I heard someone on television say the other day that the average American woman is 5’4” tall, weighs 163 lbs., and wears a size 14.

If that’s true, then for the first time in my life I’m happy to be below average.

While I’m not sure what my height really is, my driver’s license says I’m 5’3” tall. My weight, while fluctuating a bit over the years, is far under the norm. And my clothing size? Happily not even in sight of average.

Although, to be honest, I don’t really know what size I wear.

A year ago, I went to the one store in the mall where I normally shop in the hopes of replacing my favorite pair of jeans. I planned to just buy them off the rack - same style, same color, same size - but the sales clerk suggested that I try them on. Much to my surprise, they were way too baggy. Giddy with joy, I asked her to find me a smaller size, which fit perfectly. I wondered aloud how I could drop an entire size without dropping a single pound.

“The sizes are running a little big this season,” the sales girl confided.

That’s great for the ego but it makes clothes shopping a confusing nightmare, because no two manufacturers use the same sizing standard. One designer’s size 6 jeans can fall off while another label’s size 10 cuts off the blood supply to your legs. How does any American woman know what size she wears?

I was recently in line at a fancy clothing shop behind a very petite, slim woman returning a pair of pajamas that her husband had given to her as a gift. She explained that the pajamas were way too big.

“I don’t understand it,” she apologized. “I usually wear a small and that’s what the tag says. But look at those things. Don’t they look really big?”

The sales clerk held up the pajama bottoms and stretched out the waistband.

“Good grief, I said. “They look like a circus tent.”

“Don’t they?” The woman turned around, thankful for the confirmation. “They’re huge! He should have been able to tell just by looking at them that they were too big. The tag must be wrong.”

“The tag is right,” the sales clerk said, looking over the rim of her glasses. “It’s just that they are an American small.”

The woman shot me a puzzled look. I shrugged. What else would they be? We were in western New York, after all, not Paris.

“An American small is actually much larger than European small,” the sales clerk explained. “Women in this country are very concerned about what size they wear so manufacturers make the clothing bigger and put a smaller size tag on it.”

So we’re supposed to feel better if the tag inside our clothing says “small” when deep down we know that our butt is really an “extra large”? Do the clothing manufacturers really think we’re that stupid? Of course not.

Although ... last week I bought a new pair of jeans, and much to my surprise I’m down another size. I didn’t realize I’d lost weight.


(c)2006 Joanne Brokaw All rights reserved

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