Everything Is Awful by Matt Bellassai

Author:Matt Bellassai
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria/Keywords Press

ON MY TROUBLED HISTORY WITH FASHION

I have no idea what to wear. And I don’t mean right now, because right now I’m wearing gym shorts, socks, and a T-shirt, and I’m perfectly comfortable with rocking this whole look, but eventually, I’m gonna have to get out of bed, and I’ll have to put on something that is generally acceptable to wear in public. And I have no idea what to wear.

Everybody expects gays to have a sense of style, but I blame the ladies on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and the preppy couple from Glee for that one. Thanks to them, society expects me to flawlessly execute a fitted blazer, bow tie, suspenders, skinny pants, and a thong at any given moment, and I can barely put on two of the same socks in the morning, let alone an on-theme ensemble.

For one, being fat kinda hinders one’s ability to pull off a good look. And yes, I know, there’s a whole bunch of blogs for plus-sized fashion for women and men, and they all say I just have to close my eyes and believe in myself and also maybe wear vertical stripes, but the truth is, when the mannequin at J. Crew has a rippling six-pack, it’s kinda hard to muster the confidence to rock the same getup.

Walking into a dressing room always goes a little something like this:

I enter, confident, with an armful of button-down shirts and blue jeans. I take off my current clothes and pile them in a heap in the corner. I start with a shirt, because that should be the easy thing to do, and also I don’t have to take off my undershirt for this and can spare myself my own grotesque reflection, but of course, I can only button the first few buttons before things start to strain and I can hear the tiny sweatshop children who sewed these seams together start to cry. I give up on the entire pile of shirts, because if one doesn’t fit, they all probably don’t fit, and nothing matters anymore. I start putting on a pair of pants in the same size I bought my last pants in only a few months earlier, but my bulbous calves barely fit past the part that should hold my entire thigh. I’m hopping on one foot and grasping at the curtains, because that’s what dressing rooms are these days, curtains instead of walls so you have nothing solid to hold on to when you need to lean against something and cry. At this point, I’m stuck inside the pants, my entire leg is sweating from ankle to crotch, my back is dripping, and my glasses are falling from my face. I can hear the sales associate shuffling uncomfortably on the other side of the curtain, because that’s the thing about curtains instead of doors, they don’t really muffle your screams, especially since they always leave a gap sizable enough for a little girl standing nearby to witness you bouncing haplessly in your underwear.

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