Quit Your Whining.

Something that constantly plagues my mind, as a young specimen of the fairer sex in this whirlwind of a modern world, is the amount of girl friends I have that insist they have an unfortunate body shape. Their “thighs are too squishy,” their abs aren’t “cut” enough, their arms are too flabby—namely, they deem themselves porkers. Of course, none of these girls are. Now, it is with my kindest tone and most gracious sense of eagerness that I ask you not to stop reading here because you anticipate me going on and on about how every girl is beautiful and how we should all be comfortable with our bodies. I’m not about to do that. This blog post isn’t going to be one of those typical “embrace your curves, models can suck it” kind of pep talks. It’s simply a gift to all these beautiful lady-friends of mine.


Well, if you don’t know me personally, I’ll tell you now that I’m probably one of the tiniest girls you’ll ever meet. Let me put it this way: the clothing in the petite sections in every name brand store at your local mall always, without fail, comes up too big on me. I can comfortably fit both of my pins into one boot-cut trouser leg. I’m tiny. Thumbelina incarnate. The reason I’m bringing this up is because of the trek I’ve recently been on: the hunt for business casual work clothes. I recently acquired a freelance writing position here in Orlando and cannot wait to suit up and look the part as a newbie business professional. I’m so used to my Abercrombie jeans and Forever 21 shirts that I basically need an entire new wardrobe to be equipped for the working world. So, the past few weeks I’ve set out to find myself the staples, starting with some dress pants.

Mission impossible.

No one makes a size 00 XXS to fit my waist except Gap Kids. Although I’m small, I do have some curves that four year olds don’t, so this option, sadly, isn’t a match for me. Looking for a pair of slacks is probably one the most frustrating and self-deprecating feats I’ve ever experienced in my humble twenty-one years of life. It’s a close runner-up to my experience relocating to a different country during my modest teenage years. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t give up; I’m an insufferably determined person, in general. Nonetheless, I know I’m looking for a needle in a haystack here.

So, for my dear friends who constantly berate themselves in comparison to Jessicas Biel, Simpson and Alba, count yourselves lucky. None of us are super models. And yes, we’ve all got our perks. But if it makes you feel better, “skinny bitches” have it hard, too.

With that said, I’m off to the tailors. Wish me luck.


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