Fashion trends may evolve, but the phrase “dress for your body type” remains constant. The real question is whether this is a guide for women to embrace their bodies or fatphobic style advice.
The fashion world thrives on rules, but fatphobic fashion rules often hide behind good intentions. When people say “dress for your body type”, they might mean well, but it often feels like a message wrapped in control and unspoken shame. For those who don’t fit into fashion’s narrow standards—hello from a 5’2” woman with curves—this kind of advice is rarely helpful. The unspoken suggestion is to edit, minimize, or make style more palatable. The unspoken rule is to hide parts of your body deemed unpalatable by stifling beauty standards, but I’m done making myself smaller just to be flattering to society.
Let’s ask the right questions: Is “dress for your body type” helpful style advice? Or just body-shaming in better branding?
The ideology behind dressing for your body type
At its core, dressing for your body type should help you understand your body shape better. It should provide classic styling tips that enable you to use fashion to create balance, structure, or proportion. As someone who’s 5’2, I know that pairing wide-leg trousers with a cropped top gives me added length. It’s simple, stylish and smart. But it gets complicated when dressing for your body type stops being about personal preference and becomes about enforcing rules. When you’re told what to wear based on your size or shape, the advice shifts from empowering to restrictive. That’s when the line between fashion guidance and fatphobia starts to blur.
How fashion tips become fatphobic rules
The problem isn’t wanting to feel confident in your clothes. It’s that dressing for your body type often stems from outdated fatphobic beauty standards. Most of these so-called “rules” are built around one very specific ideal: thin, hourglass, tall, and conventionally symmetrical. Everything else is expected to adjust or disappear entirely.
you’re not wearing an oversized shirt because it’s your style, but because you feel the need to hide your arms. You’re not reaching for a midi skirt because it feels chic, but because someone convinced you that mini skirts are only for women with long, slim legs.
And if you exist in a fat body? The pressure multiplies. You’re told to minimize, streamline, elongate, or draw attention away as if your body is a problem to solve, not something to honour or enjoy. The message is clear: your body is acceptable only if cleverly disguised.
A look into how the media interacts with plus-size celebrities reveals the unequal fashion landscape. When Lizzo wears something bold and form-fitting, the conversation quickly shifts to what’s “flattering” or “appropriate”. Meanwhile, when thinner celebrities rock similar outfits, they’re praised as daring and fashion-forward. It’s not really about the clothes—it’s about the body in them.
The double standard exposes how many so-called style rules are simply fatphobic. Fashion advice becomes expectation, and personal style becomes performance. Dressing for your body type empowers, yes, but it can also be code for: fix your body first, then you’re allowed to enjoy fashion. That’s not style, it’s surveillance.
Dressing for your body is fatphobic when it’s not a choice
Here’s the key difference: when dressing for your body type boosts your confidence, that’s your style shining through. But when you’re dressing to meet someone else’s standards just to feel accepted, it stops being about style and starts feeling like pressure.
Fatphobia sneaks in when we shame others for not following these “rules.” It shows up when we praise plus-sized women for “knowing what works for her” just because they wore black. It’s not styling advice when we label outfits “flattering” if they hide a belly or smooth out curves. That’s societal policing disguised in soft fabrics.
Recently, we’re seeing people break the mould on their own terms. Precious Lee is a prime example. As one of the first Black curve models to walk for Versace and front major high-fashion campaigns, she’s redefined what plus-size fashion looks like at the highest level. Yes, she wears pieces within traditional fashion rules for fuller bodies: cinched waists, structured silhouettes, and clean lines. But the difference is that she doesn’t follow the rules to shrink herself or hide her body. She owns and uses it to amplify her power. Precious wears what she wants, how she wants, and makes it look unapologetically runway-ready. Her style says, “I know the rules—and I’ll use them if I feel like it.” That’s pure, unfiltered confidence.
The same energy radiates from Achieng Agutu, whose vibrant, joyful style breaks every imaginable fashion “rule”. Her style consists of bold prints, short hems, and dramatic details, and loud colours with ease, worn with a defiant confidence. Tabria Majors, who fearlessly recreates iconic celebrity looks and stuns in skin-baring pieces on her terms. Her bold fashion moments aren’t just viral—they’re powerful reminders that plus-size women deserve space in every fashion conversation.
Everyone deserves the freedom to wear what they love without the pressure to look taller, slimmer, or leaner. Let’s face it: clothes aren’t meant to fix what isn’t broken.
Style without boundaries and shame
Your body isn’t a problem to be fixed, and dressing for your body type shouldn’t feel like punishment. At its best, it’s a confidence booster, a tool for self-expression, not a set of rules rooted in shame. The real issue starts when fashion stops being a choice and becomes a condition when joy is replaced by judgment. True body positivity isn’t about chasing flattering silhouettes or shrinking to fit a standard. It’s about freedom: the freedom to dress with joy, to express your personality, and to celebrate every body, exactly as it is.
We should all feel empowered to understand our bodies and dress unapologetically. True personal style doesn’t come from restriction, it comes from self-trust.
