My new coat: Yup, yak! Yuk it up!

This is what my new coat looks like.

I bought a coat the other day. It’s a coat I absolutely do not need. It’s not practical. It doesn’t hide my multitude of sins, real or perceived. It doesn’t do what I ask most clothes to do for me: hide me and my imperfect body.

What it does do, however, is make me giggle. It makes me smile! And the only place I’ve had it on, so far, is in the dressing room. I slipped it on, grinned in the mirror and laughed out loud. I stepped out of the fitting room and showed the sales associates. I asked for their honest opinion and they told me I look great in it. They did confirm it’s not slimming but it’s not boxy. They pulled out different garments I could pair it with. Truly though, they didn’t need to — the moment that coat made me laugh, I was sold. Is it me? Is it not me? Who am I?

For most of my life, I’ve been blessed with a voluptuous figure. Fluctuating weight and a cycle of yo-yo diets didn’t help. I’ve never thanked my body for all that it does for me; instead, belittling it. Shaming it. Dressing to hide it. I remember being on one of many beach holidays with My Favourite Husband, trying to hide my body. He snapped at me in exasperation saying, “Why don’t you wear a bedsheet?” I probably would’ve if I could’ve.

But body positivity wasn’t a thing years ago and even one-off comments would send me scuttling back to the black side of my wardrobe should I hear a whisper of anything derogatory. 

One of my most embarrassing moments came the first time I dared set foot in a downtown bridal shop looking for a wedding dress. I stepped into the shop and tentatively to a rack of gowns. 

After about five minutes a smarmy sales woman came up to me, looked me in the eye and said: “We don’t have anything that would fit you in our store.” Humiliated, I left and drove home. MFH greeted me at the door, excited to hear about my adventure but wondering why I was home so quickly. I did my best to hold back both my tears and him as I told him. After I calmed him down, I said I wasn’t wearing a wedding dress to our wedding and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted a wedding. 

He called my Mom — thank God, not in front of me — and told her what happened. She let me settle down and stew on it for awhile, knowing I would tell her about it eventually. Then she plotted with a sister-in-law and found a few bridal shops that had gowns in a wide variety of sizes. And, a few months later, made me call in to work sick with some lame -ss excuse and took me bridal dress shopping. The stores we visited couldn’t understand why I was told I’d have no choices. I wasn’t at the small end of sizing but I wasn’t at the top end. And so, like many other brides to be, I, too, had a selection of dresses to try on for the big day.

Comments like that stuck, though. Did I hear many comments? I did not. But when you grow up  with a busty, curvy figure, sticking out and not fitting in was not a plus. 

So I dressed to fit in. I did not dress to accentuate anything but to diminish everything but my head. It was quite ridiculous. MFH learned to accept it — the oversized clothing meant to hide me; the tugging down of shorts. He loved me the way I was — there was never a word at all about my weight, no matter how much I gained or lost. 

It’s with regret that I say I wish I would’ve reached the “fuck you, I don’t care what you think, I’m wearing what I want” stage earlier. As in when he was alive. I think he would’ve been happy to see me, be me. But it was when he died and I was suddenly on my own that many things changed, including my fashion choices. I’ve slowly been discovering that not everything has to hide and that not everything has to be a “curvy girl” choice. Not everything has to be dark colours. Maybe it’s just that my whole world flipped and I decided I wasOK if this flipped, too. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s a combination of both. 

My T-shirts are a little tighter and the necklines dip lower. I no longer try and hide my ample bosom. It’s not a secret! My jeans hug my bottom a little snugger. I wore a bikini top in Mexico for my birthday holiday. And cutoffs! Baby steps but I like how I look. And, truthfully, working out in the pool and eating a wee bit healthier means I enjoy how I look even more.

So, what does this all have to do with the coat? Well, it’s called a shaggy faux fur coat. It reminds me of a yak. I kind of look like a yak in it but in a good way. It’s soft and has a boho, hippy kind of vibe. And it makes me smile. And, apparently, laugh. 

Did I think about it? Yup. After I sashayed my fine self out, showed the sales ladies and sashayed my fine self back into the dressing room, I paused for an honest, contemplative look. And I thought about a friend of mine who is a beautiful curvy woman as well. This woman wears whatever she wants and she wears it with confidence. She tucks her shirts in if she wants — scandalous! She wears loose, flowy, tight, fitted. Any shape or colour. The only opinion that matters is hers. I asked her if she’s always been this confident and she said yes. She’s always been plus size and always worn whatever she wants. And, I will attest, she wears it well and without hesitation. 

That crossed my mind as I paused in the dressing room. This coat obviously makes me happy.

I rarely try on clothes that make me laugh out loud from joy and not because of self deprecation. Isn’t buying and wearing something because I’m happy reason enough to buy it, wear it, enjoy it?

So I bought it. Another small step in the adventures of a girl trying to consider the options of others but ultimately settling on the opinion of the only person who matters.