I wanted to be a cool girl: confessions of a chubette

I stood on a kitchen chair. My mother was pinning up the skirt she bought me. She had gone to Mays and brought home a selection of items for me to try on. It was easier than taking me and my little sister on the train.

She had chosen from the Chubbette department. The penalty for being over sized was that they looked like fat clothes. They were made larger but not proportioned to fit my short limbs and thick waist. Everything needed hemming. I inevitably ended up rolling up the waistband and the sleeves.

It was painful to feel so out of fashion as the popular girls got to wear their trendy treats. Even my footwear was so lame. The cool girls wore cordovan colored penny loafers. I wore "good shoes", as my mother called my lace up oxfords. I had angry red grooves in my skin from the rubber bands I used  to hold up my knee socks.

There was no sharing or trading clothes with my girlfriends. I was too embarrassed to do sleepovers. Not that anyone invited me. I never invited anyone over either. Not even for supper. Lots of times my parents weren't even home. And I felt like there was nothing to do at my house.

I discovered thrift shops and vintage clothing after high school. 40's and 50's styles, both men's and women's fit me in a way that mainstream clothes never could. I bought up all I could find and clad myself in complete movie star fashion, down to the underwear. Finally, I was a cool girl!

It's all but a memory now. Vintage has a different meaning; probably more like the 80's. I don't know as I never shop in second hand stores. I rarely shop for clothes anymore. Things change and what was once important is no longer. I live in the woods now, far away from New York City and the cool girls. I love it here, but I still have to hem everything.