#whitegirlproblems

I have been wanting to write a post for ages instead of just posting pictures of myself pouting in average outfits, but I was never inspired to write anything. That is until I went sportswear shopping yesterday. 

Exercise is a new thing to me. Not January New Years Resolution new but new since September. I've accepted now that perhaps, despite years of thinking otherwise, I am now an exerciser. I am still too awkward to do most kinds of exercising: yoga - what if I fall over, or fart?; swimming - love it but it would require regular waxing and 2 of my big fears, public nudity and public no make up face; running - where do I start? So I have opted for Zumba; the most ridiculous form of exercising, where you can make as much noise as you like and there are no bright lights or rights and wrongs.

Up til now I have been wearing old, saggy, faded leggings from George at Asda, moth eaten black band t-shirts and the Reebok classics I used to wear for P.E at school. My undergarms consisted of a greying M&S bra I got when I was 17 and heavier, and therfore required thick strapped bras that resembled ones you wear when nursing (I imagine). Since realising that I might actually be an exerciser, I have decided at last it might be time for me to invest in some of the proper gear. And why have I been avoiding it for so many months? Because I am TERRIFIED of bra shopping and shoe shopping. 

Stereotype would have us believe that women love shoe shopping. I hate it. If I actually need a pair of shoes then I won't be able to find a suitable pair because I refuse to be uncomfortable. If I have a nice pair of girly shoes it is because I have happened upon them, by chance (in a sale) and they have actually fit comfortably. If the shoes fits, I literally buy it in every colour. I try and participate in fashion a bit, where I can, in my own way, with my weird feet, but mostly I spend my life in flat, unflattering shoes which would look incongruous with any outfit that was not the garb of a teenage dirt bag, baby. Coupled with a general footwear shopping phobia is my fear of teenage boys. Even though I am an independant woman with my own j.o.b, teenage boys make me feel like an uncool, ugly teenager when dry shampoo wasn't common practice. And teenage boys are the main employees in sports shops. The thought of running on a treadmill so that a teenage boy can tell me what type of trainers I need is too frightening. I'm not trainer literate, just like I'm not car literate: "Do these come in black with skulls on?" Of course they don't. They will be bulky and a bit neon with those weird tubey laces. And they will cost £60+.

So what is worse than revealing your Muppet socks and weird running style to a teenage boy? Bra shopping of course! Now I'm not suggesting there are any teenage boys present for this, but I really do find it AGONISING. And due to the response from a status about this on facebook, I'm not alone. 

I should start by saying a few things. I don't have big boobs. I do have a general fear of boobs and avoid them when possible. My own and other peoples. I have gained and lost weight quite dramatically in the past and it has left me with boobs that look like they have been steamrolled down in the direction of my navel. Golf balls in socks. Fried eggs nailed to a wall. You get the idea. Like many peoples, one is a cup size bigger than the other. I don't know what these cup sizes are as I haven't had a bra fitting since I was 17. Like shoes, if I buy a bra it will be a chance sale purchase that seems about right. Sometimes you find a good bra and you can sort of hoik them up and out and no one need know their true horror state. I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I would love to have a boob job. It is deepy unfeminist, but I can't help it. The sight of my own breasts repulses me, so getting topless in a fitting room is no fun. And not knowing my size, I was trying to squeeze bits of nip and back squidge in to bras of various sizes and then jumping up and down to see if I had succesfully stuck them down. It is no good, I am going to have to have one of the boobie wranglers (my affectionate name for the ladies in M&S that measure you) come and fit me. 

This is not intended as self-indulgent moaning. Well, perhaps it is a little bit, but I would prefer to describe it as an amusing, self-deprecating anecdote. Just as I have embraced exercise, I am going to face my fear of shoe and bra shopping and become a real, fledged, adult woman. Plus, Davina's new sportswear range at Next includes tie-dye, and Adidas do snake print leggings, so its not all bad.