What It's Like To Buy Jeans When You're Fat

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Maybe your current jeans are a little too tight, and you constantly have to decide between (1) putting up with that red ring that forms around your belly whenever you sit or (2) just standing all the time. Maybe you've decided it's time to retire the maternity jeans once and for all, because even though that soft stretchy panel at the top is very forgiving, the baby is actually in the eighth grade now. Maybe it's the end of the summer, and your birthday is approaching, and you feel like you deserve some new jeans to wear instead of those nasty K-mart shorts you've been sporting through the warm months.

Whatever the reason, you decide to take a trip to J. Jill, mostly because their catalogues are filled with pictures of slim models in snuggly sweaters and something called "boyfriend" jeans. It's a look you've aspired to for a long time and that you will probably never achieve, but it does make you long for the days when you had a boyfriend and a waistline and a reason to smile coyly into a camera. Also, J. Jill has bombarded you with e-mails and coupons promising birthday-month discounts, and you have a J. Jill charge card. Your destination is set.

J. Jill is at the mall, and the mall is holding a grand opening for something called Uniqlo. Because you are hopelessly fashion-challenged (remember, you bought your shorts at K-mart), you don't know what Uniqlo is. You can only guess, based on the fact that about seven thousand Japanese tourists are standing in a line that circles the entire mall, that it must be something wonderful and Asian. This suspicion is reinforced by the fact that, in a bizarre insult to the English language, no "u" follows the "q" in the new store's name.

Anyway, because of the Uniqlo phenomenon, there is nowhere to park. The mall seems to have converted most of its parking areas to "valet-only" service, making free parking spaces scarce and far away, and $10 parking spaces abundant and nearby. You momentarily ponder parking far away, for the extra exercise, but eventually fork over the $10 to park right by the door.

The racks at J. Jill are loaded with "boyfriend" jeans. They are soft and seductive and slightly rolled at the hem for a devil-may-care appearance; they do in fact remind you of an old boyfriend. Also, when you see that most of them are size 2 and 4, you realize that, just like your old boyfriends, these jeans are going to be a terrible fit.

But that's okay. A kind-faced saleslady with a build similar to your own approaches and offers to help you find your size. You explain that you need something north of a 4. North of an 8, even. You whisper the size in her ear. She smiles and disappears in the back, presumably to retrieve the bigger jeans from her hidden stash in the back. These jeans are not available to the public - just to those in the know. They cannot be displayed alongside the size 2's, because how would it look for a chic store that specializes in skinny models to have 16's and 18's in plain view?

The kind saleslady sets you up in a dressing room and brings you a few of those cozy sweaters. You try on the jeans. They are a perfect fit, comfortable around the middle, and unspeakably expensive. It occurs to you that, for these reasons, they should actually be called "husband jeans." They don't care how big your middle is; they hug you anyway.  You put on one of the sweaters. It's gray, which makes you look like you're three hundred years old. You take it off and put a bright blue one on. You suck in your gut and turn sideways. This might be okay.

The saleslady knocks on the door, and when you open it, she has an armload of more soft sweaters in varying bright colors. She not only has your circumference, but also your coloring, and she understands that cool neutrals won't work. "These are my favorites," she says. They quickly become your favorites too.

At the cash register, you squirm as the saleslady totals up your order. This is going to be an epic haul, compared to the usual K-mart forays. But it's a husbandly haul. You imagine yourself strolling down the street all autumn long in bright, cozy sweaters and jeans that fit. This might be okay.

The valet retrieves your car. You tip him because he helps you with your packages. You start thinking that you're hungry for lunch. A cheeseburger calls to you. Buy the expensive jeans and eat the cheeseburger for lunch. Life's short.