I thought losing weight would make getting dressed easier. I thought it would make going to the mall and having a little shopping spree more fun. I thought that having a body that fit the clothes would somehow make the clothes magically fit me—and who I am.
Instead, what I got was a closet full of “transition clothes” (oversized sweatshirts, safe skater dresses, and a boring sweaters) and a mall full of athleisure wear, business casual slacks and tops, or crop tops and mini-dresses best suited for my teenaged daughters.
Nothing fit. Not really.
The clothes in my closet didn’t fit my body or my personality. And the clothes in the mall? They fit my body, sure, but not me as a person, and definitely not my budget (especially when you’re changing sizes every few months while the cost of living is drastically increasing).
I’ve come to realize it’s not just my body that’s changed. I have too.
What used to feel good on my body, what used to at least make me feel pretty, just doesn’t anymore. And somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t just figuring out what fits. I was figuring out who I am now—and the clothes in my closet just weren’t working.
I needed to go shopping. Just not the way I used to.
Shopping… But Differently
After one too many rounds of sticker shock, feeling uninspired by what was actually available at the mall, and being completely overwhelmed by the amount of pearl embellishments at Marshalls, I realized I needed to start looking elsewhere for clothes that felt like me, both on the outside and the inside.
Years ago, I used to take my kids to the thrift store to find their play clothes or the occasional inexpensive Lululemon tights. But I was a bigger girl then, and the options available to me there felt even more limited than what I could find at the mall. So I quietly wrote thrift shopping off for myself.
My teen, however, never lost her love of the hunt and would still ask to go. And one day it hit me that I had lost weight. I needed to be reminded, apparently. Which also meant I could finally start thrifting for myself.
I was no longer plus size. I was straight sized. A medium. And suddenly, the entire store was available to me.
I stopped thinking of my options as limited to whatever one store in the mall happened to carry my size (looking at you Torrid), and started realizing I could actually dress in a way that reflected who I was.
The only problem was, I still wasn’t sure who that was.
It turns out the issue wasn’t just that I didn’t like what was in stores, or that I had spent a decade with very few choices. It was that I didn’t know what I was looking for anymore.
Spending full price on clothes while my body was still changing felt like a bad financial decision at best. At worst, it led to a shame spiral of overspending and still ending up with nothing to wear.
The thrift store felt like freedom. My husband might say a little too much freedom.
I realized there was a whole world of clothes out there that were more my style and more my budget. Not only were thrift stores now a possibility for me, but so were vintage markets. And once I started browsing Poshmark and discovered Whatnot, I was suddenly connected to a world of people selling incredible pieces at price points I could actually afford.
After a few months of expanding my version of retail therapy, I’ve built up an eclectic collection of clothes that actually make me feel good on my body and in my soul.
I’m experimenting with patterns and accessories. I’m letting myself be someone who gets noticed when she leaves the house—not because I’m the biggest person in the room, but because I actually like what I’m wearing.
I’m finding 100% silk designer pieces for eight dollars and wearing them to the grocery store like that’s completely normal. Because now, it is.
Slowly, I’ve started to figure out who I am.
And it turns out, she’s a little bolder than I expected. She’s not afraid of an animal print shirt. She’s embracing her changing, 43-year-old body one outfit at a time.
And the best part? I can put together an entire look of well-made, name-brand pieces for less than what I used to spend on a single fit-and-flare dress from Torrid.
So I started putting outfits together. Not perfect ones. Not final ones. Just different versions of me, trying things on and seeing what fits.
If you happen to see me out in the wild, feel free to compliment my outfit. Just don’t be surprised when I tell you, very proudly, that it’s thrifted.
If you’re still figuring out what your “new version” looks like, you’re not alone—our guide to building a wardrobe that actually feels like you is a good place to start.
Mikki is the managing editor of She’s Got Issues, where she writes about midlife, pop culture, and the slow realization that no one actually has it together. Her work lives somewhere between thoughtful commentary and “did I just spiral into a full personality crisis over a pair of jeans?” She technically has an Instagram, but posting regularly feels like a commitment she’s not emotionally prepared for. That said, she will occasionally drop a truly exceptional meme.
