A website I was browsing offered a helpful feature for online shoppers — the model’s height and the size of the dress she was wearing.
I was looking at a particular dress, wondering if it might be doable, if it might be forgiving in all the right places, if maybe I could actually wear it, when I noticed small print saying the model wearing the dress was 5-foot-10 and wears a size 2.
And another dream dies.
Knowing the model’s height and dress size unravels one of the great mysteries of the universe — why a dress never looks as good on most of us as it does on a model. Or on the hanger for that matter.
Statistically, the odds are far greater that you are closer to 5-foot-2 and a size 10 than you are closer to 5-foot-10 and a size 2. Same numbers, just a slightly different order.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even mind if they included a little asterisk beside the model’s stats that said, “If you’re not 5-foot-10 and/or a size 2, and you regularly eat solid food, this dress will not look the same on you. Not even close. Not ever. Not even if we undo the chip clips.”
Have you seen the chip clips? They may be the ultimate fusion of food and fashion.
If you’ve glanced at the back of a store mannequin lately, you may have noticed the excess yardage of the clothing pulled to the back and gathered in what looks to be a chip clip. I saw one recently with a clip just like the one we put on the bag of tortilla chips. Or is it the Flaming Cheetos?
Some people use chip clips to store chips, others use them to make their clothes fit. You’re either in one camp or the other.
The dress site that gave the model’s height and dress size also gave measurements for her bust, waist and hips. She was 34, 24, 34. She being the one whose lips have not tasted a medium rare steak in years, nor known the comfort of pie.
It was like a flashback to the old Miss America pageants, where the host would announce the contestant’s name, the state she was representing, her height, weight, bust, waist and hip measurements in a warm and congenial tone, like it was the way everyone introduced themselves to strangers.
My first literary agent said that when she hit 50 she weighed exactly the same that she did when she was 20. It just all shifted.
There might have been a day I wished I had to use a chip clip on the back of a dress, but now I am glad to have them where they belong — on the chips.
I’m also glad to know why the dress will never look the same on me as it does on the model.
Lori Borgman is an Indianapolis columnist. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org.