In order to draft these quality patterns, I figured i would use myself as a model. That way i can test the fit more accurately (although alterations might prove a problem) While it might be educational to create clothes based on the standard measurements of a particular size, it would also be depressing if those clothes were cute and i couldn't wear them.
So i trudged downstairs in the middle of this rainstorm to grab my tape measure and the last of my dignity. You see, measurements are not a personal task--oh the basic three can be (bust/waist/hip) but the ones needed for proper drafting require proper posture and someone else's eye. So not only am i going to get a numerical reminder of the weight i have failed to take off throughout the year--but i get to do so with my husband's help. nice. Although, truth be told, he did seem to linger over any of the measurements involving my bust. Claims he wanted better accuracy. @.@
Loving our bodies and our curves, turns out, is no easy task. No matter how much we are told one thing, we are bombarded with another and left in the middle to decipher this secret language. Yes, men like curves--but should that even matter? What i mean is, should our own body image even depend on what a stinky boy thinks? if you are heterosexual, that is. And if you aren't--wouldn't women be harsher? Or more forgiving? And let us not forget the role of gay men in this whole debacle--men who love physical perfection and then run magazines telling us how we are supposed to look, when their opinion gene-poolside of natural selection shouldn't even matter to us since they will (most likely) never choose to mate with us? It is an ever present conundrum.
And before you bark at me about health and fitness, Yes, I know. But even at my "healthiest" i was a size twelve--PLUS size in the model world. PLUS size. a twelve. I would kill to see a twelve again.
well, that's not entirely true, since i've had a year to take off this weight with no success--and i can testify that some days i try and others i don't. So my passion to see a 12 again isn't as high as imagined. And in all honesty, is it a passion to see size 12 again, or a passion to be where i was 10 years ago? Because i could get to a twelve again, but i can't be 29 again. And i never thought that bugged me, until today.
In the end, i made a self-deprecating comment to my husband about some measurement--hip i think, and he looked at me and said--"I don't know what you're worried about. i don't even know what all these numbers mean anyway."
Exactly, Pete. Exactly.
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