Dear Clothing Industry-
Seriously, what is wrong with you people?
And I am not talking about your weirdo couture that appears to be only designed for emaciated giantesses with cheekbones capable of cutting glass and no ability to smile. No, you can make that stuff as weird as you want. I am talking about normal ready to wear women's clothing. And when I say talking about, I mean calling you out on your shenanigans. Shame on you.
Shame on you for selling tissue-thin t-shirts that show every bump and lump that I am wearing a shirt to hide. Double shame on you for trying to sell me these at twice the price and half the fabric as the men's t-shirts.
How dare try to tell my less endowed sisters that they need anything called "boyfriend pants" or "boyfriend tanks?" How dare you try to convince them that they don't even lay claim to their own clothing because of their shape?
Shame on you for your awful lighting and inconsistent sizing and horrible music and 8000 mirrors, all designed to throw me off balance and convince me that I need to spend $145 on an ill-made dress with uneven seams and a wonky zipper.
How dare you try to convince me that because I have a DD bust and birthing hips that I should spend my life in a tent. It's called a hour-glass-figure, and it is as beautiful as the 4 children it has born. Marilyn Monroe had one. Helen Mirren has one. And I would bet dollars to donuts that Helen of Troy had one too.
Shame, shame, shame on you all for Spanx. I know a modified corset when I see one.
How dare you not spend your every waking moment and every inch of air-time creating PSAs for teenage girls, telling them that LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. They are slightly thicker tights with no-feet. Get it together, Clothing Industry; people are getting in accidents looking at these monstrisities.
Sucks for you that I spent 4 years of my life studying fabric and style and am totally on to you. I am on to you like a well-fitted, tailored suit. And I am calling shenanigans! Shenanigans!
I just took all the money I had set aside for clothing and spent it on donuts. At least the donut industry isn't lying to me and trying to tell me that a size 8 is large. Shame. On. You.
P.S. You are not getting your polyester hands on Super Toddler. I am warning you now; don't even try. I will spend every remaining day of my life telling her how beautiful she is. I will haunt her like a ghost after I die and whisper things in her ear like "are the chest darts even?" "Check the seams." "That color does not exist in nature." "You are better than billowy bohemian tops that show your bra-straps." I will tell her every single day that she is gorgeous. I will lavish love on every apple cheek, every dimpled knee. From her wispy hair to her wide feet and every roll in-between. That girl is going to know that she is a goddess if she decides to wear a bag or a $1000 dress with hand-stitched lace. And don't think you are going to get your hands on much of her money either. Super Toddler is no fool and she much prefers to patronize the Encased Meat Industry. You are welcome to try, but I have her back and all you have are cheap t-shirts and badly designed pants.
She is beautiful and she knows it.
Don't even bother.