Beyond Size Charts: Crafting Comfort and Confidence as a 6'7" Autistic Trans Woman
In the tapestry of human diversity, my thread stands out as particularly vibrant and complex. I am a trans woman, autistic, and tower above most at 6'7" with an athletic build that defies easy categorisation. My journey through life has been one of constant adaptation, not least in the realm of personal expression through clothing. In a world where fashion is increasingly commoditised, where garments are churned out to fit an imaginary ‘average’ person, I find myself several standard deviations from the mean in multiple dimensions.
The challenge of finding suitable attire in this landscape of mass-produced sameness has been more than a mere inconvenience; it has been a stark reminder of how the fashion industry often fails those who fall outside its narrow parameters. This realisation led me down an unexpected path—one where necessity birthed creativity, and frustration gave way to empowerment. Faced with rack after rack of ill-fitting clothes that neither accommodated my sensory needs nor reflected my identity, I made a decision that would reshape not just my wardrobe, but my entire approach to self-expression: I would learn to design and create my own clothes.
The Intersection of Being Trans and Autistic
The intersection of my trans identity and autistic neurology creates a unique tapestry of needs and preferences when it comes to clothing. As a trans woman who embraces their femininity, one might expect me to gravitate towards the hyper-feminine styles popularised by French or Italian fashion houses. Yet, my aesthetic sensibilities lean more towards the androgynous, drawing inspiration from the traditional styles of my ancestors. This preference is not merely a matter of taste, but a reflection of a deeper, more authentic expression of self that transcends conventional gender norms.
Like many autistic individuals, my skin whispers secrets that others might never hear. It speaks in a language of sensation, where the wrong fabric can feel like an assault on the senses. Itchy, scratchy materials are not just uncomfortable; they’re unbearable, creating a cacophony of distress that drowns out all else. Tight clothing feels constricting, a constant reminder of boundaries that chafe against my need for freedom. Instead, I yearn for garments that flow and breathe, that allow my body to move unencumbered and my skin to feel at peace.
Yet, the quest for comfort must also align with the imperative of fit. In a body that stands out in any crowd, ill-fitting clothes are not just unflattering—they’re a betrayal of identity. Each garment must be a second skin, one that honours the curves and angles of my form while allowing me to present myself authentically to the world. This delicate balance between sensory comfort and gender expression is not just a preference; it’s a necessity, a vital component of my daily armour against a world that often fails to accommodate bodies and minds like mine.
In crafting my wardrobe, I am not just selecting fabrics and styles; I am curating a collection of tactile and visual affirmations of my identity. Each piece becomes a statement, a declaration of self that respects both my trans identity and my autistic needs. It’s a powerful reminder that clothing is more than mere covering—it’s a language, one through which I can communicate my truest self to the world, without compromise or apology.
Challenges with Mainstream Fashion
In the labyrinth of modern fashion, carved out by the relentless machinations of monopoly capitalism, I find myself a stranger in a strange land. The once-familiar territory of accurate sizing has given way to a bewildering landscape of arbitrary categories. XXS to 6XL and beyond, these mysterious ranges stretch like a poorly made elastic, attempting to encompass the vast diversity of human forms within their ill-defined boundaries.
The fashion industry’s conception of “tall” seems to exist in a parallel universe where every person assigned female at birth is blessed with a 26-inch inseam. My 32-inch inseam and elongated torso stand in defiant contradiction to this myopic view. It’s as if the architects of ‘women’s fashion’ believe that when individuals grow taller, their legs extend while their torsos remain stubbornly static—a peculiar assumption that leaves me, and countless others, in a sartorial no-man’s land.
Adding to this confusion is the ubiquitous presence of stretchy fibres, woven into fabrics like a Faustian bargain. These elastic interlopers allow companies to offer a deceptively narrow range of sizes, a sleight of hand that ensures nothing ever truly fits. The promise of adaptability becomes a curse of compromise, with garments clinging in all the wrong places or hanging limply where they should embrace.
This stretchy revolution comes at a cost beyond mere fit. As these non-natural additions distort and wear unevenly, clothing becomes a fleeting commodity. Garments that once might have been cherished for years now warp and wear out with alarming speed. It’s a calculated obsolescence that feeds the insatiable appetite of quarterly growth reports whilst burdening our bank accounts and conscience. The true cost is paid not just by consumers but by our planet, as mountains of discarded clothing pile up across the Global South—a testament to the unsustainability of this commoditised approach to fashion.
In this landscape, my body—tall, athletic, and unapologetically nonconforming—becomes a rebellion against the standardisation of form. Each failed fitting room experience is not just a personal frustration but a stark reminder of how the commoditisation of fashion has led to a poverty of options for diverse body types. It’s a system that seems designed to exclude, to other, to remind those of us who fall outside the narrowly defined norm that we are, in the eyes of the fashion industry, an afterthought at best.
