The Trick to Buying Clothes that Actually Fit

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Recently I made an online order for some clothing that I wanted to fit properly and be extra flattering. It’s Valentine’s season, you get the idea. But because of the nature of the outfits they were non-refundable. That being said, it was crunch time on sizing. 

I’ve always been good at sizing clothing online because I despise trying on clothes in store. Why? Not because of low confidence or lack of sizes, but because every store I go in has a different size guide. In one store I’ll be a size Large, and the next store over I’ll be a size 2XL. And if I’m especially unlucky, I’ll have those sort of size discrepancies in the same store.

That brings me to this most recent online purchase: I ordered half a dozen items, all from the same company, and they ranged in sizes from the “smallest” being a Medium and the “largest” being a 4XL. Are you kidding me?!

Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a size Medium or a size 4XL, but it would be nice to know definitively which one I am!  

You see, there’s no standard for sizing. There’s no golden rule saying this measurement = this size. Lettered sizing is completely arbitrary and if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re wrong. No store knows what they’re doing with sizing! They pick a specific set of measurements to be considered “medium,” maybe they use the median numbers of some sample pool of women (but I doubt it), and then they adjust all the measurements down and up to make the sizes around this so-called “medium.” 

That’s where my favorite trick comes in:

Know your measurements. 

Every piece that I ordered from this recent shipment fits me perfectly! Yes the Medium fits great, and yes the 4XL fits great! You know why? Because on each item they have a size guide that tells you the inches or centimeters for bust, waist, and hips that each piece is made to fit. 

That is the trick!

Almost every website that sells clothing will have a “size guide” with inches. Don’t just look at the numbered size guide! The “Large = US 12-14” crap is better but still unpredictable. Look for the inches or centimeters, then compare them with your measurements. Ta-da! The perfect fit!

A quick note on measurements:

It won’t benefit your body or your mind to fudge your numbers. We just talked about how arbitrary sizing is, so don’t “try to fit” into a Medium if a company’s size guide is telling you that you should buy a different size for your body! No one will see that tag except you. No one will know your measurements except you. And at that, no one cares except you!

But if you buy clothes that aren’t made for your specifications, you know what you will see in the mirror? You won’t see “Medium,” you’ll see clothes that are too loose or too tight on your body. You’ll see discomfort and disappointment where you could be focusing on wearing things that you want to wear. 

There are plenty of other conversations here about companies having poor size ranges and different body types looking certain ways in different styles of clothing, but my point here is to not let clothing size numbers bother you.

If you clicked on this blog then I know you’ve heard people say…

“sizes don’t matter”

but I’m here to tell you it’s not just that they don’t matter it’s that…

Sizes literally mean nothing.

In today’s society, clothing sizes are no more than a tag number that help stores distinguish which pieces to put on which rack. Don’t concern yourself with a store’s arbitrary organizational practices; buy whichever clothes fit your body. You’ll be happier and more confident with the end result. 

And if their number still bothers you? Cut off the tag! In a year’s time you won’t remember what size that cute dress was, and neither will the company you bought it from. 

5 Excuses to Write By Hand

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 So, I’m a writer. 

I don’t remember if I heard it in a podcast, or if it’s a quote, but someone once said that if you write things you can claim yourself as a writer. No, I’m not published. I haven’t even technically finished a thing, unless you count a children’s book I wrote and illustrated in middle school. But, I’m a writer because I write things. And my favorite way to write things is by hand!

(Did you see that segway!? I told you I’m a writer!)

In a world of macbook pros and clouds it’s hard to see the benefits of a physical copy, but it’s still my favorite way to write. It’s not fast, it’s not easily accessible, there’s no back-up, and everything is spelled incorrectly, but nonetheless, I love it. So if you’re interested in the opinion of novice, nobody writer like myself, here’s the 5 reasons I still write by hand:

#1 It Flexes Both Sides of Your Brain!

You know when you are taking notes and write a really cool looking letter? Or when you sign a check and you want to take a picture of your signature because it just looks too bomb to forget? As both a writer and an artist, that’s my high.

The formulation of words and comprehension of language are controlled by the left side of your brain and when you type on the computer that is the only thing you need. But when you physically form the letters with your hand it also uses the right side of your brain, your creative side. 

You don’t technically need your creative brain to write; putting words into sentences and sentences into coherent paragraphs is a strictly logical side function. However, there’s a reason it’s called “creative writing.” When you’re putting those words in sentences and paragraphs to create a story, it’s helpful to activate that creative side while in the process of putting words together.

#2 Less Distractions

It’s been said that millennials have concentration problems… We get distracted easily… It’s true, but it’s not our fault! We grew up smack dab in the age of computers. We were babies when the internet was a baby and we matured together hand in hand. So it’s not hard to understand why now, as fully fledged adults, when we are on a computer we have a lot of different things that we want to look at, a lot of sites to go to, a lot of internet to be explored. 

