Trying on Clothes

There are very few places capable of destroying your confidence faster than a dressing room.

And...I think dressing room designers need to answer for their crimes.

First, there's the lighting.

Who decided fluorescent lighting was the best way to evaluate clothing?

I have yet to meet a single human being who looks better under dressing room lighting.

The lighting somehow highlights things you didn't even know existed.

Suddenly you're noticing shadows, creases, and angles that have never appeared anywhere else in your life.

It's like looking into a funhouse mirror designed by your inner critic.

Then there are the mirrors themselves.

I am convinced dressing room mirrors are liars.

The outfit looked amazing at home.

It looked amazing when I caught my reflection in a store window.

But somehow, inside the dressing room, I look like I've been transported into an alternate universe where nothing fits correctly and all joy has been removed.

And let's talk about the size of the dressing rooms.

Why are they so tiny? I'm already trying to wrestle a pair of jeans over my hips.

Why must I also perform an obstacle course around a stool, a purse, three hangers, and my own dignity?

As a plus-size woman, some dressing rooms feel less like shopping and more like a survival challenge.

I've had dressing rooms so small that changing required advanced geometry.

One leg here.

One arm there.

Try not to elbow the wall.

Try not to fall over.

Try not to accidentally flash the entire store because the only thing separating you from the sales floor is a flimsy curtain hanging on for dear life.

Which brings me to my biggest complaint:

Curtains.

I hate dressing room curtains.

They're never quite wide enough.

They never fully close.

And they somehow create the constant feeling that you're one unexpected breeze away from becoming part of the store display.

Give me a door.

A lock.

A little privacy.

Please.

Which is why the first time I walked into a Torrid dressing room, I was genuinely shocked.

There was space.

Actual space.

I could move around without dislocating a shoulder.

There was a bench.

A place to sit.

A place to put my purse.

A place to gather my thoughts after discovering that the jeans I grabbed were somehow three sizes too big and too small simultaneously.

But the real luxury?

The fan.

The fan deserved its own round of applause.

Because changing clothes gets hot.

Especially when you're trying on multiple outfits.

Especially when you're a plus-size woman trying to squeeze in and out of denim.

Especially when you've already walked halfway through the mall carrying armfuls of clothing.

That fan felt less like an amenity and more like a public service.

For the first time, I felt like the dressing room had actually been designed by someone who had used a dressing room before.

What a concept.

The funny thing is that a good dressing room can completely change the shopping experience.

When you're comfortable, you try more things.

You experiment.

You have fun.

You actually focus on the clothes instead of whether you're about to pass out from heat exhaustion while putting on a pair of pants.

And isn't that the whole point? Shopping should be fun.

The clothes should be the challenge. Not the dressing room.

Until the fashion industry catches up, I'll continue believing three things:

Fluorescent lighting should be illegal.

Dressing room mirrors are liars.

And every fitting room should come with a fan.

That's the bare minimum.