Trial rooms are a unique kind of purgatory. The unflattering lighting, the judgemental mirrors, the existential dread—it all adds up. I had a taste of this recently when I ventured into an upscale Indian designer store, armed with a birthday gift voucher. The sales assistant hovered outside the trial room as I tried on a few options, all uninspiring. Finally, spotting a dress across the store, I asked for help, only to have her announce loudly, “Ma’am, this won’t fit. It’s an XS, it will tear.”The pitying silence that followed sucked the oxygen out of the space.
My body, once a size 6-8, now fluctuates between 12 and 14. The pandemic, with its endless Zomato orders, took its toll. While I tried to accept the changes, days would inevitably…
