Fitting Room Blues

The Bloodhounds are just about to go on for their first televised performance, but Emile is having some trouble with the matching outfits. Finished ~8/9/25

!!! Content warning: !!!

Emile's internalized fatphobia is a large theme in this piece

Click here to go back to Emile

Twenty minutes- Emile kept repeating the number in his mind. Twenty minutes until the Bloodhounds got on the stage, twenty minutes until their first single would be broadcast on television. Twenty minutes was all that they had, and yet here he was still cooped up in the dressing room.

He already had one leg donned toe to thigh in tight black leather, but grunted as he tried to get the other in, nearly tripping himself against the racks of other clothes. The small rectangular room painfully reminded him of the complex that he had developed with all things clothing. How much does this shirt cost? How do I know its size? Where are your fitting rooms? Yes m'am, no m'am, sorry for the in-cun-veen-nince. But alas, Shannon had suggested the idea of ordering unique matching outfits for their television appearance. It would be expensive, yes, but think of the first impression we'd make! The rest of the band enthusiastically agreed before Emile could get a word in. Even now, his reluctance would be too difficult to explain. It wasn't that he hated the idea. And the outfits looked great out of the box; Jo had thought of them herself as a fun combination between a black jumpsuit and a lacey white button-up. It was just that...

Emile was leaning against the door, struggling to pull the jumpsuit over his shoulders, when Ed's voice made him jump.

"Hey, Emi! What's the big hold-up? We're all waiting for you out here!"

A whimper escaped Emile's lips without him even realizing, and his response was more shaky than he intended it to be. "I-I-It's nothin', ah-ah'm just havin' some trouble with the costume. I'll be out." In a breathless hurry, he finally pushed himself from the door and pulled the lacey white top to its rightful place at his neck. But as soon as he buttoned it, he felt his spine go rigid and couldn't move his arms enough to find the zipper in the back. The skintight leather fought against any movement like a bath of hardening cement. And as he stumbled stiff-legged towards the middle of the room, grunting with the struggle for that elusive zipper and wondering how he was supposed to walk on stage in this thing, let alone dance in it, he caught a shocking glimpse of the giant mirror.

...Was the outfit supposed to look like that? On a thinner body, it probably would've been risque. But on him, it looked like some awful joke. The leather wrapped around every nook and fold, leaving room for neither air nor the benefit of the doubt. Right when Emile thought he would faint from the embarrassment, he toppled over again with no flexibility to stop himself. He landed roughly on his side, knocking the breath out of his body. And if things couldn't get worse, Jo was the one to call his name next, her voice much closer to the door.

"Emile, do you need any help? I'm going to come in."

"Wait- Don't-" He choked out, half-crawling half-stumbling into the door with a loud thump just as it began to open. The relief was short-lived, however, as the knob jangled and twisted next to his head. Jo's muffled voice came through again, her once tender tone now exasperated.

"Emile! Come on, man! We can't wait out here forever, just show me what's wrong!"

Hastily he grabbed the closest thing to him, a long tan dress on the floor, and pulled it to his chest as he rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He kept saying between breaths, "You can come in." And then, with a creak, the door opened.

Jo's face was annoyed at first, as expected, but it quickly softened when she saw Emile, wide-eyed, with his hand pressed to the wall and another holding the dress. Of course, she fit in her own outfit perfectly. She fit in everything perfectly. In contrast to the mess that he saw in the mirror, the leather rounded much more naturally upon her subtle curves. He may have been staring by the time that she finally spoke again.

"Sorry, Emile, I didn't mean to startle you." Her words were quiet and she closed the door behind them, drawing closer. "The others are simply in such a rush to be ready- er, what's with the... dress?"

He took his hand off the wall, instinctively pulling his makeshift veil closer, "Um, it was on the floor, I- uh... didn't want the- the dirt-"

"Oh, look, you're nearly there!" She piped encouragingly upon stepping around him, "Let me help you with the back of it."

His heart skipped a beat as he felt her fingers touch his skin for a moment, catching his breath before he could object. Just as quickly as her gentle touch came, however, a jolt of pain went through his back as the zipper caught on his skin. He choked a yelp- poorly, as he clutched the dress harder.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Jo winced in his ear, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Did I hurt you?"