An easy way to fix that when you’re trying to get something written? Don’t be on the computer at all! It’s a lot more difficult to get distracted from your writing when all you have at your fingertips is a blank notebook instead of all the information in the world. 

#3 Better for Your Eyes

This one is very self-explanatory, but I’m 26 now, I don’t have the luxury of playing games with my health. Backlit screens are bad for your eyes. Periodt. Is this considered common knowledge yet?

#4 Forces Better Comprehension of Whatever You’re Writing

This is probably my number one reason for writing things out by hand: Imagine instead of typing out and backspacing the same sentence 3 times, you think out exactly how you want to say something and then write it down one time. What a world. 

My biggest struggle with writing, especially when I’m working on my novel, is editing as I write. I can’t get the words onto the page without going back and changing them at least a dozen times. I live on thesaurus.com. It’s literally on my bookmarks bar. So writing by hand forces me to write without editing, because you better believe I’m not going to scribble up my cool new notebook with editing marks or waste all the ink in my cool new pen crossing out full paragraphs just to change the word flow. Fellow writers, you get it. 

#5 Brain Stimulation

When’s the last time you had to think about how to spell something? Like, really think about it without auto-correct holding your hand? Yeah, that’s not good for your brain. Writing by hand is linked to increased memory too, so once you finally figure out how to spell that word you’ll remember how to spell it in the future.  

Sooooo, you’re welcome. I’ve given you five legitimate excuses to buy a new notebook. If anyone has anymore please let me know, I’ve exhausted all of these. Also, let me know if I’m alone in this stance! I can’t be the only one who writes by hand even though I know I’ll transcribe it directly into google drive so all of my writing can never be dramatically lost in a flood or fire or puppy-chewing accident. Hey, the latter is the most probable and you know it. 

How (Not) To Do the Thing

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I learned something about myself recently. I’ve noticed that I spend the majority of my time searching for someone or something to tell me what to do. I listen to podcasts about writing and productivity and relationships and fitness. I read self-help books about everything else. I watch vloggers on YouTube and compare my schedule and work ethic to theirs even though I know nothing about their lives except what they’ve curated for me.

In other words, I seem to think that I’m clueless.

But here’s the thing: I already know the things that all of these sources are going to tell me. Now, I may not be clueless but I’m also not narcissistic; I know that these are all valuable resources with so much more knowledge than I have, but my point is I know more than enough, to the extent that now I’m trying to make an entire blog website around regurgitating it all back to the very place that it came from initially.

That sounds negative.

I don’t mean that I shouldn’t be sharing advice or that I shouldn’t continue to learn new things. On the contrary, I want to blog and listen to my informational podcasts. But this weekend, as I was scouring YouTube for random fitness routines because I was caught up on my subscribers list, I realized that it’s not knowledge that I’m seeking anymore, it’s distraction.

I’m looking for an excuse.

This whole post sounds like I’m gearing up for a pitch about “How-To Stop Procrastinating” or “How-To Do the Damn Thing” but it’s not, I’m sorry to disappoint. (I might title this post exactly that, so I’m doubly sorry if I click-baited you.) I have no idea why I’m looking for excuses or how to stop. Am I afraid of failure? Am I afraid of success? Am I just lazy? Or bored? Do I have such low self-confidence that I think I truly don’t know anything? Do I have a legitimate psychological issue?

I don’t know for sure, but I’m starting to suspect the fear option. I suspect that I’m trying to distract myself with the idea that I need more knowledge because of my paralyzing fear that if I start without all the information I won’t be good enough or smart enough to succeed.

Oof.

I don’t know how to remedy this fear, but I’m going to try. And lucky for no one, along with being an avid advice-taker I also happen to be a serial advice-giver. It’s a real problem. So I don’t know exactly where to start with this, but I’m going to document it on the blog. It isn’t like me to struggle with jumping in feet first. I mean, this whole site was started on a whim and essentially serves as a record of all the projects that I start on my many whims. But for some reason I’m stuck. This won’t be well-put-together, “How-To” style, advice blogs, it’s going to be my messy recounting of what I’m doing to become a better adult. I’m going to attempt to write through my struggles. Yikes.

So that was my existential crisis for the week; how are you? Is anyone else as lost as I am?

Oh! And I’m also a hypochondriac, apparently. I started watching Grey’s Anatomy for the first time ever this weekend and now I have a plethora of tumors, at least two brain abnormalities that went undiagnosed when I was a child, a heart condition that I have no reason to suspect I have, and my husband (who I’ve been with since we were both 17) has a secret, beautiful, successful, doctor wife who will definitely show up soon. It’s been great. I’m great.

My other distraction.
When a 6lb dog wants to sleep in your arms, you let the 6lb dog sleep in your arms.

A World Unaffected By Time

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Excerpt 001

The two brick labs glisten in the sun, unmuddled by age. The faintest smell of mortar still lingers. The other three structures sway with the breeze, their canvas sides riddled with tears and earth. Nevertheless, the tents feel more practical. The rift hasn’t grown, or shrunk, or otherwise fluctuated in 20 years, but permanence seems presumptuous in a world without the limitation of time.

