A Tiny Qualification...

In retrospect, I've realized that I should qualify my formerly unqualified endorsement of all things Tory B: her PJs are a complete nightmare fit-wise. For Christmas my mother gave both my sister and I a pair and, while absolutely adorable, the fit on the bottoms is completely off. Normally, my sister wears a size M and I wear a L. Being that they're PJs and nobody wants fitted PJs, my mother went ahead and purchased a size L and XL, respectively. Well folks, despite each of us going up a size, the pants were still too small. As in, I couldn't get them over my butt too small (and while I hardly claim to have model thighs, I am definitely not bottom-heavy). If it hadn't been for the fact that my sister couldn't wear hers either, I probably would've begun my post-holiday diet well before New Years. Ultimately, my sister ended up taking my XLs (which fit her rather closely) and we're going to try and pawn her pair off on a smaller friend (we're estimating the L bottoms are sized for a 4-6). And so, it's little wonder the PJs were put on sale almost immediately. Who wants to size up two sizes?? In what fantasy land is a size 8 (my sister) an XL? Oh right, Hollywood.

I think, if I were a designer, I'd size everything up so you'd be a size or so smaller in my line than elsewhere. I'm pretty sure I'd be a big success. It's amazing how a little number can so greatly affect a woman's self esteem -- even if the reality underlying that little number is telling you something completely different.