Banana Republic has the most ridiculous vanity sizing I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing.
Clearly I am a size 10 (size 8 after a nine-day stomach flu), and clearly I'm okay with that. But when I go to Banana Republic? Size 6.
I'm 5'8" and weigh 150 at my hottest. I weight 155 when I'm going through a donut phase, and when I happen to weigh in at 145 I can often be heard saying things like, "Dude, Cindy Crawford has totally let herself go," and "I think I'll take a trip back to the old Alma Mater and slut around the cafeteria for a little while."
In other words, 145 is my knock-em-dead-I'm-too-hot-for-my-own-good weight. 145 is when I whip out my favorite skirt from my college days--you know, the one my mom put through the wash, hung on the clothes line and said, "That's a really cute neck warmer, Amy."
And I said, "That's not a neck warmer, it's a skirt."
And she said, "You're grounded."
And I said, "You're jealous."
And she said, "You're still grounded."
And guess what size that skirt is. That's right! I don't remember what size that skirt is. But I can abslo-friggin-lutely guarentee that it's not a size 6, and that was never a problem for me. Back in the day the boys didn't care what size that little number was, all they wanted to do was pull that skirt off my bum, poke a couple of eye holes, and wrap it around the exposed skin on their faces so they could go snowmobiling.
I know, Maine is weird.
All I'm saying is this: Girls who are 68 inches tall and weigh 150 pounds are not a size 6, they're a size 10. And dude, that's cool.
But at Banana Republic? Size. 6.
And that is why I will continue to pay obscene amounts of money to purchase my jeans from that fine institution. When I'm above my donut weight, nine weeks post-partum, and comfortably wearing a size 6 jean? Well that's just priceless.
Haven't met a girl yet who isn't a sucker for a size 6--even if it just an illusion.