I watch for a brief moment and have seen all 19 scientists busily shuffle in a pattern that makes them appear like a swarm. I don’t think they ever stop moving. A worker bee with long black hair suddenly freezes. Her white-gold eyes are piercing, even from here, but they are vacant. I wish I could ask her what she is seeing, but she is not from here. She is one of the scientists that they sent in from Nevada, most of them are. Only four of them are local, five once Logan finishes interning. Our parents are equally as thrilled about my younger brother joining the Ignis group as the higher ranking scientists are to be in Prestin.

Not a full 20 seconds pass and the woman buzzes back into stride and disappears behind one of the 2-story buildings between us, in the opposite direction of the records tent. Whatever it was it must not have been important.

I widen my gaze and watch the whole rift at once, without focusing on any one thing. The hill that grew our tree is the shortest of the half-dozen hills surrounding the valley, but it is so steep that my shoes slide and slip under me even when the grass is dry. It is 5 second agility test that I don’t often pass. But this hill and this tree are at the far end of the town, and to get here is worth the risk of accident or embarrassment. From here a person can peer between the rolling hills to nearly every street in the city, and if they would rather forget the city entirely for a moment it only takes a turn of the heels.

I am only tall enough to make out a thin blue line that is the Atlantic Ocean and the rest of my vision, peripherals and all, are taken up by a sea of trees. This is one of the last natural forests on the continent and the Pragredium is making it thrive.

I spin back to civilization and coast unsteadily into the valley.

Krav Maga?

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You all will never believe what I did on Tuesday night.

Or maybe you will believe it because you don’t fully know who I am yet. So before I start, let me paint you a picture.

I am not athletic. And when I say I am not athletic I don’t mean

“Oh, I played softball in middle school but that’s it.” or “Yeah I loved gym class as a kid, but I’m not an athlete or anything.”

No, people. I am not athletic whatsoever.

You know how everyone’s favorite class in elementary school is gym class? Because you get to play? Nope, hated it.

You know how every 8 year old’s favorite time of day is recess? I skipped it to take an extra violin lesson or go to the art room!

My elementary school had a “track & field” day every year which was basically a full day of recess spent outside playing games and sports. Well, I would “accidentally” wear a skirt every year so they would “make me” sit out. I distinctly remember my gym teacher making me do the mile walk/run anyway but at one point he lost track of how many laps I had actually done so I lied and told him I had one lap to go. I had much more than one lap to go.

In high school I was required to have a Health & Fitness credit to graduate, but I was in the top ten of my class of almost 400 students and I wanted to boost my GPA and not waste time in gym class. So I took the credit hours online over the summer between my sophomore and junior years.

Y’all. I took my high school gym class online.

I’ve never played a sport, not even for recreation. I’ve never been on any kind of team. I’ve never even taken a group fitness class besides one Zumba class when I was 14 and I got there late!

Are you starting to understand?

I am not athletic.

Well on Tuesday night, I took a level one Krav Maga class.

Excuse me, what now?

And this was not an “introductory” class, this was the level one class that had been going on already that I hopped into. I had never punched anything, not even a pillow during an emotional break-up or something. One of the upper level students had to teach me how to make a fist. And I have certainly never been punched or kicked at, that was the weirdest part for me. It was a solid hour of learning and practicing self defense and martial arts drills with strangers.

Overall, I’d say it was terrifying and incredible.

At the halfway break in the class I looked down at my hands and my knuckles were split and bleeding, I had bruises already starting to form, and I was visibly shaking. I teared up and nearly quit. Not because I was in pain or scared of sparring, but because I was surprised at how soft I truly am. I knew I was weak, but I never realized how ill-prepared I was to protect myself from another human being.

But I continued.

If I had to pick one word to describe myself it would be “independent.” I hate feeling like I am at the mercy of my husband’s availability to escort me when I want to walk my dog on a semi-secluded trail, or hang out in a crowded bar, or go to Walmart when it’s dark outside. I hate being dependent on another person to defend me if the need were to arise. That’s what prompted me to look for a self-defense class in the first place!

So I finished out the entire class (except the choking drills, my partner and I modified those; I don’t like people I’m familiar with touching me, let alone a complete stranger choking me) and watched most of the level two class while we talked to one of the instructors. Needless to say we are going back… twice a week.

My husband immediately signed up, but I was a little apprehensive. I think at one point I told both him and the instructor: “I don’t know if I’m cut out to do this.” Then later when I voiced the same concern to the other instructor, she looked at me and said,

“Of course you can do it, you already did it.”

That resonated with me somewhere deep down. I did do it. Little goody-two-shoes, never-even-seen-a-fight, non-athletic, hide-in-a-corner-and-read, anti-social, recess-skipping, weakling Emily did an entire Krav Maga class.

And maybe I’ll still be a weakling in a month, or in 3 months, or in 3 years, but at least now I’m a weakling training to become a bad-ass.

I suppose this is the beginning of a new adventure.