The Decision to Make My Own Clothes - A Recap
The realisation that I needed to create my own wardrobe dawned not as a sudden epiphany, but as a gradual understanding born from countless frustrating encounters with ill-fitting, sensory-assaulting garments. Each fruitless shopping expedition, each disappointment in the fitting room, wove together into a tapestry of necessity. It became clear that if I wanted clothes that truly fit my statuesque frame and honoured my sensory needs, I would have to craft them myself.
Embarking on this journey of sartorial self-reliance was akin to learning a new language—one spoken in the whisper of fabric against skin and the rhythmic hum of a sewing machine. I immersed myself in the fundamentals of garment construction, poring over tutorials and seeking wisdom from seasoned crafters. The selection of fabrics became a sensory odyssey, my fingers discerning between textures that sang to my skin and those that screamed discomfort.
My first projects were humble explorations in cotton gauze—tunics that flowed with the graceful simplicity of my Highland ancestors’ garb. These initial creations, whilst far from perfect, were revelatory. They fit my long torso and accommodated my broad shoulders in a way no off-the-rack item ever had. The challenges were numerous—mastering the art of even seams, perfecting the lace-up neckline that would allow for future changes—but each obstacle overcome was a stitch towards autonomy.
As my skills grew, so did my ambition. The palette of my wardrobe expanded to include the heathered purples and sea greens of my ancestral lands, each garment a thread connecting me to my heritage. This journey of creation has become more than a practical solution; it is an act of self-affirmation, a tangible expression of my identity woven into every fibre.
Designing for My Unique Needs
In crafting garments for my towering frame and sensitive skin, I’ve found wisdom in the layered simplicity of my ancestors’ wardrobes. Their approach, born of practicality and ingenuity, speaks to a deeper understanding of both body and environment. The tunic, that stalwart base layer, has become the cornerstone of my designs. Its flowing lines accommodate my height without compromise, whilst its adaptability allows for a seamless transition between seasons and occasions.
The fabric choices for these foundational pieces are a testament to the superiority of nature’s own creations. Cotton gauze, with its airy embrace, has become my second skin. It whispers against my body rather than shouts, allowing me to move through the world unburdened by sensory discord. This natural fibre breathes with me, adapting to the ebb and flow of temperature and activity.
As I expand my wardrobe to include waistcoats, I find myself drawn to a harmonious blend of durability and heritage. A sturdy cotton base provides the structure, whilst woollen tartans adorn the front, offering not just a pop of colour but a vibrant connection to my roots. These pieces layer over my tunics, adding warmth and sophistication without sacrificing comfort.
In this journey, I’ve come to realise that my gender expression is woven into every choice of colour and fit. The modern fashion industry, with its arbitrary constraints, seems to have forgotten the rich palette that nature provides. Why should modern wardrobes, regardless of gender, be limited to the somber tones of black, brown, dark blue, and khaki? Why has fashion relegated vibrant colours to narrow definitions of femininity, ignoring the rich palette that nature and our ancestors embraced? My designs reject these limitations, embracing instead the full spectrum of hues that dance across the Highlands: the fairy green of moss-covered stones, the cerulean of clear summer skies, the heathered purple of rolling hills at dusk.
These colours are not just aesthetically pleasing; they are affirmations of identity. Each shade is a declaration, a reclamation of the vibrancy that has been systematically drained from modern fashion. In donning a tunic of sea green or a waistcoat flashing with tartan, I am not just clothing my body; I am adorning myself with the very essence of my heritage and my truth.
This approach to design is more than a mere fusion of form and function. It is a holistic embrace of who I am—tall, sensitively-skinned, and unapologetically myself. The subtle femininity of the ancient and pre-colonial West Highlands provides the perfect template for my expression. It allows me to present as femme without conforming to the often exaggerated and impractical styles dictated by Milan or Paris fashion houses.
Each garment is a carefully considered piece of a larger whole, a wardrobe that flexes and flows with the rhythms of my life and the contours of my identity. This subtlety is not about hiding; rather, it’s a conscious choice to navigate a world that can be hostile to my very being. It allows me to move through spaces with a quiet confidence, embodying my feminine identity without inviting the stares and harassment that more overt styles might provoke.
In this way, getting dressed each morning becomes an act of self-care and self-preservation. It’s a moment of alignment between my inner self and my outer presentation to the world, a delicate balance between authenticity and pragmatism. My clothes serve as both armour and expression, allowing me to face the sensory overload of modern life without adding the additional burden of unwanted attention or confrontation.
The Challenges of Creation
Crafting garments that truly fit and reflect my identity has become a journey of constant learning and adaptation. I’ve immersed myself in the world of sewing, taking online classes from Craftsy and devouring countless hours of YouTube content from skilled makers. These resources have been invaluable, teaching me crucial skills like creating slopers and taking precise measurements—foundational knowledge for anyone venturing into custom clothing creation.
Yet, even in the realm of patterns, I’ve encountered the same frustrating standardisation that plagues off-the-rack clothing. The sizing calculations of Simplicity, McCalls, and the myriad of patterns populating Etsy’s pages often fall short of accommodating my unique proportions. It’s a stark reminder that the fashion industry’s one-size-fits-most approach permeates even the world of home sewing.
