you like my outfit?

a brief weekend thought about being fat and fetch

Lately, I keep getting complimented on my outfits. I think this is happening for two reasons: One, my outfits are good. Two, instead of waking up each day and spider-walking to my closet like a vomit-encrusted Linda Blair to grab whichever eternally oil-spotted sweatpants seem good (WFH) or which reliably unremarkable all-black or denim fit I’ve worn a million times (office), I spend more time and energy on the process and shop my closet, pushing myself to wear items I bought in the throws of a deluded fantasy in which when I fancied myself the Type of Person Who Will Wear A Thing, only to never wear it again when reality hits and I realize I Have Never Been and Will Never Be The Type of Person to Wear That Thing.

So yes, all of this effort and thought has yielded good results and it’s always nice when people say so. The other day someone told me that I’m the best dressed person in my office, and this was the same week that several other colleagues commented on my clothing, some of whom I’d never met and simply noticed me in line for lunch. While I’m sure some will assume my Leo ass is writing about this to let everyone know how good I look, I would ask that you stay with me — there is a larger point. This is only partially about letting everyone know how good I look.

It occurred to me that when you compliment a fat person on their outfit, or tell them they’re the best dressed, or in any way let them know you’ve noticed them for their clothing, it’s the outcome of a tremendous amount of effort on their part, effort that extends far beyond the very mundane process of selecting clothing to put on your body. I don’t think people realize how hard it is for stylish fat people to find the pieces they’re wearing (last year I wrote about the grueling process to find a plus size formal dress I actually wanted to wear, as one example), to build up a sense of personal style with limited merchandise and limited inspiration, as well as a sense of confidence in their own choices after years of being told there’s only one or two ways a fat person can or should dress. In fact, the very idea of being noticed at all wasn’t supposed to be for us — if you’re a fat person, your job is to balance out the failure of your own corporeal existence by making yourself as small or as invisible as possible.

For me, receiving an outfit compliment as a fat person almost always feels like a shock — no matter how many times I get one, I’m always left feeling like ‘what do you MEAN I look good??????” and sometimes there’s a tiny part of me (the tiny Amanda inside of me, maybe) that wonders if somehow, everything is just sixth grade homeroom and the compliment is some kind of pre-bullying test or trick. I also still have to resist the self-deprecating urge to be like “No, oh my god, I literally don’t even know what I put on this morning, LOVE your jacket though.” I absolutely still do this, but sometimes I manage to remember all of the shitty shopping trips, the pre-event meltdowns, the days I literally cancelled plans because I couldn’t bring myself to be perceived, the beautiful clothes that never fit (why??) and all the ugly clothes that always fit (WHY??) and (perhaps the worst of them all) the almost-perfect clothes that fit but have one completely ruinous detail (peplum, shoulder cutout, unfortunate print situation) and I’m like you know what? I EARNED THIS GODDAMN COMPLIMENT. I EARNED THE RIGHT TO FEEL LIKE THIS STUPID LITTLE OUTFIT IS A SLAY.

And then usually by that time, the person complimenting me is likely to be wondering why I seem to be lost in thought and I’m wondering if I should say thank you and accept it or be demure and reject it and then the whole exchange goes on for a bit too long before being over and I go home and write about it here.

All this to say:

Compliment your local stylish fat person this weekend. They deserve it.