"No..." He mumbled, to which she quickly went back to work with a grunt.

"I can see why this was taking you so long, it's a bit... tight," She pulled the zipper higher, and Emile clenched his eyes shut with a grimace, unsure if it was the squeeze itself or the embarrassment that hurt more. Why did it have to be Jo seeing him like this? She'd probably think that he couldn't fit into anything anymore. And, worse yet, it was probably true. Before he knew it, his mother's insults began to replay in his head- fatty, disgusting pig. But then Jo gasped.

"Oh my gosh... Emi, you won't believe this!"

His eyes jumping open, he tried to squirm around in her grip, "What? What is it?"

"This jumpsuit is a small!" She stepped away, putting a frustrated hand to her forehead. Meanwhile, he stared open-mouthed at her, struggling to understand.

"Obie was just complaining how his felt too short, and now... Ugh! We must've used whatever measurements we took when we were still the Surfers!"

Jo kept shaking her head in disbelief and Emile's shoulders lowered. In their limited time, the revelation was only a small relief.

"W-What're we gonna do?" He asked, taking a peek under the dress before looking back at his bandmate, whose brow was pinched in thought. Eventually, her eyes wandered towards the racks of other clothes- things that other performers had borrowed or left behind, and she snapped her fingers.

"That's it! Emile, you're the lead singer, right? All we need to do is dress you in something else!"

She jumped to her feet and began to sort through a variety of button-ups, Emile following her to the best that the straightjacket of a jumpsuit would allow. "But won't it look bad silly? I mean, you all dressed up one way, and me dressed up another."

"Not at all! Groups do it all the time with their frontmen. Look at this shirt," She reached in and pulled out an off-white button-up with fancy lace ruffles along the front and on the cuffs. The material was very loose, contrasting with the leather, but it otherwise matched the white parts of the matching outfits perfectly.

"It sure looks nice..." was the best way he could articulate the thought in that moment, however, a tiny smile finally starting to creep onto his face.

Before long, the two had uncovered some black dress pants and boots among the piles as well, and Jo left him alone again to change with a cheerful thumbs-up. Emile couldn't help a gasp of relief as he finally took the jumpsuit off and was able to breathe again. Then he put his new items on in a hurry and looked into the giant mirror one more time to fix his slightly tossed hair, adjusting his collar and sleeves as well. The outfit had made all the difference. The untucked shirt hung loosely from his shoulders only while the pants fit almost perfectly. Even with Jo's reassurance, though, he couldn't help but feel a guilty pit in his chest. He played no role in ordering the outfits. The measurements being wrong wasn't his fault. But there obviously was a time where he could fit in that jumpsuit. And now here he was again, being a burden to everyone because of his weight.

Twenty minutes. Except it might've been ten minutes by now, or five. Emile forced the painful thoughts out of his head as he turned to walk out into the hallway. The rest of the band were standing in a circle, and when they saw him their eyes all widened in surprise. For a moment, he froze up in panic at the sight of their matching outfits. Jo was wrong. He did look bad silly. But then Ed interrupted the silence.

"Woah, groovy threads, Emi! You're like the star of the show!"

Even Shannon nodded in agreement, "I was just thinking that six of these suits was a little much..."

Emile slowly stepped forward, glancing down as he pinched his hands together, "Thanks, but it was really all Jo's idea. She picked all it out."

He looked over to see Jo standing next to Doc, a blush coming over her pretty face as she shrugged.

"Ah, shucks. That's just what friends do when someone's outfit goes missing!"

At first, Emile mirrored her smile before suddenly considering her words. His outfit didn't go missing. It was still on the floor of the dressing room. But before he could say anything, Shannon grabbed his guitar from the wall. "Look sharp, everyone. I think we're about to go on. I can hear the host speaking."

Ed and Doc grabbed their instruments as well, the entire band falling silent as they began to make a single file towards the backstage door. As they crossed paths, Emile could've sworn he saw Doc giving him an angry sort of look. But his mind was too set on their performance to think about it for long, repeating Jo's words of encouragement from when they had performed live for the very first time. In front of him, she and Obie turned a corner past a big blue curtain. Emile followed quickly behind, the spotlights soon covering his vision with white.

"And now, give a good strong welcome to America's newest hit folk group: The Bloodhounds!"