Wednesday, July 14, 2010

One of those dreams

It was one of those dreams that linger longer than usual probably because I was woken up in the middle of it by the furball wanting its too early breakfast.
I had complained so much about dress designers to everyone who would listen that one of the Paris designers had chosen me to end his show wearing 'The Wedding Dress'. No I didn't look like bones up there or bones down there, it was me in all my wall to wall flab. The dress was gorgeous, heavily beaded V neck, wide crinoline type skirt with train, miles of petticoats and heels, me, wearing heels. My flowers were white roses and I didn't so much as parade down the cat walk as glide. As I reached the end and had to turn, I remember thinking, here it is, where I go over the side and kill half the audience but no, I turned with grace, using my feet to flick the train behind me and continued to glide to tumultuous applause. I didn't have a veil, just a sparkly headdressy thing. Thanks to the cat, I didn't get to see myself as the next supermodel plus plus size but the dress was a beauty.
So the dream started me thinking (at that time of the morning, Great Goddess) about why dress designers don't design for lardarses. It's because they can't. Miss Skinny Pink in Satin is flat all the way around, up and down, no tits, no bum. Designers cannot cope with lumps. Fat ladies have lumps. They have lumps in strange places, they have one up/one down boobs. Fat stomachs tend to move as one glides (yes, we glide, shuttup) legs can be thinnish to tree trunks.
So you see with all their fabulous designs that they charge squillions for, they've not got the talent to dress the most Rubenesque of real women.
I dream of the day, that one will rise above this tryanny of skinny and have a show of such largeness, such women of curves to rival an alpine road and all in the most gorgeous of frocks to outshine the stick insects into extinction.
I could really kill the cat.


Kath Lockett said...

Don't blame the cat - it is he who allowed you to come up with the truth about so-called designers - they can really only cope with slightly human versions of those flat, 2-dimensional paper cut out dolls we used to have.

Give that moggy an extra sardine or two and hope that your dream resumes where it left off last night!

Running Amok With An Ax said...

Amen to that!

River said...

I'd love designers to design with real women in mind too. I still wouldn't buy their clothes though.
Have you seen those prices? I'll stick to my bargain basement jeans and t-shirts thankyouverymuch. The one time I had an occasion to dress up like that, I hired a dress for the night. Much cheaper.

Ann ODyne said...

holy clavicle BatGirl, that model has shoulderblades you could hang a handbag on.

For a model with a 12-inch waist thanks to her Mr. Pearl corset, and a designer (Jean-Paul Gaultier) with a tubby tummy please go here to my pal Vintage Chic.

R.H. said...

I avoid boney women, they're more expensive to take out.

Jayne said...

If that was a dog the RSPCA would put it down.

JahTeh said...

Kath, the dream was so vivid, I can still see the dress in my mind's eye. And don't give the cat ideas.

'Running amok with an ax' sounds like my pre divorce days. Fabulous name for a blog, I will visit.

River, I haven't worn jeans since I was 17. I never found them comfortable, now caftans are a different type of comfortable.

Annie O, Dita looked almost clothed in those shoes.

Robbert, they don't eat anything, you'd need a bank loan to take me out.

Jayne, they live on diet coke, cigarettes and nose candy. Give me Megan Gale anytime.

Fen said...

Flat ladies are walking coat hangers. No effort required. Designers are lazy!!

Middle Child said...

Think of the dosh they are missing out on - they would make a packet if they had their heads out of their own bottoms

JahTeh said...

Fen, even some clothes look lousy on coathangers.

Therese, leggings and t-shirts are apparently good enough for the super-size. Not me though, I have a mirror near the door.

R.H. said...

5 a.m. and the roar begins, ants over the westgate. After an hour you don't hear it anymore, yet it goes all day. You've years to live yet/dress the corpse.

JahTeh said...

Good morning, Robbert. 6.41 here and I'm having coffee in the quiet, even the cat hasn't woken.