When your body doesn't match your style
exploring the disconnect between body neutrality and personal style
Today I’m working on the Flourish website. I’m feeling very into design mode right now and want to take advantage of the creative spark that has been bestowed upon me today. We are going through a bit of a rebrand, with a new color palette, new logo (in the works!) and a new, fresh direction for the brand to take. But before I dive into website mode, I wanted to share something I’ve been thinking about. I recently read an article by Maureen from Intuitive Style about barriers to dressing intuitively. The title alone hooked me and of course I dove right in. Her reflections around shopping in the sizing middle ground comes with so many complications and inconsistencies that have led to an understandable amount of exhaustion and overwhelm. And that is exactly where I found myself nodding yes, thinking…I feel that so deeply.
That has stuck with me since reading her article. Not just because it’s true for so many people, but because I’ve experienced a different version of it for years. I wear a U.S. size 8 or 10, which is more or less an accessible landing place for straight sizing, but my bust is significantly larger than average. Right now I wear a 32GG (UK size, much more friendly sounding than the US counterpart 32J…). At one point I was up a cup size from that. And frankly? It makes shopping within my size range downright impossible for many garment types.
My bust didn’t really take over my life until my early 30s (oh, the drama). I’m 38 now, and I still haven’t made peace with it. There was no real dramatic weight gain, it just… happened. The caveat is, I know why (genes). Many women on my mom’s side of the family experienced the very same thing. But the result was that I had to start shopping differently, change my strategy, and even look at different brands outside of my (then) wheelhouse. Tops, a nightmare. Dresses? Good luck getting it zipped. Button-downs either pulled open or gave tent vibes.
Which, is exactly how I ended up with a closet full of oversized button-downs. You might remember my last post about falling into a style uniform by accident: a striped button down shirt, a roomy pant or short, a statement shoe, and something vaguely conceptual for a bag. It looks deliberate, some days it even feels cool. But the truth is, it’s simply a workaround.
It’s the outfit that won’t piss me off at 9:00 a.m. when nothing else fits right. It’s the look I’ve defaulted to, and it’s not because it expresses something essential about me (which, it kind of does to an extent), but because it doesn’t betray me the way other pieces do.
So here’s where it gets fun: even the styles that are supposedly “easy” or “classic” can feel alienating when they’re designed for bodies that aren’t yours. The oversized shirt and trouser look—beloved by Pinterest girls (Millennials) and street style influencers alike—works great on small to average busts. It just does. But when I wear it, the volume hits differently. It feels less architectural and more accidental. Less cool girl in Copenhagen and more “I’m hiding stuff under here.”
And the thing is, I “know” how to dress. I understand proportion and dressing to accentuate, balance, or even camouflage. I’m a stylist. I’ve worked with countless clients. I help people find their personal style. But even with all that knowledge and experience, I still find myself looking at the mirror thinking, “This doesn’t look like the version of me I had in my head.” That’s the part that’s hard to talk about. Because we’re supposed to be evolved, right? We’re supposed to embrace our curves, our lines, our softness. We’re supposed to reject outdated beauty standards and love the skin we’re in. And most days, I believe in all of that.
But then I put on a dress and hate how I feel. Or I try to recreate an outfit I love online and it just… doesn’t work. And I think, if I could just swap this one thing, maybe the rest would click into place. To be honest, for years, I’ve wanted to have a breast reduction. Not because I think I’d suddenly love my body in a different way, but because the version of me I carry inside doesn’t have this bodily feature. I don’t feel like a “busty” person. I don’t want to dress like one. And trying to reconcile that internal identity with a physical shape that dominates everything I put on has been/is exhausting.
Of course, a reduction costs thousands of dollars, which I don’t just have lying around (yet? fingers crossed?). So in the meantime, I do what a lot of people do: I try to make it work. But even that phrase—make it work—is telling. Why are we always trying to work with our bodies like they’re an inconvenience? Why aren’t clothes doing more of the work? And while we’re at it, why are curvy figures so celebrated in theory, but so poorly accommodated in practice?
The toxic fashion world loves to dangle buzzwords like “body positivity” but it rarely accounts for the nuances. Like the fact that you can accept your body and feel deeply disconnected from it. That you can believe your shape is worthy of love and respect and still want to change it. Or that you can be confident and uncomfortable at the same time. Maybe that’s the real challenge. I think of this quote from Maureen’s article, “…it’s much clearer that shopping in alignment with ourselves isn’t just a mental challenge, but instead the result of choices brands make about who they want to make clothing for, and who they don’t.” And while here she is referring to mid-size clothing, the same is true for larger bust accommodations, and..and..and.
And while yes, I know very well that having clothing tailored to fit your individual body is often necessary to achieve a great fit. Fast fashion practices have caused us to become disconnected from this approach and it’s worth the reminder to not omit that from your shopping practices if it is truly worth it. But that doesn’t really solve the root of the issue, the exclusivity of aesthetics, the silent judgement, the lack of options. I leave you with no real solution to conclude with, but rather, the knowledge that no matter what your struggle is or what barrier to dressing authentically and intuitively you experience, you’re not alone.
x,
Shel
Head nodding through this whole post, but especially here: “I still find myself looking at the mirror thinking, ‘This doesn’t look like the version of me I had in my head.’ That’s the part that’s hard to talk about.”
The number of times this has happened and I’ve defaulted to all black or covering up…countless.
Honestly, I love the way you don't try to wrap up this piece with a tidy ending. I don't have one either. Thanks for running with the idea, and understanding it was never about a specific form of barrier - but really about the more universal experience of the friction between what we want and reality. As an aside - I've also gotten way "bustier" in the last few years and its been maddening. I'm trying to find a long pendant necklace for example, and all the model images have relatively smaller chests - so I can't just order the standard length and assume it'll work the same on me. I got out a measuring tape and tried to figure out where I'd want it to land on my body. But not seeing my body in many product images can make it so hard to picture. All of this to say - getting attuned with OUR body and preferences > trying to replicate someone else's look seems to be a necessary. Because trying to replicate another person's look and having it work super differently is inherently disappointing. Thank you for writing this, and sharing. so so good.