Thankfully, this journey has led me to a handful of responsive pattern designers, like Denmark’s Wardrobe by Me, who understand the need for flexibility. Their willingness to engage, to answer emails and offer advice on altering patterns to suit my requirements, has been a beacon of hope in a sea of uniformity. With their guidance, I’ve learned to adapt and modify existing patterns, a skill that has proven as valuable as the initial sewing techniques I acquired.
My process now involves a meticulous approach to each garment. I begin with careful measurements and pattern alterations, often creating muslin mock-ups to ensure the fit is perfect before cutting into my chosen fabrics. The actual construction is a meditation in patience and precision, with each stitch a step towards a garment that truly belongs on my body.
I’ve developed techniques for extending bodices and adjusting sleeve lengths that go beyond simple elongation, ensuring the proportions remain harmonious. Adapting necklines to accommodate my broad shoulders whilst maintaining a feminine silhouette has become an art form in itself. These custom adjustments mean that creating a single garment can span several days, but the result—clothing that fits both my body and my soul—is worth every moment invested.
This process of creation is more than just sewing; it’s a continual refinement of my skills, an ongoing dialogue with fabric and form. Each completed piece is not just an addition to my wardrobe but a testament to the power of perseverance and the importance of creating space for diverse bodies in the world of fashion.
The Impact on My Life
The impact of wearing self-made clothes has been nothing short of transformative. For the first time in my life, I move through the world enveloped in garments that truly fit, flatter, and flow with my body. The comfort this brings is not just physical; it’s a profound sense of alignment between my inner self and outer presentation that radiates through every interaction.
The introduction of vibrant colours to my wardrobe has been a revelation, both to myself and those around me. The shock on people’s faces when they see me adorned in hues beyond the drab palette typically associated with tall individuals is palpable. It’s as if I've stepped out of the monochrome background and into full, vivid colour. Female colleagues, in particular, have been effusive with their compliments, often inquiring about where I’ve purchased such unique pieces. Their surprise when I reveal that these garments are of my own creation is a testament to the quality and distinctiveness of my work.
What strikes me most is how these colours, carefully chosen to complement my ethnicity, work in harmony with my skin tone, hair, and eyes. It’s as if my ancestors whispered the perfect palette, one that not only connects me to my heritage but also enhances my natural features in a way no off-the-rack clothing ever could. This synchronicity between my attire and my physical attributes has boosted my confidence immeasurably.
The way I carry myself has shifted subtly but significantly. There’s a newfound ease in my movements, a comfort in my own skin that comes from wearing clothes that don’t fight against my body but work with it. I find myself standing taller, more willing to engage in social situations where I once might have tried to shrink into the background.
Perhaps the most profound change has been in how I interact with the world around me. Conversations about my clothes often lead to deeper discussions about identity, creativity, and the importance of self-expression. These exchanges have opened doors to connections I might never have made otherwise, creating a ripple effect of positivity and understanding.
The journey of creating and wearing these clothes has become a powerful form of self-advocacy. Each garment is a statement, a gentle but firm assertion of my right to exist comfortably and beautifully in a world that often overlooks bodies like mine. In crafting my own wardrobe, I’ve not only clothed my body but also nurtured my spirit, finding a mode of expression that honors all aspects of who I am.
Broader Implications and Final Thoughts …
My journey of crafting a wardrobe that truly fits and affirms my identity is not just a personal triumph; it’s a reflection of a broader struggle for inclusivity in the fashion industry. For many AMAB individuals who transition later in life, like myself, and who don’t conform to the narrow size range that dominates women’s fashion, finding clothing that fits, flatters, and affirms our identities can be an overwhelming challenge.
The current trajectory of the fashion industry, with its relentless pursuit of quarterly profits, consolidation, and environmentally destructive fast fashion practices, seems to be moving further away from serving the diverse needs of humanity. This trend disproportionately affects those of us whose bodies and identities don’t align with mainstream fashion’s limited vision.
Yet, in this challenge lies an opportunity. To those facing similar struggles, I encourage you to explore the empowering path of creating your own clothes. It’s not just about addressing a practical need; it’s about reclaiming your right to express yourself authentically and comfortably in a world that often fails to accommodate your existence.
My vision for the future of fashion is one of true inclusivity and diversity. It’s an industry that celebrates the vast spectrum of human bodies and identities, where sustainability and cultural respect are not afterthoughts but foundational principles. While the current landscape may seem bleak, every garment we create for ourselves is a step towards this vision – a small act of rebellion against a system that too often ignores us.
As we move forward, let us not just dream of a more inclusive fashion industry, but actively work towards creating it. Whether through supporting inclusive designers, advocating for better representation, or taking needle and thread into our own hands, we have the power to stitch together a future where everyone can dress in a way that affirms their true selves. In doing so, we’re not just changing our wardrobes; we're changing the world, one beautifully fitting garment at a time.