It all began on Melrose Ave. As I pranced from aisle to aisle, I stumbled upon something tantalizing, in a particular shade of sapphire. The color itself, so singular and distinct, made me stop in my tracks. As I pulled it off the rack, I realized that I was in for more than I bargained for. It was a silky BCBG two-piece suit, with surgeon sleeves and structured shoulders, in pristine condition. Around me hung second-hand pants, with stains, rips and missing buttons. But this ensemble, did not have one missing thread or zipper. It was perfect, and better yet, it was in my size.
With eagerness, I bypassed the other sections of jackets, shirts and shoes, and took to the fitting rooms. When I got to my enclosed room, reality and apprehension set in. What if it doesn’t fit? How could I let this heavily-discounted, beautiful piece of craftsmanship go? So, I tried on everything else I had brought in, avoiding the suit.
As a petite, but very curvy woman, I’ve often had trouble finding clothes that work for me. It’s always a bit of a compromise. The fabric is great, and the fit is great, so I’ll overlook the longer sleeves. Or, the legs fit great, but the waist is too loose-that’s okay I’ll cinch it with a belt. It’s always a diplomatic negotiation with the fabric, style and hemlines. But I longed to find something that didn’t require compromise.
When I finally slipped the suit on, I immediately felt a shift in my disposition. All lingering doubt vanished, and confidence flowed through all 5 feet 4 inches of me. I was shocked by the visceral effect it had on me. But nonetheless, it was a flawed fit. Hem lines hung recklessly, and the waistline was barely able to stay buttoned. But I was in love. There was no way I was giving up on this suit. So, I decided to do something I’ve never done before: go to a tailor.
After some extensive research, I came across a woman who worked just down the street from me. She had your run-of-the-mill reviews concerning her apt skill, timing and flexibility. She also had one griping comment from someone who had contacted her on a holiday, and been turned away for her inconsiderateness, but that didn’t bother me. In fact the idea that someone with real human emotions and concerns would be working on my garment, suited me.
I met Alex at her second story apartment, not knowing what to expect. My previous experiences with tailoring consisted of my mom hemming my pants haphazardly throughout junior high school, and the occasional trip to the dry cleaners for a touch up here or there. I threw on the suit for Alex and she immediately got to work. I watched her in a state of zen, as she delicately pushed and pulled the fabric, effortlessly manipulating it into the perfect form with a few push pins. I felt comforted by her touch, like a child being rocked to sleep by it’s mother.
What began as a simple hemming, quickly turned into a full-blown tailoring session. Seams were taken in to cater to my diminutive waist, while various buttons were moved to accommodate a little extra breathing room in the hips. Before my eyes, the suit transformed from an outfit into a second skin. The suit was no longer wearing me; I was wearing it.
It cost me a pretty penny to get all the work done in the end-more than what I will make for writing this piece. But when I compared the price of a custom-made suit to my tailored thrift find, the numbers came nowhere near close-not even in the same decimal place. This led me to question why I had never gotten anything tailored before. I mean why depend on standard sizes, when you can make your own?
It’s no secret that the fashion industry has historically favored skinny women. Models are expected to be 6 foot somethings, with a trim figure. In the 1990s, a batch of hourglass beauties, including the likes of Emme, Mia Tyler, and Angellika Morton, began to shake up the stale industry with their curves, but overall, plus size models maintained their position somewhere along the outskirts of the industry. Major milestones continue to be surpassed year after year (Candice Huffine became the first plus size model to be featured in a Pirelli calendar in 2014; Robyn Lawley became the plus size model to be featured in a swimsuit edition of _Sports Illustrated_ in 2015; Khloe Kardashian’s line, Good American, launched in 2016, offering jeans from size 00 to size 24 Ashley Graham became the first plus size model to walk in a Michael Kors runway show in 2017), but oftentimes, plus size models are relegated to peripheral roles within the modeling sphere.
Casting models as “plus” sized further perpetuates the idea that they aren’t part of the norm. We don’t call 00 and 0 “mini-sized,” so why label those on the opposite end of the spectrum? The reality is that fashion is exclusive, and although it is making strides at becoming more inclusive, it can only do so much to combat its own history. Although it’s possible to have moments of pure kismet waltzing into a store and finding the perfectly fitted blouse or pair of trousers, more often than not there will be some extra fabric tugging here, or hanging there. It’s not always the fault of the designers or industry at large. It has more to do with the very system in which clothing was originally categorized.
Standard sizing, for women, began in the 1940s. Girls were assigned sizes based on age, while women were guided to the right fit based on their bust size. Since age and bust size are in no way the defining characteristics of overall body size, various iterations were developed to replace archaic systems over the years, often taking height and girth into greater account. But flaws still abounded. In 1983 the Department of Commerce redacted it’s standard sizing guides, which was later replaced in 1995 by ASTM International’s own guide. This change resulted in sizes becoming even murkier indicators of fit. What was once considered a size 8 in 1958, became a size 14 in 2008. This phenomenon, known as vanity sizing, reflected the often confusing nature of sizing. Sizes weren’t dependable, and moreover, they reflected each company’s personal opinion of scale. To this day, sizing is largely unregulated. A “small” at one store could be considered a “large” at another. It’s all relative. Brandy Melville’s uniform “one size” approach reflects their personal taste for miniscule models and consumers, and minimizes the very real notion that no two bodies are made equally.
Industry advertising and consumer sizing both contribute to the creation of a socially acceptable body type. If you don’t look like the models in the magazines, and don’t fit into the sizes offered at department stores, you are made to feel like an outcast. The beauty of bespoke, is that consumers can circumnavigate the system. Instead of succumbing to the pressures to conform to ready-to-wear styles and contort your body to fit made-to-measure sizes, you can alter clothing, to fit your singular shape. The truth of the matter is, I was worthy of my sapphire second-skin all along; now, it’s worthy of me too.
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_illustrations by_ **Daryn Ray**
