Belly button pushback
The small sacrifices of sitting down and bending over.
Back in my early twenties I chanced into the ultimate Craigslist gig and got paid to do something I’d gladly do for free: try on endless pairs of designer denim and give feedback on the fit. A mere 90 minutes stood between me and a crisp envelope with $150 cash inside.
It still feels too good to be true.
This being the early aughts, my favorite was a pair of Sevens with fancy pocket detailing and a rise low enough to guarantee permanent whale tail. They were on trend, made my butt look great, and gave me a pretty serious muffin top.
“These are perfect!” I exclaimed to the rep, who gently asked me about the rolls of flesh coming out over the top of the jeans. Wouldn’t I be more comfortable with a higher rise, or more room in the waistband?
“Oh, that’s just how my body is,” I said dismissively, admiring the blinged out pockets and wondering if I could switch my payment method to denim.
Back in those ultra-low-rise days, part of my morning routine was camouflaging how poorly all my jeans fit. I would guide the waistband to best smooth out the flesh on my hips; I knew instinctually when I could squeeze into a freshly washed (extra tight!) pair, and which tops would free me to sit down or lift my arms up without revealing my butt crack. And even though I knew how to place and adjust, before I left home, I’d still obsessively check in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t ‘gross’ from any angle.
And of course once out in public, I’d be constantly readjusting, repositioning, harboring low-level background anxiety about the collision of my flesh and my jeans.
That’s a lot of energy devoted to contorting and conforming.
Because I’ve mostly graduated from those anxieties (not least because rises have, mercifully, risen), I love watching how my four year old daughter wears her pants. When she’s getting dressed, she pulls them up until they hit their natural roadblock and then she moves on.
It’s so simple I am overcome with giddiness every time she does it.
She hasn’t learned yet that her comfort and freedom of movement is the price she’ll pay to be cool. She’s not slinging her shorts a little lower on her hips. She’s not stressing over how the inseam flatters her shoe choice. She’s not micro-adjusting to best mimic the ‘ideal’ body shape.
I watch her with both joy and dread because this phase is terminal. Chances are that one day she’ll obsess over millimeters of fabric and the disobedience of her own flesh. Chances are she’ll discover that the clothes pushed upon her are those that restrict her movements and highlight her own deviance from the bullshit ideal du jour. Even if she doesn’t seek it out, this knowledge and its punishments will find her.
For now, her belly button pushes back against an elastic waistband decorated with parachuting pandas or sparkly stars.
Media I’m glad I consumed this week:
Synergy was just the beginning. The garbage language of corporations and startups.
The Black Brunch Club created the community it needed.
Would you rob banks for your family?
This IG account turns 1-star reviews for national parks into posters and it’s genius. This one’s my favorite.
Why you crave caffeine and you don’t need to quit!
In a disaster that calls for isolation, your community will help you survive.
So curious about the behind the scenes on this startup’s implosion.
We all need some levity right now. H/t to Jeremy for this gem.
These real voicemails left for Britain’s minister of loneliness are heartbreaking.
