My clothes don’t fit.
When I tell people this, they say it’s a good problem to have. You see, like our lovely Deputy Editor Brande Victorian, I’ve also lost a lot of weight recently (we keep each other motivated) by choosing to try and eat better and working out at least four times a week. After losing almost 45 pounds, I watched my jeans get looser, anything with an elastic waistband started to hang off my waist, and my dresses fit baggier than ever.
After a while, I got used to having to buy new pants every few months and realized that as I slim and tone, things just won’t fit the same. But what I didn’t expect or see coming, was that I would lose weight in my feet. I guess when your body is looking to rid itself of a lot of fat, it comes off all over the place.
As I was digging through a bin of shoes last night as I prepared to swap out the summer shoes at my front door for my boots and loafers, I came across a pair of low camel-colored boots I bought from ASOS last year that were sent in a size my toes didn’t agree with. I’m a very impatient person, and didn’t feel like waiting to ship things back and forth, so I tried to make it work. I attempted to stretch the shoes out the best I could, and each of the three times I tried to wear them, I fought ’til my thumbs burned, trying to force my feet into them.
Well, last night, they fit. I didn’t fight. I didn’t fuss. I just said, “Let me try these on again,” and they slipped on like nothing. They’re still a little snug because they’re narrow, but as I walked around the house in my T-shirt, post-workout granny panties, and boots like I was styling on folks, they no longer hurt. And they looked cute!
And then there are the penny loafers I recently bought from DSW. I’ve worn a 10 for some time now, and yet, when I went home, put on my shoes and walked to work the next day feeling like the freshest sista in Brooklyn with my camel coat, camel-colored corduroys, and camel loafers, I realized that my heels were coming out of my shoes. I was no longer fresh or fly. I literally looked like a little girl wearing her mother’s shoes in public–and I was embarrassed.
I didn’t understand it then, as I stuffed tissue and anything I could into the front of my shoes to get them to fit, and I didn’t understand it yesterday when my tight shoes didn’t feel so bad after all. It wasn’t until my friend told me, “Maybe you lost weight in your feet?” that it clicked.
Every single inch of you shrinks when you lose weight. Your fingers slim to the point that rings fall off. Your face looks and feels less round. And, woman or man, your breast decrease drastically. That last part I’m not too excited about…
But I was genuinely shocked about my feet. I had always felt that my hands and feet were pretty boney, and that weight was focused in my thighs, stomach, and chest. However, when you’re overweight, everything about you is overweight. We like to think our extra weight is concentrated, but it is spread out everywhere–even in your feet.
I can’t say whether or not this is one of those fun changes. Like when tights that used to hug your legs for dear life now fit comfortably, or when a dress you were about to throw in a Goodwill bag after only being able to fit in it once finally frames your curves instead of suffocating them. Shoes are expensive, and I don’t have the time, nor the money to be out here buying new ones to make up for all the space in my old ones.
But it is a good change. And any change that involves taking off the pounds that were holding me back, even if it’s in my toes, is something to celebrate. And I’ll be celebrating in my floppy a– shoes.