At 40, I’ve Finally Entered My Crop-Top Era

I have been fat pretty much my entire life. It's OK. Mostly. But it hasn't been without its challenges. Growing up in Florida, I was almost always the only friend at the pool or beach in a one-piece. There were years upon years when I wore baggy shirts and pants, even in the dead of summer, to avoid letting anyone see the soft folds of skin underneath. The one Sunday I showed up to church in a skirt, still inches longer than my skinny friends, my curves somehow made the move scandalous.

You can imagine, then, that it took me quite a long time to adopt trends that were more clingy or involved less fabric. Even when I finally embraced tank tops, I paired them with flared jeans that gave my ass the look of a full, saggy diaper. When skinny jeans took over? Oh, God. I held on to my bootcuts for as long as possible — and, when I finally caved, only wore the skinny jeans with band tees or tunics. I always needed one loose thing to make me feel comfortable.

My body confidence issues continued through my 30s and even through pregnancy. (There are very few pictures of my "bump.") But after giving birth, I became more comfortable with wearing tight pants and tight shirts at the same time. Leggings and tank tops made me feel absolutely bangin'. For the first time in my life, I felt like I looked pretty damn good.

Which is probably what emboldened me to try on that first crop top.

In a mall outside Cincinnati, in the window of a Torrid, I spotted a folded peach shirt with a boldly colored image of Frida Kahlo on it. Frida! I scurried in and scooped it up, grabbing a few other things and carrying them to the dressing room. Frida was my very first try-on. Imagine my surprise when I dropped the shirt over my head, ran my hands down the front, and hit skin. It wasn't much. I am a mom, after all, so the waistband of my leggings hits above my belly button... but it was there.

So, I did what any logical girl would do: I sent a picture to my best friend with a simple demand: "Be honest." I tried on the rest of my stack of clothes and was back to standing in front of the mirror in my leggings and crop top when my bestie's text pinged.

"Giiiiirl. Buy it or I'll beat your ass."

That first summer, Frida spent more time in my drawer than most of my other favorite shirts. Still, she came out a few times. The following summer, emboldened by my new appreciation for all my body was capable of (not to mention the very first bikini lines I ever got on vacation in the spring), I wore Frida a lot more. I even gave her a sister in the form of a little white crop top tank.

Then, life happened hard. I got a brain tumor. I had brain surgery. I had a second brain surgery. My weight fluctuated. My medicine thinned my hair. I had radiation. When I finally felt like I came out of the other side, I started grad school two months before my 40th birthday. I wanted to make the announcement *after* I passed my first class (just in case), and I wanted to do it with a picture. After all, at this point, the most recent picture anyone had seen of me was from spring... wearing a metal halo drilled into my forehead.

I scoured the school bookstore for the perfect accessory to announce that I was in grad school and a proud Oklahoma Sooner. I found it in a scarlet crop-top sweatshirt with white stripes on the sleeves and "Oklahoma" scrawled across the front.

A month later, I posted a picture, and only one person made a snarky remark about the cut of my sweatshirt (FYI, babe: Yes, "We're still doing this at 40”).

I've had that sweatshirt for five months now. There hasn't been a single week when I haven't worn it at least once. Sure, it's always with those mom-style leggings pulled up over my belly button, but every time I take a sip from my Starbucks cup, an inch or two of pasty white flesh reveals itself.

And ya know what? I look cute as f*ck.

Everyone from my best friend to my adopted kid sister has made a positive comment about how I look when I'm wearing it. I'd like to say that I don't care what other people think, and, to a certain extent, that's true. Still, a little compliment never hurt anyone. I've even noticed that when I'm standing around in my cropped hoodie, waiting to pick up my kid from school, I'm friendlier than ever. Something about that crop top and allowing myself to be comfortable in my own skin has made me feel confident and almost extroverted.

So, I wear crop tops now. And I'm 40. Those two things really aren't related, but there are a lot of people in the world who might tell you that they somehow should be. I'm here to tell you: Be 40. Wear the crop top. Or the daisy dukes. Or the string bikini. Wear whatever TF you want — that makes you smile, that makes your bestie promise violence if you don't. Will wearing a crop top change the world? No. But it might just make you feel like you can do it yourself.

Deirdre Kaye is a writer/journalist and mother to one very smart, sweet deviled egg. She enjoys taking three months to finish a book, planning all the tiny details of road trips she’ll never take, and decorating her craftsman bungalow. In addition to Scary Mommy, her writing can be found on Bridal Guide, Yahoo, HuffPo, TheDad, and Cleveland Scene.