DOES THIS MAKE ME LOOK FAT?

I noticed the Nordstrom’s Catalogue for October sitting among the mail on my dinning room table last night.  I don’t remember having seen one in my house for any other month this year but there it was, colorful and exotic looking and if I had to venture a guess, somewhat costly to produce. I had a few minutes to kill before my gourmet chicken dinner was ready so I decided to thumb through the catalogue and see what Nordstrom’s was selling these days. It didn’t take long to find out.

The first item on display was an example of what one could expect to look like as a result of the effects of starvation, pure and simple. I saw nutritionally depleted females posing as clothed carcasses. Their faces were sullen and told the story of a distant sorrow and possibly the fading memory of their last meal. They looked sick and weak with not a smile to be found on any of their faces. Maybe the “lost hope” look is all the rage this year and sells clothes but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out who it is that would want to buy clothes modeled by people who look more like Jewish internment camp survivors then clothing models so I asked my son who happened to be sitting at the bar next to me:

Dad: “Hey dude, check these pictures out. Who would even think about buying the clothes that these women are wearing considering they all look like 8 year old boys who just got sent to their room for talking back to their mom?”

Son: “Chicks dad”

Dad: “Huh?”

Son: “Chicks…they all know they don’t look like that but they want to wear the same clothes never the less, just in case.”

Dad: “Just in case what?”

Son: “It’s like guys kinda. We look at muscle magazines even though we know we will never look like those guys, or want to for that matter.”

Dad: “So you’re saying woman know they will never look like these prisoners of war and probably don’t want to, but will buy the clothes anyway?

Son: “I guess”

Dad: “I don’t get it.”

Son: “Me neither. What’s for dinner?”

The next several several minutes was spent drifting through page after page of bony, meatless, sunken chested, miserable looking, unattractive clothing models; all wearing unflattering outfits that I wouldn’t take off the store rack if they gave them away free. I was perplexed and confused. What is going on here? Skinny and cute is one thing and I get that, but what I don't get is the the half dead, recently injected heroin into my bloodstream look?   

I kept turning pages until I came upon the bra display section and almost spit my wine all over the floor. The perplexing enigma was instantly apparent and could not have been more obvious. It seems that Nordstrom’s has decided the best way to sell their female clothing line is to hang them on walking dead skeletons with messy hair on heads that droop and with faces that display the effects of life long suffering, however; when selling the bras that presumably are worn under the aforementioned outfits, one must have since accumulated very ample well situated bosoms, curves galore, lots of going out on the town make up and  pouty smiles that hint of someone willing to shoot tequila and jump on the back of a speeding hog with a guy named Dirk! How is that possible!!  The clothes for sale in the first twenty pages of that catalogue wouldn’t fit on most Chihuahuas, much less the women who were advertising the suspension devices for their proud mcguffies!

These kinds of mixed signals and impossible situations must put a lot of stress on woman out there and they have my sympathy and support. Society puts tremendous expectations on their shoulders and retailers like Nordstrom's don’t help them much with that. I will rise tomorrow, grab my pants off the floor, pull a shirt off the armchair and go to work. I will give thanks that society couldn’t care less what I look like and that I don’t have to be a slave to what looks to me to be a no win situation for woman in our culture in their battle to keep up with current fashion demands. A confident woman in a torn sweatshirt and jeans exhibits more beauty and allure then any bolemic fashion model. I hope they can stop looking at themselves like they are always on display for others to judge. It just sounds like too much work.

And I will stop looking at the mail on the dinning room table.