'My personal style—once a source of pride—became less about wearing things I liked and more about retreating into loose, baggy shades of gray and black that would cloak the growing curves I so deeply resented.'
leaning against a Corvette Stingray. In the photo, a young Didion is all sharp angles and fine bones in a long dress and sandals, a cigarette dangling from her elegant fingers. In my early 20s, as I got ready for my job as a flailing Hollywood assistant, I desperately hoped to conjure some of Didion’s glamour even as I shopped primarily at Buffalo Exchange and took the 180 bus to work, despairing that my body didn’t look like hers.
Six years after my L.A. stint, I still admire Didion for her style , but when I look at Wasser’s portrait of her, I no longer feel an ache to be just like her. That’s partly because my fashion sense has evolved over the years but also—mostly—because I can’t be her, at least according to prevailing fashion norms. I could purchase a duplicate of that minimalist dress, could lean against a car, but the message I sent out to the world in doing so would be far different than Didion’s jaded elegance.
I started steadily gaining weight soon after I left California for Brooklyn in 2018, officially crossing the Rubicon into obese during a prolonged period of isolation that coincided with the first few months of the COVID-19 pandemic. I wish I could say I embraced my new body wholeheartedly the minute I stopped fitting into straight-sized jeans, but unfortunately nothing could be further from the truth.
I hated the newly arrived scarlet stretch marks that cracked the once-smooth skin of my stomach, hated the bras that ceased to fit, hated the space I took up in a world I couldn’t fully inhabit. As a consequence, my personal style—once a source of pride—became less about wearing things I liked and more about retreating into loose, baggy shades of gray and black that would cloak the growing curves I so deeply resented.
I don’t know exactly when I began to move on from this sad state of affairs, but I can roughly trace it back to early last summer, when a Lisa Says Gah dress—pink and white and bright green and patterned with tiny cartoon sheep—popped up on my Instagram feed and caught my eye. I’d already begun to browse plus-size retailers like
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