I’ve always loved fashion. Since I was a little girl, I’ve spent untold hours flipping through… I’ve always loved fashion. Since I was a little girl, I’ve spent untold hours flipping through the pages of magazines like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. I follow the fall and spring collections’ runway shows like people follow their favorite sports teams. So, when I write what I’m about to write, which might sound a bit harsh, know that I say it with love, or at least with the hope that things can change.

The fashion industry in the United States hates women. It seems hell-bent on making us as uncomfortable as possible, right down to our underwear.

Over the summer, I did a study-abroad program in Cambridge, England. It was everything a young girl’s cultural experience should be. I consumed my weight in Guinness and Cadbury chocolate and flirted shamelessly with those who bought me said pints of Guinness. I also made a mind-boggling discovery.

In lingerie stores in England, they stock a truly wide range of sizes. Cup sizes practically go up to Z. There are big ones, small ones and some as big as your head, all in the same store. Not only that, but the brassieres on the large and small ends of the scale don’t look like something someone named Helga who makes her living giving harsh bikini waxes would wear or something one should retire at the end of the seventh grade.

As most women reading this column can attest to, things are not this way in the United States. In most mass-market lingerie stores like Victoria’s Secret or places like the lingerie department at Kaufman’s, cup sizes only go from A to D, with an AA (smaller than an A) or a DD (bigger than a D) thrown in once in awhile.

The band sizes usually only go from 32 inches to 38 inches. Once in awhile you’ll find an outlier in a 30 or a 40, but for the most part, women are expected to fit into this narrow range of sizes. Otherwise, one must go to a specialty shop, where anything that will fit your freakish form will look more like something a linebacker would wear for support than sexy lingerie.

Now, people, look around you. Think about all the women you know. Do you really think all of them, from your little 15-year-old sister to your grandmother, fall within this six-inch range of appropriate ribcage sizes?

Of course they don’t. As a result, millions of women are walking around in ill-fitting underwear. Many women, rather than seek out a size that falls outside the A through D and 32 through 38 range, wear something that doesn’t fit them, because, well, who wants to be ‘abnormal?’

Clothing is perhaps worse. Have you ever wondered why women’s clothing sizes come in numbers, either 1-13 for ‘juniors’ clothing or 0-14, for ‘women’s’ clothing? Further, have you ever wondered what those sizes mean? I have, and as far as I know, they don’t mean anything. Most women have a huge range of ‘sizes’ in their closet, even when they have remained the same weight and shape for years. Men’s clothing, on the other hand, is usually measured in inches. If you have a 34-inch waist, you can be reasonably sure that a pair of pants with a ’34’ label will fit you rather well.

All this confusion and restriction can make shopping for clothes a harrowing, rather than fun, experience. Going into a store and suddenly having to reach for a 10 when you’ve been a six for years and haven’t actually gained any weight can be upsetting.

These size numbers are more a way to define women than to help them find clothing that fits. Have you ever noticed that women say, “I’m a size four,” rather than “I wear a size four?”

Then there’s the whole “plus sizes” phenomenon. Why do we need “plus sizes?” Why do women bigger than a certain size (a certain amorphous size, because these sizes don’t actually correspond to anything concrete, like inches or centimeters) need to be corralled into separate stores as if they’re lepers, despite the fact that a significant portion of the female population in the United States is bigger than the average size 12?

In my paranoid mind, all of these things are meant to make women feel insecure and uncomfortable about their bodies. The question is, though, is the fashion industry the way it is because uncomfortable women buy more products, or is it the way it is because women are uncomfortable with themselves, and the industry reflects how we feel?

E-mail Diane your gripes with the fashion industry at [email protected].