Marx’s Jumpsuit: Capitalism, Body Image, and the World of Vanity Sizing
Content Warning
Brief mention of disordered eating appears throughout this piece.
I was at a vintage store recently when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. A flash of gold, criss-crossed straps, wide, billowing legs; the jumpsuit was perfectly tacky, straight out of my ABBA dreams. I checked the size tag, and was elated to see a stylized “10.” This jumpsuit had been made for me. I gathered it into my arms and raced towards the changing room, closing the flimsy curtain behind me. I pulled the slinky material over my ankles, over my knees, over my thighs . . . damn it.
Standing in that tiny cubicle, with the jumpsuit stuck halfway over my butt, I was faced with the truth about clothing sizes: they don’t mean anything.
That fact is very important to me. Without it, the incident with the jumpsuit could have easily been a trigger that sent me into a deep hole of self-hatred and disordered eating. You see, I spent a long time placing all of my self-worth in the little number on my clothing tags. In middle school, I would listen to all of the cool girls talk about being a size six or four or two or zero and think to myself: I can do that. I can get there. And I did — over a period of six months I dropped two clothing sizes. But then my body began to shut down. My goal of fitting into a smaller pair of jeans was literally killing me.
I wasn’t alone in my size-obsession either, and in the capitalist society that exists today, it's no surprise that this insecurity is being exploited for profit. Clothing manufacturers have begun to tap into North America’s infatuation with numbers, leading to the rise of vanity sizing. What does that mean? Basically, companies—from the Gap to Free People—are shifting their sizing systems in an effort to make shoppers feel thinner. The idea is that if a customer feels skinnier, and therefore better about themselves (because apparently fat people can’t possibly have a positive self-image) they will buy more. According to this Time article, vanity sizing has ballooned to the extent that what would have been a size twelve 60 years ago is now a size six. No wonder that jumpsuit didn’t fit! Vanity sizing has also reached the point today that we’ve had to create three new sizes to accommodate: clothing didn’t come in a 00, a 0, or even a 2 until about 20 years ago.
Then comes the issue of online shopping. It’s annoying enough to shop for clothes in a brick-and-mortar store, but at least items can be tried on before being purchased. However, when it comes to buying outfits from digital stores, even the best sizing chart can’t show exactly how they will fit. If clothing sizing was even somewhat standard, things might be a bit easier, but with the fluctuation that there is between individual items and individual brands, online shopping is nearly always a leap of faith. Unfortunately, nearly half of these leaps don’t work out; approximately 40% of clothing bought online ends up being returned. As it turns out, vanity sizing isn’t good for anyone, not even the corporations who invented it. They end up having to spend huge amounts of money on postage and repackaging for free returns. Some stores are beginning to realize this, and even some are trying to solve the issue. However, there are very mixed results.
Brandy Melville is a prime example of a company that has (unsuccessfully) tried to change the game when it comes to clothing sizing. Geared towards teenagers, the chain has nearly done away with clothing sizing all together, embracing a “one size fits most” philosophy. The problem is, their clothing doesn’t actually fit most teen girls. Their jeans for example, only fit waist sizes between 25 and 29 inches, and when the average american teenage girl’s waist is 32.6 inches, this isn’t very inclusive at all. Scrolling through Brandy Mellvile’s Instagram feed (which also happens to be their primary source of marketing,) it’s clear that they have a certain customer in mind when designing their clothing. Photo after photo depicts a tall, white, thin, sun-kissed girl at the beach, at the store, in front of a brick wall. Even though people on TikTok may make fun of it, there’s no doubt of the harm that this kind of exclusivity causes. Just as I wanted to drop two clothing sizes to fit in with the “cool girls,” many young girls today judge their popularity by whether or not they can fit into a Brandy Melville t-shirt.
At the opposite end of the alternative sizing spectrum is the Rational Dress Society. I hesitate to call the RDS a clothing brand, it’s more of a lifestyle; or, as they call themselves, “An experiment in counter-fashion.” The Rational Dress Society produces one article of clothing: their “jumpsuit,” a utilitarian pair of coveralls available in two styles and three colours. Oh, and 248 genderless sizes with names like “echo,” “jacuzzi,” and “neutrino.” If vanity sizing is a disease borne of capitalism, then Jumpsuit fashions itself as a marxist cure. This is part of their mission statement as taken from their website:
“JUMPSUIT offers a way to forego the insular logic of self-expression in favor of forming communal bonds. We embrace our neighbors. We reject the signs of class, race and gender that are inscribed into our daily interactions.”
Currently, Jumpsuit can either be purchased online, or you can download the specific pattern that matches your body type and create your very own pair of coveralls. Once you’ve done that, RDS wants you to stop buying clothing all together; the goal is to wear jumpsuit, and only jumpsuit. In essence, the Rational Dress Society is trying to solve not only the problem of vanity sizing, but also the issues of classism and overconsumption related to an overall capitalist society. That said, their approach is likely a bit too extreme for most, and the $250 price point is far too much to pay for a jumpsuit, no matter how world-changing said jumpsuit is. No matter how much they disguise their identity, the truth remains that the Rational Dress Society is a corporation. There’s no escaping the fact that materials and labour cost money, but I would love to see the RDS offer some sort of subsidy program in order to make their mission more accessible. Perhaps in an effort to address this, the RDS is on a mission to eventually stop selling Jumpsuit altogether, and encourages people to download a pattern and create their own. However, this doesn’t really solve the issue of inaccessibility, as not everyone has the means, ability, or time to sew a jumpsuit for themselves. So what can the average person do to deal with the ordeal that is clothing shopping in a world of vanity sizing?
Personally, I love shopping second-hand, and after the jumpsuit incident mentioned up top, I don’t even look at sizes anymore. I find something that I like the look of and that genuinely seems like it will fit my body, no matter what the size tag says. I’m also not afraid to shop the men’s section, especially when it comes to jeans and t-shirts (gendered clothing is sooo 2018). If thrift shopping isn’t for you, I would recommend finding one or two stores that make you feel genuinely comfortable while shopping. This might be a tiny boutique in your home town, or it might even be a chain store. Recently, places such as Aerie and ASOS have stopped retouching their models, which is both a confidence boost and a huge breath of fresh air in a world oversaturated with airbrushing.
Looking back, I wish I could tell 14-year-old me that the tag on my pants didn’t mean anything. I want to tell myself that having seconds at dinner and not skipping lunch would be way more worthwhile than starving in order to fit into a pair of size four jeans. Right now, I am wearing a bright pink pair of flared felt pants. They are one of my favourite pieces of clothing, but a few years ago, I would never have even tried on these pants. The number on the size tag would have freaked me out, and I would never have discovered how great they make my butt look. With that in mind, here’s my final piece of advice: be brave. Try on the clothing that scares you, and don’t let the size of your jeans rule your life. You are so much more than a number.
About the Author
Jocelyn Diemer (she/they) is a first-year English student at the University of Victoria. She loves to write about body image, lesbianism, history, and the intersections of life. When she’s not fawning over middle-aged actresses or procrastinating her school work, Jocelyn can most likely be found curled up in bed with a cup of coffee and a good book. Jocelyn’s biggest goals in life are to become a badass English professor and to live in a tiny cottage with many cats.
