Because of social media, where women freely display their inherent beauty in all shapes and sizes, the standard of beauty is changing. This change is highlighted by a recent study that was published in the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education. It shows that the average American woman used to wear a size 14, but now she typically wears a size 16 or 18.
The study, which examined data from more than 5,500 American women, discovered that during the previous 20 years, the average waist size had climbed from 34.9 to 37.5 inches. The study’s principal expert, Susan Dunn, highlights the importance of the information by saying, “Knowing the average size can significantly impact women’s self-image.”
The fashion industry is urged by co-author Deborah Christel and Dunn to adjust to these developments. According to Dunn, “these women are here to stay, and they deserve clothing that fits them.”
The message is clear: in order to appropriately represent the genuine shape and size of the modern American woman, apparel manufacturers must adjust their sizing guidelines.
For Years My Neighbor Comes Home for 15 Minutes in the Middle of the Day — I Finally Dared to Take a Peek
As I hurried to my front door, I realized that I only had fifteen minutes left. I quickly headed toward the open window as soon as I thought no one was watching. I was happy that no neighbors were observing when I peered over the windowsill.
Their living area was same to all others. Mike faced away from me while holding a high-end camera. With a subtle smile, Jill turned to face him. My attention was drawn to a brief glimpse of motion near the room’s edge. Mike had my whole attention. His wife yelled, “Someone’s there!,” as our eyes locked, and I lost my breath. There’s someone looking inside!
No, no, no! I pondered. This is not possible!
With my heart racing, I hurried back to my house and secured the door. What was going through my mind? I peeked inside their house, but why? Had I caused them any offense? I thought they were going to call the cops.
The quiet was broken the following day by a knock on my door. Taking a glance through the peephole made my stomach turn. It was Mike. He pulled out a picture from an envelope he was holding. My picture. “Want to elaborate?” he inquired, seeming amused.
I admitted, embarrassed. To my astonishment, Mike grinned and extended an invitation to visit, stating that he loves Jill by taking her picture every day. I treasured their endearing custom and never looked out the window again after that day.
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