I like all of my clothes oversized.
In fact, today I bought 3 shirts that were all size "3X" from the local this-store-may-be-for-strippers-but-the-tshirts-are-under-$5-and-I'm-obsessed store, officially signaling my commitment to the plus sized purchases.
True, I've gained roughly 30lbs since moving to NYC, and I do struggle with the notion that I'm not the waify "do-you-model?" girl I once was, but that doesn't mean I necessarily require the degree of space between my skin and fabric that I currently prefer.
So why? Why am I obsessed with oversized?
sweater: H&M, pants: Helmut Lang, boots: Rag & Bone
Though I'm still in the process of analyzing this particular psyche, I'm narrowing down the cause to the fact that the perpetual fear I have of being the big bumbling idiot (cue traumatic middle school flashbacks) is forever counteracted by the fabric in which I'm being draped, which is itself so impressively overwhelming that it negates the fact that I, myself, ever could be.
Somehow, in these excessive folds of fabric, I am able to feel more delicate, smoother, and forever less abrasive than the picture of myself I've always held in my head. Somehow, by enveloping myself in triple XLs, I can exist within a different physical framework. My body is less important than my mind, and my personality operates separately from the tall, broad, imposing figure that I've always assumed I impose.
Underneath the sinking seams and drooping necklines, I am, soft, subtle, effortless.
Not me, per se, but the version of myself I'd like to project.
For now, at least.
Photos by Joey Pasion.