The Beautiful People

Yesterday I took Beastie shopping to a nice brand spanking new shopping centre not too far from us. I went in search of a cute little outfit for a baby shower and also to return a top my husband had bought me from a new store. This store is the sister brand of another well know american store there which is very popular with my husband, he may possibly own all colours and varieties of t shirts ever produced there and yet he still buys more. In his defence I suppose it must be boring being a bloke as they don’t have much choice do they, if women could only wear tops and trousers then we might buy every colour under the sun to compensate for limited fashion choices.

Now back to my point of this rant post, when we walked in the store to return the top (and maybe browse for something else) I braced myself for the greeting I would get. The last time we visited there was a buff bloke model complete with the all american smile stood in the doorway with a female counterpart, however this time being that it was a weekday they obviously didn’t warrant such luxuries. Anyhow I made it over the threshold at least before being greeted with ‘Welcome, be sure to check out our new really cute panty range!’. As I walked on through the shop I could almost picture them sniggering to themselves ‘if she could get her fat ass into them!’.

You can get up in the morning and look in the mirror and think to yourself that you don’t look that bad today and that your outfit is kind of cool and your arse and tummy is held in place reasonably well for an outing. If you want to reverse all of the above then you need to look no further than this shop, it’s purposely designed for what I call the ‘beautiful people’. If you don’t fit into xs and s sizes then prepare to rake through the piles of clothing to find some heffer sizes, hidden from view, god forbid anybody large enough to fit those sizes would peruse the shelves. So whilst pushing a buggy round a decidely unfriendly shop layout, I started to get annoyed and even more so when it took me a good while to find the tills after every room (meaning small section of the shop) seemed to be a dead end. In every room there were at least two ‘models’ sporting the brand of clothing and doing their upmost to make all the mere mortals feel like utter poo. I swear I go in feeling one way and come out feeling another, usually with their bag in one hand having purchased something to reward myself for the painful experience but doubting I am thin enough to wear what I have bought.

I am not normally someone that gets that fussed about weight and looking perfect. Admittedly I won’t leave the house without my makeup on or hair not straightened (it just looks rubbish not straightened) and I won’t knowingly go out wearing something unflattering to my derriere/gut but marketing has a lot to answer for. It’s right up there with the size 0 debate and flaunting imaciated models on the catwalk, it’s on the high street and everywhere you look. No wonder young girls feel so much pressure, I on the other hand just feel old and quite frankly over the hill! Is this motherhood?