I hate the term "skinny fat."
It signifies that a woman who is "skinny" should have not one ounce of energy-storing-so-I-don't-go-into-starvation-mode adipose tissue. Thus and therefore in order to wrap our wasted brains around the possibility of a size 4 with a Venus pooch, the very unscientific term "skinny fat" has entered the morphological lexicon.
I rebuke thee, "skinny fat," most notably because I've never been bigger than a size 6 nor had a six pack , unless you count my brief stint with Mike's Hard in college. No one does. And no, this isn't a woe is the small-framed sufferer of bonus chin skin sob story. Or a "Zara is soooo European" elegy. This is a revolution, snitches. And we're starting with my armpits.
In keeping with my bargainista (again, forgive me) life motto I bought this Size S dress from the Zara on 5th Avenue in New York last summer because 1) it was cute and 2) it was $29.99 marked down from $79.99. Basically it would have been fiscally IRresponsible not to buy this little 1960s-inspired number. I'd figure out where to wear it eventually. Also I didn't worry about the two folds of underarm labia yearning to break free from these ridiculously small armholes.
Now it's September in Washington, which means the Annual Legislative Conference of the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation is in town. This is a politically correct way of saying, "Open bar with guys in Brooks Brothers!" It's like Fleet Week for smart girls. Anywho, the Zara dress was ready for a night on the town but my armpit fat wasn't going anywhere. Probably because I ate this for lunch.
I didn't have time to hit up my local tailor/dry cleaners/bodega. Plus, paying $30 to fix a cheap dress cancels out the budget buzz altogether. So I called my grandmommy in Los Angeles and asked what I should do. Bless her heart but the little old lady wasn't much help:
"You could open it up a little from the bottom some kind of way."
"Don’t cut it before you know it's gonna work."
"I mean I would really have to see it."
What my grandmommy did say (but not totally coherently) was that if my dress had a lining, which it did, I could probably cut open the bottom seam about an inch and sew that back onto the lining. I got tired of Googling super technical sewing terms like armhole so I just had at it.
After going all Project Runway Community College on my cocktail dress, I was ready for somebody's open bar. People loved the dress and no one was the wiser.