I am going to preface this whole article with this: I don’t want people to see my stomach fat rolls, I want to keep them hidden because I don’t like the way they look. Don’t get me wrong, overall I think I’m stunning. I just don’t like the way my stomach looks unless it’s flat. Which, it is not all the time. So I hide it, and that’s how it is.
Get pissed in the comments or whatever, I don’t care. Sometimes people hide the things you don’t like about yourself because you are too busy working on improving the defects that actually matter (ZING).
“Well, that's too bad, Olivia” you’ll say “you will never be able to enjoy the wonders of wearing one of the new big trends, the Crop Top, with your typical 25-year-old body dysmorphia.”
Wrong, my ill-informed commenter.
I can, and I will, and I’ll do it while eating a burrito.
I am going on a Journey, and you, dear readers, are coming with. You will accompany me on a date to an anonymous Mexican restaurant. It is here that I will (theoretically, from my desk) attempt to eat an entire five course Mexican dinner in various crops top while still hiding the physical parts of myself that I am ashamed of (no promises about the emotional parts).
Alright, mariachi is raging and the lights are red, let's feast!
Chips and Guac
I just sat down to this Mexican dinner date (Note: No Mexican on a real first date) and since I haven’t eaten all day (because, 25) I go straight for the chips. My belly is still relatively flat and I feel good about munching the chips just like the beautiful eyed pit baby stretched across my chest is about to take a bite out of my attractive, yet totally regular, dinner date (JK GUYS! Pits are totally friendly nice dogs.)
When the appetizer gets here, I feel a wee bit of swelling in the belly but IDGAF because I’m still starving and I need more room than this puppy can hold. So I snuggle into this still sexy, but hinting-at-chill tee. It is still relatively tight but it actually brings the attention to my breasts rather than my stomach because of its upside down triangle shape. So for the time being I am safe from the increasingly dangerous amount of sodium bubbling in my gut.
I order a small quesadilla, despite the fact that I KNOW the steak burrito is coming, but it is taking FOREVER and the table next to me just got one and it doesn’t look that big and my date ate the majority of the plantains because he is a vegan or naturalist or something.
When the quesadilla comes I luckily don’t have to share it (VEGANS just doing their part!), so those quesadilla slices are inside me in seconds. I would like to lean over and listen to the empty compliments this dude is whispering to me right now, but the chemical reaction of the salt in all the food is making my stomach start to push uncomfortably against my waistband such that if I move from my reclining, almost horizontal “What? This is how my stomach looks all the time!” seated position, I will overflow. As stated above, I don’t want this to be seen.
That is where this top comes in:
Still a crop top! But see how loose it is? When I stand (and stop breathing) it looks like a washboard stomach crop top, but the MAGIC is what happens when I sit down. It billows out, and pretty much hides about 3-4 folds of flesh that I don’t want anybody to see in a lovely lace shirt tent.
The trick here is to get something that creates the structure away from your body. I’ve passed the point of no return midway through the two plantains I managed to squirrel away from my date. I can’t hang with bodycon right now (and I DEFINITELY will not be able to by the time this burrito gets here) but I can still show a little skin without feeling uncomfortable. So these tent shirts are nice, structured, so they still show the skin, but are stiff so they don’t show the beginnings of what is to come (BLOOOOAAATTT).
My top button is getting unbuttoned for this. Steak supreme burrito is here and I can’t listen to this free-range fair-trade rant anymore because I need to focus on the small bundle of joy (and inevitable pain) that has been delivered to my table. Sorry bro, not that you care, but I need to get this rice, bean and meat baby inside me STAT. So we go for this:
If I lived in a fantasy world where nobody had standards or decorum, I’d wear these T-shirts all the time. Big baggy soft shirts that show no curves or lady lumps or anything. Just bag. But, I don’t, I live in New York City and I gots to look prime, daily.
Back to dinner where the waiter just dropped a dessert menu on the table and this dude is paying so I'm all like YOLO I NEED CAKE.
Flourless Chocolate Cake
GAME OVER BRO. The sweater is coming on, a big bag of a sweater. Still sexy, still attractive, but yeah I’m not interested in sucking in at all right now, so we are going to mega-hide. These sweaters are great because I can put them on top of anything (like maybe the three to four shirts I happen to be wearing right now). I love this look (shout out to Derek Lam) especially because it has all of the allure of the crop top, with all the comfort of breathing. Who says you have to be able to SEE skin for it to be a crop top? It is wonderfully perverse to keep something tucked in underneath one. It is creating your own body architecture, which is advanced but worth it.
You know that moment when you are like "Oh, WOWWWWWW WHY DID I DO THAT TO MYSELF?" I'm there, and you all are right there with me, chilling, cosmically rubbing my belly.
Oh what? You don’t change your clothes multiple times on a date? Was that weird for you?
I think we bonded this time, readers.