Rethinking Fit: Why I Stopped Chasing the Smallest Size

Read any style column or listen to any style expert, and the importance of well-fitting clothing is bound be mentioned. (Even if it’s often invoked without being defined.) It’s true that even expensive clothes can look awkward if the fit is poor on the wearer. But how do we determine “what fits” in an age where so many different styles and silhouettes co-exist?

What “Well-Fitting” Used to Mean

Traditionally, in Western cultures, “well-fitting” meant a tailored silhouette that (with some exceptions) lay close to the body, while allowing movement without pulling or bunching. Which in our age of mass-produced clothing can be hard to achieve unless one sews their own clothing, or has the means to have pieces custom-made.

Today, that narrow ideal can feel onerous and exclusionary. Our lifestyles are much more casual. And our clothes often have to multi-task. Not to mention the comfort factor: in my post last week about styling drawstring pants, many of you mentioned in comments that you’ve also become more sensitive and turned off to clothing that feels stiff or constricting.

Why the Smallest Size Isn’t the Goal

What constitutes a good fit can vary from person to person. But I think for a lot of women in our age demographic, it’s often been interpreted as “wearing the smallest size you can get into,” with the goal of looking smaller. Wearing clothes with more ease can feed into that fear that we’re “giving up.”

I’ll admit this has been a fraught topic for me. A bit of personal history: beginning when I was about 12 or 13 years old, my mother decided that buying my clothes in a slightly-too-small size would encourage me to lose weight. (And on top of that, girls my age were already starting to get competitive about who wore the smallest size.) I started dieting strenuously at 13, which led to eating disorders and fluctuating weight. There were days and weeks when I could barely fasten anything in my wardrobe. I’d sit through school in painfully constricting clothing that also caused intestinal distress. Or, I’d wear my one pair of denim overalls day after day, while feeling an immense amount of shame.

So for me, prioritizing comfort comes from a very deep place. But comfort doesn’t have to mean “shapless and baggy.”

What Is “Fit?” (tell me, tell me, if you think you know)*

When current fashions include both oversized and body-hugging shapes, how do we determine what constitutes a good fit? You’re probably going to hate this answer (I sometimes do), but to a large degree, it depends on your personal style and preferences. To me, good fit means a piece moves with your body instead of against it, without pulling, gaping, or shifting all day. It’s almost easier to define markers of poor fit.

The Real Markers of Poor Fit

• Gaping between buttons and creases from too-tight clothing
• Pieces that constantly shift or ride up and have to be re-adjusted
• Shoulder seams on set-in sleeves that land above or beyond the shoulder line (though I’ll stipulate that some padded shoulders may be a skosh wider than the natural shoulder line)
• Anything that restricts movement (e.g. something you can’t comfortably sit in, or a jacket that is too tight across the back to comfortably cross your arms)
• Side seam pockets on pants that gape open
• Waistbands that dig in, or conversely, gape in the back
• Hemlines that land at an awkward point on the body

(I’m sure we can all think of a few more of our personal fit peeves, but those are what spring to my mind.)

Just a Number

Remember, the number on the tag is arbitrary and meaningless. Getting the fit you want is more important than whether everything in your closet is a certain size. And even if our weight stays constant, our shape can change over time.

So here’s a radical notion: don’t be afraid to size up. Even if my usual size fits, I’ve been finding that sometimes going up a size (especially in pants) results in a piece that drapes better on my body. And with today’s meager seam allowances, it’s often easier to take in a piece where needed than to let it out.

Case in point: these trousers. I could go down a size, but I prefer the slouchiness here and the way the fabric moves. And there’s enough room that when I put my hand in the pocket, nothing pulls or strains across the front. (And even though the sweater is slouchy, the fit in the shoulders adds structure and keeps it from swallowing me.)

Sometimes, what feels “shapeless” can be a lack of structure, rather than a too-large garment. I’ve offered some tips to add structure to your outfits here: The Secret to Smart Casual: Adding Structure Without Sacrificing Comfort And yes, outfit proportions matter too. But this is already quite long, so I’ll cover that in a separate post soon. 😉

What are your non-negotiables when it comes to fit? Let me know in comments below.

*And if you now have a Tower of Power song running through your head, enjoy! 🎵 One of my favorite concerts ever, 1975 at the Circle Star theater in the Bay Area. Rufus with Chaka Khan was the opening act.

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