Why not fitting into a size x isn't the end of the world

I'm a size 16 - a curvy, big-boobed, big-bummed, hourglass of a size 16 - and while it is, theoretically, a 'straight' size (e.g. available from mainstream retailers rather than just plus size retailers or those few high street stores which sell size 18 and above), it can be difficult to shop for if you're not savvy.  Over the years, trying to dress a body that doesn't quite fit into society's idea of "correct" has meant that I've learnt all sorts of lessons about shopping, and I'd like to think that some of them are true of shopping at any size.

Even though it is common knowledge - and common cause for complaint - that sizing is screwy from one retailer to another, too many people seem to think that the little label inside their clothes labels them rather than the garment.  We may know that a size 12 from Marks & Spencers will not fit like a size 12 from Zara (with the former tending to run big and the latter ludicrously small), yet so many women invest a huge amount into those tiny scraps of fabric sewn into a collar or waist. 

It made me sad to hear, on a recent shopping trip, a woman say she wouldn't buy a dress that fit great and looked better because it was a size 16 and she was a size 12.  Partly because it implied that there was something wrong with being a size 16, but mostly because it meant she gave up the chance to wear a lovely item of clothing that she had really liked on the hanger.  This took place in H&M, which is notorious for weird sizing.  In my wardrobe, I have H&M clothes running the gamut from a t-shirt marked S, to size 16 dresses, to a pair of size 20 trousers.  Those trousers hang next to my New Look skinny jeans in a size 14, and both items fit me really well and always garner compliments.  Does the fact that one label says 20 and one says 14 mean anything?  Am I somehow magically thinner in the jeans, or heavier in the trousers?  No, and no, and no!

Still concerned about the size on the label?  Maybe this anecdote will make you feel better.  I used to know a woman who worked in a clothing factory that made garments for Dorothy Perkins (before all such work was outsourced to factories in China and Bangladesh, but that's another post entirely...).  Say they had a rail of 200 size 10 blouses, but only 199 size 10 labels left; well then, one of those blouses would be labelled size 8 or 12, whichever label they had spare.  I remember this story whenever a size 18 is squeezing me in places it shouldn't: most likely, it's not a size 18 at all.  But would it matter if it was?

When trying on something that doesn't fit, it is tempting to believe that the problem is you, that the issue is your body, and that if only your boobs were smaller, or your legs longer, or your hips narrower, then all would be well.  We almost never blame what is obviously at fault: the garment itself.  Designed for a narrow range of shapes (almost certainly none of which match your own unique and wonderful one), the clothes on the high street are the problem, not you. 

It is so much more important to know what styles suit your body and to have a decent idea of your measurements.  After years of making some fairly heinous fashion mistakes, I now know exactly what styles will look good on me and what styles just won't fit my body; this means I can flick through the rails and pick out things to try on that I know are likely to look decent, regardless of the actual size.  This is especially handy in charity and vintage shops, where it pays to look at all sorts of sizes that you wouldn't usually associate with your own body.  Who knows what gem you will find in the size 14 racks, even if you're a size 18 (or, indeed, vice versa).  It's because I have a strong sense of what will suit me that I have such a range of sizes in my wardrobe, from teeny tiny cardigans to stretchy smock dresses in a 12 to tea dresses in a size 18, all of which fit me perfectly and sizing be damned. 

Ultimately, there should only be two considerations when buying new clothes: do you think it looks good, and does it make you feel good?  If the answer to both of those questions is "yes," then the number on the label matters not a jot.