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The Sixth Circle of Hell - Clothes Shops

The sixth circle of hell is actually assigned to heretics. A heretic is defined by Chambers as "someone who has views and opinions that conflict with those of the majority". From the designers who believe that there's no such thing as someone above a size 18, to the shop managers who believe that people want to buy swimwear in February, the people working in clothes shops seem to fit this description. Clothes are something that everyone (ish) wears everyday (ish) and purchasing them really shouldn't be the stuff epic poems are made of.

I admit, I've had some Issues in the last couple of weeks which are probably colouring my attitude a smidge. I'm bitter, miserable and perilously close to complete breakdown thanks largely to having spent a sizable portion of my waking thoughts (and a few of my non-waking ones) worrying about clothes. You see I had to attend a black tie event for work yesterday and I had to find something to wear.

To some this would be a glorious opportunity, indeed many in my office have been bubbling about it for weeks. However over the years my horror at dressing up has increased in direct proportion to my dress size. In the hazy memories from when I was a size 10 the world was a pretty place full of things with beads on. I could walk into any shop on the high street and actually chose something that you liked the look of.

Now though I've entered the size range where you evaluate shops based on the dimensions of the shop assistants. I'm paranoid going into most shops, thinking that the assistants are watching me and quietly laughing at my deluded concept that I'll fit into anything they sell, up to and including the scarves. Even on the off chance that one of these shops does actually go up to the size I want, it turns out they've just done a direct scale up of the size 10 pattern and the sleeves are now 5ft long.

If 'normal' shops won''t cater for me, I'll go to my own special shop. Evans sounds perfect - "specialists in large sizes". I always imagine that I'm going to walk through the door and they'll greet me with a doughnut. Instead you’re greeted with a shop assistant who oozes attitude, either "I'm thin but too obnoxious to be hired by a 'normal' shop" or "I'm fat and bitter that this is the only place that would hire me". Meanwhile although the clothes might fit you're lumbered with whatever season they think it currently is and whatever trend they think is currently fashionable. When I went in last week in search of something 'classic' I discovered that they are of the opinion that it’s the middle of the summer and that the sixties back again.

When all else fails – go to Marks and Spencer. While they may not be at the cutting edge of fashion, neither am I and they have a spattering of coverage of the larger sizes. Most importantly their large stores have enough space to have basic products all year round, even if they have dedicated a chunk of floor space to sarongs and sunhats already.

I recon if you put your mind to it you can actually live reasonably well shopping only from M&S – you can get clothes, shoes, jewellery, food, cushions, plates and insurance. You’d be bankrupt pretty soon, but it would be a hell of a way to go. The inevitable issue I have is that I've gone in to buy something for a black-tie event and end up with several items of underwear, a necklace, an umbrella, a pair of combats and a candlestick and still have nothing to wear for the bloody event.

M&S does still follow some of the rules that cause all clothes shops to be places of horror. My particular favourite is the trick of placing the strange shape sections next to each other. One moment you’re happily browsing the Plus sizes section, then all of a sudden you find yourself in the Petite section being laughed at by a twig. The women staffing the changing rooms manage to convey so much derision into the quick glance they give you as you walk in that you very nearly give up right there. "Oh you think I’m deluding myself about the size and I’d look like a tramp anyways? Ah, never mind then."

While there are some people in the world that may know they're always a size 12 and can just buy stuff without trying stuff on I find myself heading to the changing room with at least 3 different sizes for each item I want. I very nearly had a heart attack when I tried on the "I can’t really be anywhere near this size, but I'll take it just in case" top the other day only to find the buttons several inches apart. Through the sobbing and wailing I managed to focus long enough to discover the mismatch between the size indicated on the hanger and the actual size given on the label. Given the lack of interest displayed by the assistant when I returned it, I can't help but think that it was some kind of candid-camera stunt.

After finally managing to obtain something that I didn't completely hate, almost fitted and didn't bankrupt me. I struggled home to try on all the items in my ensemble together. At this point I realised that I needed cufflinks (I made do with paperclips), the top I wanted was sitting in a laundry basket (I washed it overnight and wore it slightly damp) and that in the wrong light my hair clashed with my shirt. In the end I looked resoundingly 'ok' and made myself feel better by telling myself that at least I was helping all my colleagues look tall, slim, well-dressed and generally gorgeous by comparison.

I've got at least two more of these events in the next couple of months. If you come across a short, plump woman sitting in the middle of Marks and Spencer sobbing into a size 20 shirt take pity on her and give her a doughnut.