Fitting Room Phobia

Reunion Causes Attack of Fitting Room Phobia

It must be a conspiracy of fate that after recently purging my closet of an outdated wardrobe, I now need a new dress for my upcoming high school reunion. But in order to acquire said new dress, I must face one of my bigger neuroses, Fitting Room Phobia. I admit it – I absolutely detest shopping for new clothes. The shoppers among my readers may scoff. I beg a bit of understanding and commiseration while I explain my dread of retail therapy.

It’s Mom’s Fault

I don’t recall when my Fitting Room Phobia began. But since childhood trauma serves as a convenient scapegoat for most adult idiosyncrasies, I’ll start by blaming my mother. I was a tomboy, but not in the rough and tumble, splash in mud, collect snakes and frogs sense. I simply adored my older brother, followed him everywhere and wore his hand-me-downs. To keep me from raiding big brother’s closet, Mom sewed dozens of pairs of overalls that became my standard uniform.

She also, bless her soul, made all of the dresses for every occasion that warranted my distinction as female. My greatest histrionics occurred at every holiday that called for wearing a dress, having my hair curled, or buckling on my patent leather shoes. But that’s a tale for a different day. Suffice to say, with Mom’s seamstress skills, I never suffered the indignity of Shopping For Clothes.

“Fitting Room” Is An Oxymoron

My aversion to the fitting room has nothing to do with a lack of appreciation for fashion. It has everything to do with my perpetual inability to find clothing that fits, is comfortable, and looks good on me all in the same outfit. Throw in a requirement for ease of dressing – meaning no contortionist flexibility or excessive breath holding needed – and you’d think I was asking for the moon. To my mind the term “Fitting Room” is an oxymoron.

I don’t know why finding a decent outfit becomes such a nightmare of therapy sessions in the making. Is it too much to ask for a dress that’s not too short, too clingy, too high-waisted, too narrow shouldered, too modern, too old-fashioned, shows too much leg or reveals too much of everything else because the material is too sheer? I protest being held hostage to the modern fashion industry. Why should I need more criteria for choosing a suitable dress than I did for finding my husband?

Dressing Room Diva

I am not normally a high maintenance person. But walking into the fitting room with an armful of possibilities turns me into the worst dressing room diva. First of all, I’m a different size depending on the store, the price, the brand name, the style, what I had for lunch or the alignment of the planets. I can leverage my chance of success by taking multiple versions of the same garment into the fitting room. But I still end up sending the help scurrying to fetch me a different size, color, style or accessory.

That’s why I prefer to take my own reinforcements if I must shop. The girlfriend pact is inviolate. My BFF will stand outside the fitting room and unobtrusively retrieve whatever variation I whisper I’d like to attempt next. Much less embarrassing than bellowing to the salesgirl that I need to move up a size or four in the hopes that the blasted dress will fit.

Curing the Phobia

I have tried a number of solutions for my Fitting Room Phobia over the years. For instance, I’ve made my own clothes. Determining the correct size for modern patterns is almost as frustrating as figuring out my size in a retail store. To add insult to injury, my adjustable dressmaker’s form doesn’t quite adjust to my size, so my dresses end up more well endowed than I am. And simultaneously fitting a garment while wearing it provokes the same contortions I avoid in the dressing room.

I’ve tried mail order. My postman thinks I own stock in domestic trucking with the amount of returns that pass through my mailbox.

Avoidance has been my most oft-used strategy. I simply don’t shop. However, that’s how I ended up purging a closetful of “vintage” clothes. I refuse to become that batty old lady who hangs onto fashions hoping they will come into style again. Let’s face it, retro is only cute on the next generation.

Maybe there is no cure for my Fitting Room Phobia. Popular fashion might never suit my unique dimensions and taste. Perhaps I should accept the inevitable and swear off tailored clothing altogether.

In that case, I vote for wearing overalls to the reunion.