We Clothe Ourselves

At five it’s tutus and fake glimmering jewels. At seven it’s jean shorts and twinkle toes. Turning ten means sundresses are in. Turning thirteen is for graphic tees. Sixteen is spaghetti straps and too short shorts. Eighteen means crop tops and mom jeans. Nineteen is everything next. 

Walking into the mall, kids are racing from end to end. Parents chasing, running around. Pre-teens giggling as they walk from store to store. Everyone racing around to find the clothes they wish to buy. Finding sizes, dressing room tears stream down the cheeks. The twenty-one-year-old trying to find her party dress. Everyone in the mall trying to find the comfort clothes can bring. Deciding whether to hide or flaunt what they’ve got.  

At five you’re blissfully unaware. Confidence booming with every step you take. At seven you’re just having fun. At ten you notice your stomach starting to jut. At thirteen you notice your body changing. Why am I starting to look like this? What is happening to me? Sixteen now and you wish you could hide. Ashamed of something you once cared so little about. Eighteen you just want to feel seen. Nineteen you’re noticing what happened. Unrealistic unreliable opinions plagued your once free steps. Nineteen, it’s time to heal. Confidence once blown away, begins to bloom again. 

We all are at the mall, doing what we came here to do. Kids on sugar highs. Moms trying to pick out outfits for their blossoming kids that grow with each sleep. Dads found standing with crossed arms or gathering at the massage chairs. The sixteen-year-old girl picking out a new top for her first ever date. She wants to impress the boy she’s so deeply infatuated with. The boys in the arcade hoping to level up. Everything at the mall is always the same. Everyone comes with a goal in mind.  

At nineteen you begin again. Pressing the restart button and coming to terms with your beautiful, powerful being. The body that you loved at five isn’t the same as the one you have now, but it functions all the same. Five, seven, ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, nineteen, everything changes with a bit of time. Learning to love instead of hate. Learning to appreciate instead of self-deprecate.  

Coming to the mall in search of the clothes you hope for. Everyone seen with shopping bags. A place built to serve those that wish to be clothed. The shirts you find on the racks. The jeans in piles on the wall. The mall can be counted on for it all. The mall doesn’t change, the people in it do. You’ll always find the bustling mom and her kids. The teens hoping, they win the claw machine. The dads sighing wishing to be done. The girls skipping around with one another. The mall is where you will find them all.