was still buying the bigger sizes. As the sizes went down, the joy increased. It wasn't till I got to about 175lbs that I could look in the mirror with anything like approval, and really it wasn't till about 165lbs that I could really be relatively happy with what I saw. Oh, there are still flaws even now, at 152lbs, and it's still not perfectly easy to buy clothes - my waist is disproportionately small compared to butt/hips and so it's rare to find trousers/skirts that are truly flattering - but I buy a zillion and one tops.

I have a lot of clothes now - and that's all clothes that fit me, too. I've given away or sold an awful lot of clothes that I bought whilst my weight was on the way down. And I guess I know how to dress, too, since I get such compliments for being a good dresser/stylish/etc.

But the thing is, the real thing is, that I finally get what retail therapy is all about. Buying clothes really can make me feel better now.

It's still not always easy looking at myself in the mirror when I'm in the changing room. There are so many flaws; I've not finished losing the weight, and my body bears the scars of my battle with obesity, and short of plastic surgery they'll never go away. I've also discovered a truth that my more 'normal' friends always knew - that even 'normal' weight people carry their weight differently, and so different styles suit different people. There are some clothes I can't wear because they just don't suit my shape. But there are other clothes I can wear that wouldn't suit someone else. That's the way it is, and that's fine.

But now, when I go shopping, it's with real pleasure. I'm not looking for clothes to hide in, clothes that I'm constantly pulling at to make sure they're not clinging to unsightly bulges. I'm looking for clothes to accentuate my tiny waist, to highlight the hourglass. I'm seeing a defined jawline in the mirror. (I don't think I'll ever ever take my collarbone for granted; I just love the fact there are hollows now, and defined bones...)

When I go to the shops and find something that particularly suits me...well, the joy I feel is, I expect, beyond what any 'regular' person experiences when they think of retail therapy. There's so much more behind it; not least, of course, the memory that a few years ago I couldn't have done this at all. I'd have had to walk past those shops, feeling humiliated, feeling alienated... an outsider in so many ways. Verboten.

Even discussing the various clothes I pick up with sales assistants has lost its sting. I remember trying on a skirt a few months ago. It just wasn't flatternig; it gathered at the waistband, and the way it hung was just bad on me. The sales assistant agreed; said it wasn't flattering, made me look big. And I didn't feel hurt, didn't feel humiliated. It was true; it wasn't flattering on my figure. Didn't do anything for me. When I discuss sizes with the sales assistants, it's the same thing. There is no pain in saying that I'm a UK size 14 on the bottom, while usually a 10 on the top. Oh, there's still joy when I fit into a size 12, and I still can't quite believe I'm a 10 on top (unless we're talking button-down shirts - my bust size often makes a size 10 too small in those). And I still *want* to get down to a size 12 bottom. But there's no shame in what I am. It's just fact... it's better, actually - I worked to get this. I defeated considerable odds to get this. And if I do always see the flaws when I look in the mirror, I also see the positives. I can look damn good in clothes. Sexy, even. I am very curvy, and while that has its difficulties, it also has positives. I wear figure-hugging clothes now. I walk tall, most of the time, and feel good. I buy clothes. And more clothes. And more clothes. Sometimes I want to scream with joy when I try something on and it looks fantastic. This was not me, a few years ago. I spent years excluded from these joys that should belong to everyone.

I don't think I'll ever take it for granted.