Nobody puts baillee in the corner

If you know me at all, you know I don’t wear jeans. In fact, I don’t wear real pants at all. Why? I hate the way I look in them. It’s where I find myself the most self-conscious. That’s why I haven’t worn them since I quit HEB…which was over two years ago. I avidly avoid real pants, and all but throw a temper tantrum of Supernanny proportions (see, all of those high school summers of watching reality TV finally paid off) anytime someone suggests trying them on.

However, I have recently found myself ensembly challenged (Ambular, what’s good?) because I have many a top and pair of boots that would flawlessly accent a good pair of jean shorts. I finally broke down and tried on a pair when I was home, and I have to be 100% honest and admit it really upset me. I genuinely felt like I looked disgusting. In my eyes, I feel like actual pants and shorts accentuate my “imperfections.” I like leggings and basketball shorts because I feel like I can hide in them. Yoga pants and the like are “safe.”

Today, I decided to try again. I mustered up the courage to attempt the ultimate feat: trying on clothes in a Target aka the ninth circle of dressing rooms. The first time I tried them on, I almost cried. I only saw the negative. I heard the voices of all of the people who teased or taunted me in grade school echoing in my head. It was like Carrie, sans pig’s blood (though I’m 90% positive that’s what Target paints their dressing room walls with). I could feel tears welling in my eyes. I called Anna in for reinforcements, almost wishing she would see what I saw, but being the amazing person/friend Anna is, she gave me nothing but compliments and positive reinforcement. After several minutes of faces, groans, and eye rolls in classic Baillee fashion, I decided to carry them around the store while we shopped.

We made it approximately 10 feet when I felt completely defeated and announced I was putting the shorts back. It took  another 10 feet before I shook my head, yelled “Wait, no!” and immediately ran back for the same shorts. I realized I was being ridiculous. All of those people who were mean to me probably didn’t even remember what they said, and I was still letting their long-forgotten comments influence me. I’m not the same girl I was in high school. Hell, I’m not the same girl I was last year. I was momentarily disappointed in myself because I constantly write about body acceptance, and my love for my body is ever-growing, but I was letting a pair of denim shorts ruin everything I’ve worked so hard on. That’s when I realized something else: when you bring up body acceptance, you have to include the negative.

You can’t leave out all of the times you’ve changed your outfit five hundred times before you left. All of the twisting and turning in the mirror. All of the selfies taken to see what your body looks like from every angle.  All of the hoping that each little stand of fabric hits just right. There will be times you cry in dressing rooms. You’ll ditch a crop top for an oversized shirt because you feel bloated or vulnerable. The important part is wearing it anyway. It’s knowing that nothing will ever fit you “perfectly”; there will always be some part that is frayed or snug or stiff. It’s accepting the world will be able to see your stretch marks or scars or uneven boobs when you wear something cutoff. It’s realizing your body isn’t perfect and neither is anyone else’s. It’s also realizing everyone’s body is imperfect in a different way or for a different reason, and that’s the true beauty of it. I wouldn’t be me if everyone else had a scar on their left foot from someone dropping a glass bowl full of ranch dip on it during their tenth birthday party. I wouldn’t be me if everyone else had the same tattoos or body type or weird appreciation for cold soup. All of my imperfections are what make me perfectly Baillee MaCloud Perkins.

I’m not saying body acceptance has a fairy tale ending where you’ll always love everything you wear, and you’ll never doubt or question yourself. If I did, KP would get the fly swatter after me for lying (just kidding, she’d pinch my underarm). Body acceptance is hard. There will be clothing you don’t buy out of fear, and there will be days you want to wear Kevin Smith-esque, oversized jerseys that completely swallow you. That’s okay. It happens to everyone (including Noel Fielding, I’m sure). The trick is to make those days as few as possible. Step outside of your comfort zone. Buy something you’ve always wanted to try but have been too afraid. Even if it sits in your closet for months, I can assure you that it will eventually come off the hanger and make its way into your wardrobe. Don’t let anyone tell you what you should or shouldn’t wear. Don’t let your self doubt define you. You are not your insecurities. Wear the damn denim shorts. (Just don’t try to do a cover of Nancy Sinatra  while you wear them).