I’ve never been one of those girls who loves shopping. Hanging out with my bestie in Anthropologie was always fun. I could wander around a book store for hours. I love getting new running shoes. But when it comes down to it, day long, we-need-to-buy-you-a-whole-new-wardrobe-or-at-least-a-winter-formal-dress trips aren’t for me.
As a teenager, I remember heading out for shopping trips with my mom. We’d pile into the car, full of expectations, and drive to the closest mall. Walking in through Nordstrom, we’d always start in the shoe section (easy enough). But somewhere between the second dressing room and a Starbucks visit, the trip stopped being fun. I’d be frustrated, angry, and sad. My mom would try so hard to cheer me up and pull me out of the fog of self-criticism, but I’d normally just snap at her. It got to the point where we couldn’t shop together anymore, which broke my heart. I love my momma.
If we’re being real, shopping for clothes has been a battle since 2005, when I was diagnosed with anorexia. Although I’m no longer that thirteen year old thinking she needed to lose 20lbs, shopping has never gotten much easier. Every time I enter a dressing room, my mind is filled with all the “shoulds” of the last twelve years, namely that I “should” fit into a size 4.
I believed this “should” so deeply that all throughout high school, I wouldn’t keep clothing if it wasn’t in a size 4. I’d go shopping with my best friend and try on tons of dresses, even if I absolutely loved one that fit me in a 6, I wouldn’t buy it. In my irrational, eating disordered head, 6=fat. If I had to size up, I’d start crying, get angry/frustrated/sad, and ultimately walk out of the store.
Even as I recovered, got stronger, and reclaimed bits and pieces of my life, shopping didn’t get much easier. I’d still get upset about sizing up and body dysmorphia made trying on clothes feel like a freak show. Hitting the mall was a major trigger that could throw me off for an entire week. If I felt “fat” from a shopping trip, I’d eat less or over-exercise to compensate. Not a good plan.
It wasn’t until after college that I discovered the Stitch Fix: the service that made shopping so much easier and actually FUN.
In case you aren’t familiar with Stitch Fix, it is a program where you get an online stylist who sends you 5 items whenever you prefer. I get items every eight weeks or so. The items your stylist sends are based off of your style profile, which includes everything from fit to style to budget. You’ve got three days to try everything on in the comfort of your home, with your current wardrobe all around you. Then, you choose what to keep and send back what you don’t like (totally free – shipping is included).
Why I love my Stitch Fix membership
It’s taken the trigger OUT of shopping for me. My stylist knows me, my style, and my body. I no longer have to guess what size is right for me, which brands run big/small, or even what styles will be flattering. Instead, she sends me curated items based on how I want to look and feel in my clothes.
Now, if I have to go into stores and shop, I’m amazed at how frustrating the experience can be. Picking sizes is a shit show, and I have no idea how anything is going to fit.
I’ve seen TONS of Stitch Fix reviews about the clothes and service but nothing about the impact on mindset. I’ll never cancel my Stitch Fix membership, because it’s helped me be more accepting of my body. It’s changed how I think about clothing and sizing. Stitch Fix has helped me have fun with fashion, because I don’t have to make decisions about size. This is life-changing for an eating disorder survivor.
So, yes, the service is amazing. The clothes are beautiful. It’s super convenient. But more than that, it’s been a tool in my journey to self acceptance. I hope you’ll join me.
If you want to know more about my journey, I’m getting real with my email buddies later this week. On Thursday, I’m sharing a super personal story about how I’ve started accepting my body, regardless of what the tag on my jeans says, AND sharing my exclusive strategy to detach from clothing label numbers. Enter your email below before to join the party. Don’t miss out.
Do you have a Stitch Fix membership?