you mean I haven't lost weight? sighing over size tags

 This past spring an article that appeared in the New York Times considered the sizing of women's clothing. This chart (shamelessly copied from the article and slightly imperfectly joined where the technology here at Flintstone Towers didn't quite - well, you know) - this chart, as I say, sums up the reporter's findings. The conclusions will come as no surprise to anyone who shops on the web, or who wanders from store to store on Madison Avenue. Here is a link to the article itself, which is worth reading.

What the article doesn't discuss is the variation in sizes at the same merchant where items are produced in different countries, or in the same country but at different manufacturers. I have come home from Lord and Taylor, a perfectly respectable department store, with 3 pairs of Ralph Lauren Collection pants (not known for cost-cutting, but still) to try with a jacket, each pair in a different size. And with yet another size for the Calvin Klein pants that might work with that jacket. I think they cut costs at the factory by putting the size tags on in the dark. Or it could be another example of that old saying, "First you pick the order, then you put the size tags." 

Thoughts? Has your size changed "effortlessly" in the past few years? 

borrowing from who? I mean whom? I mean why?

I'm still undecided about too rich or too thin, but concluded long ago that a girl can never have too many store credit cards. 

 Mind you, this is not general advice. It works for me because I absolutely pay the bills on time. The very thought of credit card interest gives me nightmares. And I have quite a few cards that rarely see action. These emerge from hibernation once or twice a year, stumbling and blinking, when there's a really good sale. In the interim, they rest and while at rest, generate mailers, catalogs, emails, sale alerts, even phone calls from optimistic personal shoppers hoping I'll be in their part of the country again real soon. Maybe I will; more likely I won't. Meanwhile I have all these correspondents I've never really cultivated but would probably miss. 

Of late more and more of the correspondence is getting "personal" or "personalized". Someone at Amazon thinks that because I bought a teakettle a year ago, I'm ready for another few now. Well, no. Either Amazon has no confidence in their merchandise or their algorithm needs work. And I've taught myself not to take it personally when the head of Interior Design at Restoration Hardware tactlessly reports that my living room could stand freshening up, make that a total redo. Four or five times a year. This from the purchase of some marked-down placemats? To bra merchants, we're all saggy, bulgy or flat, and romance-deprived. Well, don't we all have days when this is not just marketing, it's life. 

So I wasn't surprised to look at this morning's emails and learn that my dear never-met friend at Neiman's, Ken the fashion director, knows just what I need and want for fall. Of course he does. This is his job. Neiman's has been around a long time, so you would think they know how to pick smart, original Fashion Directors. However, perhaps someone at Neiman's is not so original. Guess what? Although Ken does not have ugly eyeglasses, Ken has picks.

Here's a shot of some of the email message from Ken.

COULD YOU READ THAT? KEN IS BORROWING FROM THE BOYS!

And here - oh, when will it stop! - is some of the copy on this outfit that appears after a few curious clicks:

A look as fresh and fierce as this Stella McCartney ensemble says something about the woman who wears it: she is fashion-forward, effortlessly elegant, and poised. This long jacket, sequined tee, and skinny jeans combo make great impact together, but you'll also love how they enhance your other looks

OK, I get it. I have choices. I can try to stop getting these emails, which is not as easy as it sounds. I can tell my computer that they're spam, which is dangerous, because the computer is easily confused and the last time I blocked a message about enhancing a body part I don't have, the computer blocked everything that came from AOL (I know, I know, I probably did something wrong, but I don't want to take this chance again. Easily Confused Me + Easily Confused Computer = Dangerous Instrumentality).

Or I can shudder and moan and wait for the trend to pass. Ken or his copywriter the Mercury Kid of the Wild Wild West must be under the impression that a stale expression recovers its freshness after a rest. A lot of guys are. This is why, when you drop off magazines at the nursing home, there's an old fella in the lounge who winks at you and says "Hot stuff, Kiddo!"

when words are not enough