Losing weight threw me for a loop in a lot of ways beyond the physical, one of them regarding how I dress. My chubby idea of clothing that fit was clothing that was loose enough for me to move around in, and that hid my exact, generous, contours. In the X-Plus sizes, nothing was “too loose,” but now that I am into the regular numbers… stuff will fall off if I choose too large a size.
This is obvious to the normal-sized, but I am still trying to find a balance between, “That looks and feels too tight,” and, “That is how clothing feels when it fits.” Some of my bewilderment is just the old dog/new tricks challenge, but some of it is how fussy I am about tactile matters in general.
I am pretty tactile avoidant. With a few close family and friends exceptions, I don’t like people touching me casually. It’s not a germ thing, it’s an I do not enjoy other people’s hands on me thing. I can shake hands and even hug others (now), but I have always been socially stand-offish.
For a long time, I thought I was just wired wrong, but then I started coming across Participants at the barn who cannot stand to touch the horse. They will sit in the saddle and enjoy riding the horse, and some of them ride quite well, but the whole, “Pat your pony!” or hug your horse routine… not only no, but heckin’ darn no.
The feel of that coarse, often dusty, horse hair is unbearably repugnant to these riders. These are the kids who as toddlers had tantrums if their shirt tag touched their nape. I am not that far down the continuum, but I understand their reactivity.
The upside is, I love soft textures. Flannel sheets were invented for me. Really cushy socks are my guilty pleasure (you can spend a lot on socks if you’re not careful). To pet a sleek, soft cat calms my nerves.
Fleece is my friend, and one of my treasures is an angora scarf woven in the All Scotland purple plaid and purchased in Edinburgh. Warm, and soooo soft. I think those folks from days of yore with their capes and shawls were on to a tactile delight. Those garments are snuggly warm, soft, and pretty.
I got to thinking about this business of textures when I noted that a week off meant a week in play clothes–loser, softer, less structured attire. Slippers instead of my Brooks 
or Hokas, the special alpaca socks that I don’t wear to the barn no matter how cold it is. Like hot tea and pretty flowers, what I allow next to my skin can be a real comfort and joy to me, and I am so very grateful that to a significant extent, I am in charge of what and who touches me.
Are you a hugger? A handshaker? A closet soft-sock collector? Or maybe you don’t give much thought to your tactile preferences, though cooking spices or colors or footwear are serious business for you?
As I’ve progressed along my chronic illness journey, it’s been interesting for me to learn how many things I feel or do are “on the spectrum.” Like I can’t stand clothing that has dangling edges because it tickles me. How flappers wore those dresses with the fringe is mind boggling to me! Turtlenecks or high-necked tops are right out- can’t stand things touching my neck. And items that make noise, like crinkly tops or bells on socks- yuck! How can people stand that racket?!
And yup, like you, Grace, I don’t like people touching me! So many mental health articles talk about the importance of touch and activating U fibers, and I just think, nope, nope, NOPE!
Good to know I am not alone. I suspect privacy was big issue for me growing up, sharing a bedroom with up to three siblings, and in an environment where there just wasn’t much nurturing touch. The combination of no privacy and few good associations with touch has amplified whatever neurological quirks I am naturally prone to.
I hope the chronic illness is becoming at least manageable. When we’re ill, people tend to disregard our boundaries, and I hate that.
I also can’t stand clothing or blankets across my neck. I even put my finger up when the dental hygienist or hairdresser puts the drape on me (the hygienists seem to get somewhat upset but the hairdressers don’t) so it doesn’t touch the hollow of my throat. I don’t like any hair in my face, unlike my late mother and one of my sisters who always wore bangs. Yes, I’m very ticklish. While I don’t actively collect soft socks or clothes, I will choose soft first.
And I’m another one who doesn’t really do hugs too much. But, on the other hand, I’m kind of tactile in that I can’t go by a sweater display without touching and I “pet” my afghans and even the edges of books, usually without being aware.
Maybe the normal is actually weird?
