NOW can I work on the socks?

For the second time ever, I went shopping with Josh yesterday. It was a full family affair: his parents, his brother, us, all at the Woodbury Commons outlet shops in Orange County, New York.

To be honest, I was nervous. Here are the three main reasons why I was nervous:

1. Woodbury Commons is one of those places, like Ikea, where you never leave speaking to the people you came with. It’s a long, tedious day of shopping and remembering how much you weigh. Fierce opinions fly about like gnats in a Midwestern field. Somebody always gets pissy, everybody gets tired and cranky, and there are very, very few exceptions. Registering for wedding gifts is also exactly like this.

2. My own personal taste is hugely different from that of Josh’s and his family’s. His parents dress more traditionally and that rubbed off on their sons. Josh was goth in high school — eyeliner, tights, you name it — but he also likes Perry Ellis. (This I cannot explain. Let’s just go with it.) Being plus-size, my own options are limited, and I certainly don’t dress the way I wish I could, but I know what I like. I was a little nervous that they would find clothes they’d like for me and I’d have to politely decline a lot, and I didn’t want to have to do that. I think clothes are personal, and people take it personally when you don’t like what they like.

3. I don’t believe that you can have any kind of influence on someone’s style until they are really, truly ready to branch out. The world's most aggressive Laura Ashley fan (I just wanted to get "aggressive" and "Laura Ashley" in the same sentence) will not easily throw caution to the wind and be all, "Woo-hoo, Dolce & Gabbana! Bring me a fuzzy bustier toute de suite!" Josh is stubborn and resistant to change to the extent that he still rhapsodizes about (and wears) his Robert Smith–approved clothes from college. I know better than to buy him anything without his direct approval, because he just won’t wear anything he hasn’t picked out himself. His list of banned clothing items includes, but is not limited to: jeans; corduroy pants; any top with a zipper or V-neck; anything that’s not black, grey, green, blue, or certain shades of purple.

I’ve never tried to get him to change the way he dresses, though I’ll be firm and encouraging when he asks me my opinion. Even so, there are two things he has continually insisted on wearing that drive me absolutely BATS:

1. White socks, no matter what color shoes and pants he’s wearing. (Him: “Hey, David Letterman wears white socks with black pants and shoes!” Me: “Honey, I love you, but you’re not David Letterman.” My mom: “And David Letterman wears them with $4,000 suits.”)

2. Pants with pleats.

So when Josh’s parents brought up a much-needed shopping trip designed to overhaul my husband’s wardrobe, I knew I had to take decisive action by expressing it as loving guidance. I also knew I had to pick my battles. I chose the pleats, which are the more egregious offense of the two. So I started like this:

ME: Honey, you know I love you, right?
JOSH: Yes.
ME: And you know I haven’t pushed my own desires on your wardrobe.
JOSH: That’s completely not true.
ME: Anyway, that’s besides the point. The thing is, when we go to Woodbury with your parents, you can get whatever you like. But I’m insisting that there are no pleats. No more pants with pleats.
JOSH: [laughing] OK, but I’m still getting white socks.
ME: That’s fine. Really, whatever you want, honey.
JOSH: [skeptically] Okayyyyyyy …
ME: Well, except for pleats. No pleats.

I’m proud to say, dear readers, Josh came home with seven pairs of pants, and not a pleat in the bunch. My whole life has changed. I feel like it’s Christmas, even though I have no idea what Christmas feels like.

(Side note explaining my virulent opposition to pleats: I don’t think they’re flattering on anybody, no matter what size you are. If you’re thin, they make your pelvis look poofy and out of proportion from the rest of your body. If you’re average-size, they look dated and baggy. [In fact, they always look dated because they’re poofy and ugly and ugly and super-ugly.] And if you’re big, they make your pants look stretched and detailed in the one spot where you don’t want to draw attention. My in-laws, who are fans of pleats, feel they hide a tummy. I say they’re the sartorial equivalent of heavy people who wear ponchos: If you’re big in certain parts of your body, it makes you look bigger when you shroud yourself in more fabric. Why not find a pair of well-tailored pants that suit and graze your body beautifully instead of resorting to gaps of fabric in your midsection? If you like pleats, I apologize if I have offended you. But wouldn’t you look nice and streamlined in a pair of flat-fronts?)

Anyway, it was a dazzlingly successful trip. The more Josh saw how good things looked on him, the more receptive he was to trying on clothes he never thought about wearing. Look in the shopping bag! A white shirt has been bought! He was slightly distraught that he compromised his goth cred by buying khakis at Polo, though: At one point, he said, “These are all the people I made fun of for years! I’m not immune to my own hypocrisy!” I told him that I bought a sweater that I have to make more boobtastic or it would slip into grandmotherly, so he can certainly goth-up a pair of dark-khaki pants.

What was really heartening about the whole experience was that, not only did we all leave speaking to each other, but I saw change in motion in a person who resists change. I resist change, too, which makes Josh and I both very suited to each other and also very, well, er, let’s just say it takes us a long time to do things. His whole life is change right now — he’s finishing grad school, he’s going back into the workforce after a long sabbatical, how he lives at home and spends his time are going to change, this new phase of his career is going to be worlds apart from his old professional life, the death of his cat has altered the vibe in our home, everything is shifting — and he’s really embracing it. We’re both so slow and stubborn to step outside of our comfort zones, but I saw him have fun and kick around the discomfort. It was reassuring not only in that his wardrobe is vastly improved, but that the change we’re embarking on in our own lives right now doesn’t have to be so intangible.

Everybody says change is good, and for the most part it is. But it’s never easy, especially when you’re a creature of habit. I crave stability, which makes me particularly stubborn in the face of even the most mild disturbances in my routine. Clothes shopping might not sound earth-shattering, but everybody has their own sticking points. Yesterday I saw somebody gracefully move into unknown territory and come out looking extremely hot on the other side.

In other news, Paris Hilton is filming a movie called “The Hottie and the Nottie.” I may barf.

Also? I love the word "pants."

Also? I like the idea of a reverse-word-association game with designers and adjectives, like "aggressive Laura Ashley." Come up with some of your own! How about "rock & roll Crabtree & Evelyn" or "prudish Roberto Cavalli" or "pretty Missoni"?