Just my size

The Job Was The Job: My Just My Size Tour Story

Years ago, there was a casting. They wanted 10 plus-size women to go to New York. Not as models. Not for a runway. As brand ambassadors for Just My Size.

The gig was simple: go on a national tour and measure people for bras and panties. Real work. Tape measures, size charts, fitting rooms, and feet that hurt by 3pm. We were there to serve women who’d been ignored by department stores. Women who cried in dressing rooms because nothing fit. Women who’d never been measured right in their lives. That was the assignment.

Some of us understood that.

And some of us… didn’t.

There will always be the catty bigger girls. The ones who flock together and gossip like it’s high school lunch. The ones who think being in the room means you are the moment. They showed up to New York thinking it was a modeling contract. They posed for pics but dodged the fitting line. They talked about “exposure” while the rest of us were on our knees adjusting bra straps for a grandma from Queens.

A few were delusional. They thought Just My Size was a pit stop on the way to Vogue. They whispered about going back to Los Angeles to “do other things” because, frankly, they did not know how to work. Measuring a 54DD isn’t glamorous. Sweating in a convention center in July isn’t sexy. But it was the job. And the job paid.

I kept to myself and did the work.

I wasn’t there to be a model. I was there to be of service. I measured. I listened. I handed out tissues when women got emotional seeing themselves in a mirror with a bra that actually fit. I lugged boxes. I stood for 10 hours. I thanked every woman who trusted me with her body, her story, her size.

I didn’t click up. I didn’t gossip. I didn’t pretend. I clocked in.

Because here’s what I learned on that tour: There’s a difference between wanting to be seen and being willing to see others. The girls who thought they were models missed the whole point. The brand wasn’t selling fantasy. It was selling fit. Dignity. Reality. And reality requires work.

New York was amazing. The tour was hard. The sisterhood was… complicated. But I left with my check, my integrity, and the knowledge that I can measure a bra size in my sleep.

Some people chase the title. I chased the task. 

And at 51, soon to be 52, PhD Candidate, still working at Center Street — I’m still that woman. I do the work. Teeth and all. Tape measure and all.

— Cathryn M. Harris  

Just My Size Alumna. Not a model. A worker.  

Salem, Oregon | Still measuring up