I shake hands. I’ve never been much of a hugger, but I’m getting better at it. I prefer loose shirts, for comfort and camouflage. Too much stomach! How did you lose weight?
Pat, my doc advised Mounjaro (tirzepatide) though I was neither diabetic nor pre-diabetic. I was well over 200 pounds, though, and nothing had ever, EVER worked to get the weight down. I would do it VERY differently now given what I know. The weight came off much too quickly–ten pounds a month for nearly a year–and so I have all the symptoms of starvation–severe loss of bone density, severe loss of muscle mass, loss of hair/skin integrity, endless brain fog, huge hit to the immune system that likely caused painful and expensive dental problems, constant gastro pain and issues… very bad news all around, and in hindsight, entirely predictable. I think doctors now know that these drugs have big, dangerous downsides, and need to be carefully managed. I was among the bellwether patients, and I am here to say, being chubby was not a medical disaster for me. This eight loss drug very nearly was, so proceed with caution, and don’t be surprised if I some day chuck the challenge of managing my weekly dose, and just chub up all over again. My two, and probably much more than you wanted to know!
The first man to unexpectedly put an arm across my shoulders surprised a major flinch out of me. We were good enough friends for him to ask and for me to tell him that, no, I hadn’t been abused, just raised in a family that valued personal space. (I occasionally had to share a bed with a sister, but that was just the way it was.)
I like my cozy fabrics although some combinations give me hives. And then we had a daughter. One of her first words was “yuck.” (She needed to be changed.) She broke out in rashes with elastic, soap powder and laundry softener, city water and sometimes for no apparent reason at all.
Wishing you softness.
I bet her sniffer is a super power. Yuck is a very important element of any lady’s vocabulary!
From the time I was quite young, I loved stroking fur, velvet or any soft fiber. I remember petting the fur stoles of ladies at church, who were initially charmed when they thought I was showing them my affection. I still love tactile experiences, whether touching the skin of a snake, eel or ray, or building materials or tree bark and plants. I’m a hand shaker and hugger (of those who want/need/welcome it). My daughter, on the other hand, has disliked being held closely since her infancy. For years she never wore pants because she could feel the seams on her legs, and even now she never wears turtleneck sweaters or high necklines. She does love cats and fuzzy socks. She is now a physician where hands-on is required! But she still has never owned a pair of blue jeans.
I’ll bet her patients are very comfortable with her, because she knows touching requires permission. Not all medical pros respect that.
I’m also a toucher/hugger but only with people very close to me. Otherwise it’s hands off.
As a very little girl I craved soft things. My mother would give me a small was of cotton from the navy blue box with the red cross in it. It came in a roll and was so soft, unlike the cotton balls sold today. I would run it over my nose and enjoy it. In season my favourite was pussy willows. All my dresses had pockets so several were kept there for comfort. A new homemade flannel nightgown was a treat. So it was quite a surprise when I realized, at 73, that I was a very tactile person. I don’t remember much affection at home, but I craved it. I used to be more of a hugger, but not so much now. Not sure why.
I’m awkward with hugs or people touching me. On the other hand I love touching and petting all animals, except for dogs with short wiry coats. A couple of our cats have fur as soft as rabbit fur, it’s a delight to touch them.
I hate the claustrophobic feel of tight hats, belts, waistlines, leggings. I like loose clothing. I hate silky slippery fabric against my skin but love the feel of soft worn cotton. I love the feel of linen sheets against my skin and I like flannel, but abhor the feel of polyester blend sheets. Years ago I used to care about fashion and my clothes, when I worked in corporate book publishing. Now I wear a uniform of charcoal gray men’s tee shirts and charcoal gray pull on knit pants and charcoal gray thick wool socks and men’s pull on black ankle boots or clogs. My one concession to prettiness are my small historical reproduction earrings of peal, garnet and Iolite. And sometimes a sheer white manicure for fun. But I live now in a rural area where no one looks at you twice if you dress like a grump.