I remember the first time I walked into a United Colors of Benetton store when I was 12 years old at the Woodbury Commons outlet mall. The brand, which was all the rage in the 1990s, exemplified the epitome of chic for my tween self.
I went in and picked up a pair of their largest-size pants, pants I’m sure we couldn’t afford even on a discount and tried them on. I couldn’t get them over my hips. I was devastated.
I felt shame creeping over me, the hair rising on the back of my neck, as I walked out of the dressing room, unable to answer my friend when she asked how they fit. She was a size 6; she didn’t know the trauma of the dressing room, how one move could turn a good, positive shopping trip into an experience that made me want to hide.
