Fashionista
I’m no slave to fashion. I don’t follow latest trends – in fact, I barf at a lot of them. Why? Well, for one, I certainly can’t afford it, and for a second, I would never fit in any of ‘em.
I am a large person. My shoulders are 17 inches across (the same as my dad’s) and from there down, I maintain proportionate width. I have never worn a short skirt in my life, because each of my legs is the size of two normal legs.
And yea, I like colours – all of ‘em – but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be wearing them all at once! Bright pinks with brighter and pinker sequins are just not my thing, and neither are white pants.
I have developed my own sense of style over the past years, and really, I’m quite happy with it. Sure I experiment once in a while, but overall, I’m pretty classic. I like clean cuts with no fuss, no frills and no fancy. Of course I like male cuts too, and male-based styles. I’m pretty boring, really. Also, since I hate to shop, I pretty much don’t get to see what else is “on offer”.
One of the many men in my life (we’ll call him ‘Chintu’, by popular demand) hated this fact about me. He hated that I was not hip (although I think I’m fairly ample in that department) and fashionable. "Ohmigosh! You’d actually condescend to be seen in something more than twice?? Eeek!!"
He didn’t like my style, my hair, my figure, my smell (loser!), my clothes, my shoes (double loser!) or anything. I always wondered what it was that he saw in me then, but that’s for a different day. So one day, two weeks into us dating, he decided to go shopping. Without me. For me.
Three hours, thirteen phone calls to my friend, and 4000 bucks later, he met me with several large parcels stuck under his arm. With an impending sense of doom, I made my
way to his bedroom, and began to try ‘em on.
Disaster.
The trousers wouldn’t rise beyond my knees, the shirts couldn’t button, the skirts wouldn’t zip, and one of them looked like a little panty – it was that short! And oh horror! The shoes! They had pointy toes! And heels!!
But I was on an exercise programme then, after being out of action for several months, so all hope was not lost. So one month later, clad in hip beige capris and a figure-hugging black knit top, I dumped his parcels on his lap. Two minutes later, I dumped him.
And celebrated with rich black forest cake.
posted by La Eposa @ 6:58 PM
