An ode to the generous dress

I would love to say that after I published my Ask A Swole Woman column last weekend, 2 Clothes 2 Small: What to do when the clothes are too small, part two, I was so moved by my own writing about the joys and freedoms of wearing things like generous dresses that I ran to my closet like a young ingenue before the debutante ball, pulled out several of my best generous frocks, put them on, and twirled in the mirror, fantasies of the prince asking me to dance filling my head.

In truth, I don’t even wear real clothes all that much. I mostly go around my own house like a raccoon in a pile of ambiguous laundry, snuffling crumbs and clutching my articulate paws at doorknobs and cabinets like I think no one can see me. While I have fond sensory memories of generous dresses, I’m separated from them by a long stretch of “raccoon mode.” It made me worry that I was overselling the generous dress experience. Did it really make such a difference? I have been feeling, let’s call it Not Exactly Love, for my physical self lately. Could a generous dress help?