The Bodycon Dress

I used to wear bodycon dresses all the time in college.

Back then, I was smaller. I had what society would probably call the "right kind" of curves. The kind people compliment. The kind that fit neatly into the plus-size fashion narrative that says curves are acceptable—as long as they're in the right places.

I never thought twice about putting on a bodycon dress.

Then I gained weight.

My body changed.

My arms got softer. My stomach got rounder. My shape shifted.

And somewhere along the way, I decided bodycon dresses were no longer for me.

Not because I stopped liking them.

Not because they stopped being cute.

But because I convinced myself my body had somehow lost the right to wear them.

I told myself my arms were too flabby.

My stomach was too noticeable.

My body was too different.

So I stopped buying them.

Stopped trying them on.

Stopped even looking in their direction.

And honestly?

Yeah, right.

Looking back now, it's almost funny how quickly I accepted that rule.

Who made it?

Who decided that bodycon dresses were only for certain versions of me?

Why was college-me allowed to wear them, but current-me wasn't?

The answer is simple.

Nobody made that rule except me.

Somewhere along the way, I confused having a different body with having a wrong body.

They're not the same thing.

The truth is, my body didn't become less deserving of cute clothes because it changed.

It didn't lose value because my arms got softer.

It didn't lose beauty because I gained weight.

And it certainly didn't lose the ability to wear a bodycon dress.

In fact, the first time I put one on again, I realized something important:

The problem was never the dress.

The problem was believing that my body had to remain exactly the same forever in order to deserve it.

Bodies change.

That's what they do.

They carry us through stress, celebrations, heartbreak, graduations, promotions, late-night Taco Bell runs, vacations, birthdays, and everything in between.

Expecting them to stay frozen in one version of themselves is unrealistic.

But for years, I acted like my wardrobe should only belong to a previous version of me.

Not anymore.

Now when I put on a bodycon dress, I don't compare myself to college Chelsea.

I don't spend the night wishing I looked the way I did ten years ago.

I don't wait until my arms are smaller.

I don't hide.

I wear the dress.

Because my life is happening now.

My body exists now.

And this version of me deserves to feel beautiful too.

Not after I lose weight.

Not after I change.

Now.

So yes, I wear bodycon dresses.

Flabby arms and all.

And honestly?

I think I wear them with a lot more confidence than I ever did in college.