Me, wear a dress?

I have a friend who is petrified of dresses. How, you ask, could one be so scared of a few metres of cloth fashioned in a shape that all of us were very comfortable with at the age of three? Oh, but she is. Terrified, that is.

Post delivering the most adorable little baby boy, and my first nephew (well done, darling!) a couple of years ago, she has just not had the time or energy to shed as many of her pregnancy pounds as she would like. For convenience sake (and because she lives so far from me that I haven't been able to get my hands on her wardrobe to empty it out !), she has taken to hiding her voluptuous figure in long indian kurtas. If she does, at all, venture into the territory of non-Indian clothes, it's a long skirt and a long top. Hence, the severe emotional distress at the thought of a "dress". Of course, in her mind, a "dress" is what Bollywood starlets parade their starved bodies in on Page 3 i.e. very short, very tight and optionally-sleeved. 

After a lot of persuasion, I finally convinced her to come shopping with me for a dress. I won't deny that there were a few false starts - some dresses were not the right length (and she's very conscious about her thighs), some hugged her round bottom too close, the sleeveless ones were shooed away even without a trial (her upper arms have not been exposed to the world in over 36 months). She was starting to get annoyed with me. Comments about "mutton dressed as lamb" could distinctly be heard (and that was probably the most complementary thing I was called that day). But finally, we found a deceptively simple looking indigo blue chiffon dress. I bullied her into trying it on (Yes, bullying is a particular skill set of mine. I'm very proud of it.). Add some sparkly heels and dangly earrings and lo & behold, suddenly this incredibly sexy, voluptuous, just plain YUMMY being emerged from the dressing room. And every single girl waiting outside the dressing room for their turn went Ooooooooooooooooooooooh!

The colour – a gorgeous gorgeous indigo blue - was just perfect for her wheatish skintone. The a-line, knee length bottom half disguised the hips and thighs very well. The top half had a neck low enough to show off a hint of her impressive assets, yet was demure enough to wear in front of her conservative in-laws. And miraculously, even the lack of sleeves didn't matter because it was just such a flattering fit and cut. All in all, it was a dress made for her. She wore it to her sister's birthday party and loved every minute of once again feeling like the hot chick that she used to be, before she started hiding her figure in tent-like clothes, dancing her heart out on the dancefloor all evening, feeling and looking every inch the beautiful beautiful woman that she is .


And today she called me and said, Babe, I need an outfit for my son's third birthday party, so let's go buy me a dress!

I dare you to ignore the Indian hips

So, frozen margarita season is well and truly upon us. Or kala-khatta ice gola season. Whichever your preference may be. To kickstart the weekend, we invited a couple of friends over on Friday evening, ostensibly, to enjoy the late evening sea breeze on our tiny balcony, but in reality to indulge my craving for fresh watermelon cocktails . As dusk approached, I scanned my closet to pick out a light summer dress to pair with the iced drinks and I realised that - but of course! I have nothing to wear. Absolutely not a thing.

You know what comes next, ladies . A scheme was hatched very quickly the following morning to “invest” in a few light and breezy summery outfits. Being the obsessive planner I am, I made a meticulous plan for the perfect summer capsule wardrobe and off I went on a Saturday jaunt to tick some items off my list.

However (and isn't there always a however?), when faced with the two limitations of many Indian women (i) a budget and (ii) a body lovingly nourished with french fries, blueberry cheesecakes, pepperoni pizza and every form of carbohydrate on this planet, my excitement-laden hope of finding lots of lovely new things turned into miserable frustration, at the fact that - Nothing Fits Right!

If the store actually stocks summery linen trousers that make it up past up my knees to encase my well-rounded bottom, the waist gaps at the back. If the waistband is stretchy and hence, fits me, the narrow trouser legs, often without any stretch in the fabric, make my thighs look like over-stuffed sausages. If the trouser legs are miraculously wide enough, the crotch area often creates an unsightly 'camel-toe' effect. If the skirt rests comfortably over my muffin-top tummy, it stops exactly three inches above my knees to show off the fat deposits that adorn my plump thighs. If I find the perfect shirt that subtly flatters my waist, then of course, it has to be popping open at the bust.

Aaaargh! I get annoyed at the sales people, I vow to lose weight (starting right now!), I think about control underwear that doesn't allow one to breathe. And the more clothes I try, the more depressed I get. So I throw up my hands in frustration, eat a Costa chocolate muffin, tell myself that its a lost cause and that aaj kal ke clothes are made for skinny under-developed 15 year old teeny boppers and just cannot suit me.

Now of course, that isn't true. I'm just a regular Indian body type, who needs to be particular about the type of clothes I wear. Unfortunately, the high street in India is largely made up of European chains - Mango, Zara, French Connection, Promod, Bennetton or its copycat cousins Chemistry, Lifestyle, Pantaloons, Cottonworld. And the problem is that many of their clothes are patterned for the French, Italian and German ladies. Rather unfortunately for them, most European sized women do not have the lovely curvy bodies that us Indian women are blessed with. We have boobs, waists and hips (sometimes more of one than the others ), whereas, European women are generally taller and more of a straighter shape than us. So doesn't that leave you with an Aaaaargh?

Not to worry. The secret to elegance in such a scenario is just a one-word password away. Tailoring. For you and me, the answer is grown-up tailoring. Leave the thin, clingy, skimpy items to the anorexic 15 year olds. Avoid the 100% cotton or the 100% lycra. All you and I need to do is to find the simple looking, but well-fitting tailored separates, with the right amount of stretch. These simple separates might look plain on their own, but once they come together in the right colour combination or with the right accessory, voila! you are the very epitome of Curvy Chic . Enjoy your curves, ladies!