This morning I spotted this pink jumpsuit on Instagram and subsequently fell. in. love. It’s no secret that I love (love love) the colour pink, and it’s also no secret that my Instagram feed is totally to blame for most, if not all, of my impulse shopping (almost every ‘I know I shouldn’t have but…’ admission can be swiftly followed by ‘a blogger made me do it!’).
As soon as I saw it in my feed (the blogger to blame this time was WITblog if you’re interested, who shows it off to much better effect than I) I knew I had to have it, so I was pretty disappointed to find it was completely sold out online. A quick scan of the ‘Find it in store’ section revealed that my size was available in the Oxford Circus store however, and that disappointment soon led to joy as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Perfect – I was going into town today for a press day anyway, while there I could pop into Topshop, try it on, and hopefully discover that it was totally hideous in real life so that I didn’t have to spend money that really should be going towards flowers at our wedding, on more pink items of clothing that I probably don’t need.
Of course, I knew it wouldn’t be hideous, and I knew I’d probably love it, and I knew I’d probably buy it. I’m silly like that. A true shopaholic in every sense of the word – once something’s made an impression on me, I need it to be mine regardless of the consequences. I’m one of those folks who’ll buy the second hand Louboutins because they were too much of a bargain not to buy, and then eat beans for a month to make sure I can pay for all the important things in life (bad example – I don’t even like beans but you know what I mean), or in this case apparently I’m happy to forgo flowers at my wedding in favour of a pink jumpsuit (ahem). I’m sure one day I’ll need to grow up and be responsible about my finances, but for now I’m running with the mantra – ‘life is short, buy the shoes’.
Anyway I digress. I made it to Topshop, I found the jumpsuit, I was secretly pretty happy that it wasn’t totally hideous, and I started flipping through the rail to find my size. Only it wasn’t there. Damn website had lied to me. All that awaited me was one long rail of size 8’s! DEVASTATION. (I aint never been a size 8)
‘Ok don’t panic’ I told myself, ‘the size 12 will be waiting for you in the stock room – it HAS to be’. Time to track down a shop assistant and tell her the whole sorry tale. Off she popped to check the stock room for me, while I eagerly awaited her return, scared to move even an inch from the spot she’d left me so that she could find me again. After what felt like an eternity, she returned… with no jumpsuit in hand. DEVASTATION (again). ‘But the website told me…’ I began, before she cut me off with ‘It’s not always reliable… I’m sorry’ (clearly she could see the pain that comes from finding and losing the pink jumpsuit of your dreams). I sighed, thanked her anyway and made towards the exit.
But as I passed the changing rooms, the size 8 jumpsuit still cradled in my arms, I thought ‘Oh to hell with it, I’ll try it on anyway’. Yes it was two sizes too small for me but I figured the lasting image of me trying to squeeze my size 12 ass into it might just be enough to soften the blow. So I grabbed a couple of other pink items (that hopefully would fit – you’ve got to be kind to yourself in changing rooms) and headed on in…
And would you Adam and Eve it, believe it? The size 8 fit, and if I do say so myself looked rather fabulous, and it felt like all my Christmases had come at once.
Is the point of this post simply to alert you to the frankly narcissistic and inane news that I have fit into a size 8 piece of clothing? NO.
The point (I promise I’m getting there) is that this just goes to prove the theory I have long since championed – that the numbers inside of clothes are utter nonsense, mean very little at all and are not worth getting ourselves worked up over. I know what you’re thinking – ‘Well that’s easy for you to say – you just fit into a size 8!’ – but I promise you if you saw my booty in real life you’d know that I am not, nor have I ever been, a size 8. It just so happens that the cut of this particular jumpsuit in this particular shop in this particular size, just works. In the same way that the cut and shape of the size 18 coat I have at home that always gets loads of compliments, just works. The fact is that the number doesn’t really matter. I took my fabulous size 8 jumpsuit home, and tried it on again with my size 14 leather jacket to make it even more fabulous, then I added it to my wardrobe of clothes which ranges from size 10’s (and now 8’s) to size 18’s, and reminded myself that this did not mean I could eat an entire chocolate cake for dinner, because had that same jumpsuit been in Zara I would have been buying the XL (because I would really love to know who on earth fits into their Smalls?).
Every size in every shop is different and I don’t know anyone that’s a set size across the board. Last night I stumbled across a bikini that will be perfect for my honeymoon on Victoria’s Secret but they only had an XS top and a L bottom left in stock. I bought them anyway because I figured I have small-ish boobs and a large-ish bum and it might just work.
I’m not saying I don’t have body hang ups (I do – loads of them), and I’m not saying I’m totally confident to throw my body into any type of fashion regardless (like everyone there’s parts of myself I dislike and go to great lengths to disguise) but what size of clothing I wear has never been an issue for me, in the same way that I never ever weigh myself. I know my body well enough to know when I’m feeling unhappy with it and to know when I’m feeling good with it, I don’t need numbers to tell me otherwise.
So wear an 8, wear an 18, wear men’s clothes, wear kids clothes. Wear the clothes that make you look and feel good and don’t pay any attention to what the number on the tag says.
P.S As you can guess from the title, this post wasn’t planned today, it wasn’t in my schedule and I didn’t have photos edited ready for it, but the words were in my head and I decided to just sit down and write them, and it felt kinda good to do so. This is what my blog used to be like and there’s part of me that misses it a little. I hope you don’t mind the random-ness of today’s musings as I think I’m going to try and make them a more regular thing. Hopefully in future I’ll accompany them with better pictures and more thought out subjects, but for now this will do.
P.P.S You’ll also have noticed (hopefully) that this jumpsuit is pink. A colour that, according to THAT article which has been doing the rounds, I should no longer wear, simply for the fact that I am now 30. I’ll save my rant on why I think that’s ridulous for another day and another post but I only mention it because the amazing Catherine has countered that article with a project of her own entitled #iwillwearwhatilike and will be launching it on Instagram in August. Read the post for more info but the general idea is to post a pic of yourself in one of the 31 things women over a certain age are told they ‘shouldn’t’ wear over each of the 31 days of August. I can’t wait to don this jumpsuit for the ‘candy pink’ day and if you want to join in, see the pic below for the subject order.
So I’ll end by bringing it back to a lighter topic and simply ask, what do you think of my pink jumpsuit? And what do you wear to ‘break the rules’ (hint. there are none)?