WARNING: There will be a lot of mentioning of vaginas, things related to vaginas, the area around vaginas, and words related to The Vagina. Also, my ranting leads to lack of punctuating. This is to read as if I am speaking to you quickly, angrily and without many pauses for air.
On the long and growing list of things that frustrate me and sometimes send me into spirals of inner rage, plus sized clothes is on the top of my White Person Problems list. Sure, I have regular survival problems such as: house payment anxiety, affording food and beverage, not being able to afford health insurance, job searching, etcetera, etcetera. But I also have to keep myself clothed due to laws and general care for the public who should never ever see me unclothed.
Most of my life I’ve been between sizes or size sets. As a young child I was too skinny for most clothing until puberty hit, then I was too big for normal and too small for big. This liminal state of clothing sizes has been with me for most of my life. At some point during my later college years, due to Chronic Illness and the necessity to just eat whatever I had time to grab, I made it to a size 22.
And that’s when the issue of pants became a metaphoric monster in my life. I had previously been an average sized, attractive young woman who wore skirts most of the time and owned one pair of jeans that I would begrudgingly put on if I were going to ride a horse or climb rocks or something. But when the curse of being plus sized hit, I found that I now looked like a giant bloated circus tent whenever I wore my pretty skirts. I had to sacrifice my own personal style in order to be presentable at my job and in the public. So I set out with my meager funds to find myself a pair of pants.
When I did this I found I ran into some major problems:
1) I wore my pants at my belly button or a bit below, and not at hip level, so I needed a bigger size in the waist area.
2) Because of this the legs of the pants were usually huge, the ass was baggy, and they were either way too long or way too short.
3) Most of the pants were elastic or had no form of hugging the skin, holding in the fat or being any kind of appealing what so ever. They actually made my stomach look bigger, as if some mutated midget-elephant-alien had impregnated me.
4) They flattened my ass.
Maybe some girls need their asses flattened, but the one good asset, (haha), that I kept out of this horrid weight gain was my nice rounded ass.
5) The Biggest and most horrible problem was that of the extra vagina room.
Now I remember way back to my sophomore year of college, my roommate talking about fat vaginas. She said that when some ladies gained weight, they gained it “down there.” I remember observing women more closely, especially overweight and morbidly obese ladies, to see if they had fat vaginas. Some of them did, they gained that extra pooch down there. Their pants bulged in it. :-/
Also since I wasn’t very discreet about my vagina watching, I often got dirty looks. Although, due to my very open and gay college’s credit, most of them flirted with me, thinking I was checking them out. I met some nice ladies.
However, thankfully I had not gained weight in the vagina region. She was perfectly unmarred from the attack of fat that had reshaped the rest of my body.
But the fashion industry begged to differ. I was a size 22 so I must have a shit ton of extra pooch down there. My upper thighs near the vagina region must be overflowing with layers.
Every time I tried on pants I felt rant after rant forming in my head. Why? Why do I feel like I need a fat vagina or a really large cock to properly wear these pants? Am I freak of nature? Am I the only fat girl to never gain weight down there? Is that why all these pants are made this way? For the love of Odin, why?!
I felt my only recourse was to lose weight as fast as I could. Prior to this shopping experience, I was back on my regular workout and eating schedule, but it just wasn’t working fast enough. I had to lose it all so I wouldn’t have to waste money on a pair of fat vagina pants I looked like crap in anyway.
All attempts at developing and eating disorder failed. Apparently my gag reflex doesn’t work very well, and the last time I didn’t eat very much I actually gained weight and the wrath of my cardiovascular system attacked me for my lack of calorie intake. Also, I like food and watching a documentary in my women’s studies class about women with eating disorders had some affect.
I can be a bit impressionable when I watch certain things; every time I watch Super Size Me I get sick at the sight of fast food and don’t touch the stuff for months. Maybe I should have watched fucking Super Size Me when I was gaining the weight and I would have just munched on some fucking carrots or something because Frigga knows I didn’t have the metabolism to deal with all that eating out! Even when I was eating healthy and working out my body couldn’t process calories properly and I was gaining weight. I think the horror of searching for home with limited means, trying to get through the most challenging classes of my college career, and becoming increasingly debilitated from my various illnesses caused some cognitive impairment.
(If anyone ever goes back in time and runs into me about two years ago, tell to watch Super Size Me over and over again and go to a Chiropractor, it doesn’t matter if this blog about Vagina pants never exists. I don’t think it will create a rift in time.)
Done with digressing, back on subject:
I recently had gotten a new job where I needed a pair of black professional pants. And even with the extra baggy room, the pants looked better than my skirts. So I resigned myself to yet another search.
And this time I found the most comfortable pair of pants my body has ever had the privilege of wearing.
I remember standing in the JC Penny plus size Fitting room, staring at the pants, how my butt looked good, how the material was stretchy but not elastic, soft but not so soft that you could see every imperfection of the legs underneath. Sure, they were a bit big in the waist and vagina area, but they were as close to perfect as I could get. When I got to the cash register they were 70% off. I though that this surely must be a sign from the shopping Goddesses that all would be well while I settled in for the long wait of weight loss.
And then I got home.
Has this ever happened to you? You try something on in the store and it is almost perfect, and then you get home and realize that it isn’t perfect. It is far from perfect. It’s too big here, too small there. Maybe the lighting in the store fooled you; the mirrors did a trick of making you think you looked good.
The Pros: The pants were still very comfortable. My butt still looked good, they weren’t too long or too short.
The Cons: The pants pushed my handles up and made them more noticeable, they would become baggy after walking around for a day in them, so much so that I needed to wash and dry them every night so they would fit me for at least an hour the next day, and they had so much vagina room that I could easily gain another twenty-five pounds and pack it all down there.
Now I look at these pants and am disgusted that I ever remotely fit into them. I’ve lost at least a pants size since I bought them and every once in a while when I have to wear them due to loss or dirtiness of other pants, I feel the fat vagina pants rage fill me.
Author’s Note: Once again, please forgive me for the constant run-on sentences. When I rant I don’t stop for air.