Secrets of a Former Fat Girl (27 page)

This process might sound simple until you try it for yourself. I still struggle with it every time I do a seasonal wardrobe purge. And, hey, I'm not the only one. Putting together a wardrobe of pieces that fit and reflect who you are inside is an issue for women in general. Luckily for those of us who need professional advice, a new book,
Nothing to Wear? A 5-Step Cure for the Common Closet
, can help. The authors, Jesse Garza and Joe Lupo, are the founders of a closet-editing service called Visual Therapy Luxury Lifestyle Consultants. Their book is full of advice on the practical (how to choose pieces that flatter your body type) and the emotional (exercises to help you work through some of those issues that make you cling to clothes that are oh so wrong for you).

It's easier than ever to put these guys' advice into practice without having to spend a fortune on a tailor. The people who make women's clothes have finally figured out that every body is different, and started to offer pieces in multiple cuts and multiple lengths. I'm talking mostly about pants here; they're the hardest thing (next to swimsuits) to buy. Go to Banana Republic, Express, and the Gap, and you will find specific “fits” with specific names in a variety of fabrics. Once you find your fit, shopping is pretty simple. I always know, for instance, that Express's Editor cut will look great on me. (Fitting, isn't it, since I'm an editor?) It probably took my trying on five different fits in five different sizes to figure that out, but it was worth it. Now I can walk into the store, and the only decision I have to make is whether I want the plaid or the herringbone.

The other basic thing I have learned is that every woman has a waist, and a waist must be accentuated. Whether you're 10, 20, or 50 pounds overweight, what they call a structured jacket will look more flattering than one of those straight jobs. Test the theory for yourself: Try on one structured jacket and one unstructured jacket, and see what you think. I'll bet you'll fall for the fitted version.

The idea of wearing more body-conscious clothing will take some getting used to, I know. It did for me. One way to speed up the process is to watch the amazing transformations on what has become my favorite TV treat: the TLC show
What Not to Wear
. If you haven't seen it, tune in. Two fashion stylists, Stacey London and Clinton Kelly, ambush unsuspecting fashion victims, give them specific guidance and a bunch of money, and set them loose in the shopping mecca of New York City. You get to watch as real women learn to find clothes work with their bodies—short, tall, big, small. What's so stunning about these transformations is how choosing one style of jacket over another can completely change your look. You will see right there the magic you can make with the right wardrobe choices. (For a cheat sheet of basic rules for Former Fat Girls.)

The next step is to try it for yourself. I suggest starting with a couple of pieces—one jacket and one pair of pants (because who has the dough to replace an entire closetful anyway?). Buy separates so you can wear them with other pieces in your wardrobe. Monitor how you feel when you wear them. Sexier? More confident? Younger? Note whether you get more compliments, even if they're not specifically about what you're wearing. People might notice something different about you, and they might not attribute it to that cute cropped jacket.

The Issue: You Don't Know How to Handle All These Compliments

One of the reasons it's so hard to let go of those baggy, straight-cut duds is the old fear of drawing too much attention to yourself. Hey, I'm the girl who covered her mouth when she smiled, remember? I know what I'm talking about here. It's hard to grasp the fact that you have a body, a womanly body, when your shape starts to emerge from the shadows. Suddenly, there's nowhere to hide: In this body-conscious clothing—the nipped-in waists, the low-rise pants—you feel (as odd as it sounds) naked. You feel exposed.

Some of you will have no problem with the whole attention thing. You might just throw off that beach cover-up and romp around in your tankini without a second thought. You might have no problem basking in the glow of your newfound success, swimming in the sea of compliments coming your way. And, hey, good for you!

I, on the other hand, did everything I could to deflect any compliment I received. I had to make some quip at my own expense (“Oh, I always look good in low light”) or find a way to rationalize that it wasn't me who deserved the credit (“Oh, it's these jeans! They suck me in and smooth me out like magic”). I had never been good at taking any kind of compliment, no matter what it was for—a good report card, a decent photo, an insightful answer. But I was particularly bad at fielding flattery based on my appearance.

I have learned, though, to say “thank you.” It's amazing how hard it is to squeeze out those two simple words when someone comments on how great your legs look in a skirt. It's amazing how hard it is not to add some kind of explanation to neutralize the whole thing (“It's the boots” or “Thank God for self-tanner!”). I have to force myself to say “thank you” and nothing more, no “But you should see my thighs. Talk about
cellulite
.”

And that's my best advice.
Just say thank you
—even to those unwitting boobs who say stuff like “Oh, my God! You've lost so much weight!” Forgive them; they know not what they say. But they know what they mean. They're trying in their rather clumsy way to tell you how great you look—not to point out how much bigger you once were (even though it might sound like it).

So force yourself to say “thank you” to any and all compliments. It will get easier with practice, I promise. Resist the urge to explain yourself, to rationalize, or to come up with some self-deprecating remark. You might think those quips are funny, but they're really tearing you down little by little. They are denigrating the work you've done; they're pecking away at your well-deserved pride; they're devaluing all the amazing things you've done to get yourself this far.

Inside you may be uneasy with the compliments, with the attention, and with your new self, but in saying “thank you,” you're moving in the right direction. Even if you don't quite believe you deserve the props you're getting, the very act of saying “thank you” can help you change all that from the outside in. Every time you say it, you become a little more accepting; you get a little closer to believing you're worthy of having a body you're proud to show off, of living the life you want to live, of being truly and finally happy.

I
f I was really going to thank everyone who made this book possible, I'd have to include the guys who make Hostess Cupcakes, Marshmallow Fluff, and Snickers bars. But I think I'll stick to the people who have encouraged and supported me along the way. My grateful thanks to:

My agent, Debra Goldstein, and my publisher and editor, Laureen Rowland, who completely got the Former Fat Girl thing from the very beginning and whose feedback helped me push this baby out after a gestation period of, oh, at least eight years. Additional thanks to Luke Dempsey, Danielle Friedman, and Liz Keenan for believing in and working so hard on behalf of this book.

My friends at
Health
magazine, particularly Ellen Kunes, Anne Krueger, Faustina Williams, Renee Tulenko, Chris Allen, Cheryl Marker, Mei Lin Wong, Nicole Ransom, and Hillary Pereira, whose support and friendship have been invaluable.

My enduring friends Jill and Earl Melton and Kim and Mark Christ. I am lucky to have you in my life.

All the friends and colleagues who have been my cheerleaders, sounding boards, and confidants, including Pam Fries, Robyn Mait Levine, Jennifer Deans, Eileen Kiernan, Lisa Davis, Abigail Walch, Marty Munson, Dimity McDowell, Mary Lou Reynolds, Lisa Hughes, and Lynn Gerald.

Barbara Kantrowitz and Kristen Kelch whose offhand comment—“You should write a book”—gave me something to obsess about for years.

My in-laws, Leo and Christine Horton, who have dropped everything to come to our rescue too many times to count.

My parents, Joseph and Barbara Delaney, and my brothers and sister who loved me through thick and thin (ha!), even when I didn't feel like there was much reason to. You created a stable jumping-off place that was there for me when I finally had the courage to make the leap.

My husband, Rick Horton, and our son, Johnny. You keep me laughing, singing, dancing, and grounded in the things that matter most.

And to all the Former Fat Girls and Future FFGs who have embraced this book—and me—with so much love and enthusiasm. Thank you for bringing your own wisdom, honesty, and sense of humor to the conversation about body, beauty, and personal growth.