Leukemia messed with the wrong chick shirt

Product Description

In the moments Leukemia messed with the wrong chick shirt before she fired off the Instagram comment heard around the world, Tara Davis-Woodhall could hardly believe her eyes. The American long jumper and world silver medalist had just seen a photograph of one of Nike’s Team USA uniforms for this summer’s Games, a high-cut leotard barely covering the bikini line that was unveiled at a launch event in Paris last week. The running publication Citius Mag had posted an image of the slinky uniform on a female mannequin alongside a male one-piece kit with longer legs. As the side-by-side comparison prompted an online furore over sexism in elite sport, Davis-Woodhall couldn’t help but enter the fray. “Wait my hoo haa is gonna be out,” she commented, joining a chorus of athletes who hammered the company’s apparent decision to prioritize skimpiness over function. In response, Nike said female runners at the Games will not be limited to the high-cut leotard and that the new line offers nearly 50 styles to choose from, including shorts. Speaking on Tuesday at the Team USA media summit in midtown Manhattan, Davis-Woodhall was one of several US Olympians who attributed the backlash to the photograph.

Leukemia messed with the wrong chick shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

Unisex tshirt

Women’s tshirt

Longsleeve tshirt

Sweaters

Hoodies

Fully on the Leukemia messed with the wrong chick shirt dress barely covers my chest – I can’t lean, bend or jump without flashing my reflection, and any large steps cause the super-high thigh slit to rise dangerously close to my ass. Standing still, though, I look good: sexy, trendy, youthful. But I quickly discover that the dress is too tight to pull over my head. How did I get in here? I shimmy and curse until I’m able to wrench the dress off me, where it springs back, tauntingly, to its original shape. Laid flat on the floor, the form is like a cartoon body: a perfect hourglass, smooth and dramatically curving. My new Shein clothes lie in a crumpled pile on my living room floor for a week. I can’t figure out what to do with them. Neither garment is particularly wearable, but the hassle of returning the pieces (or donating them, or selling them to a thrift store) seems absurd when they cumulatively cost me less than $15 to begin with. The idea of folding them up and placing them in my dresser alongside my other clothing feels defeating. I think briefly about trying to sew them into something new, but again – the hassle. Mostly I don’t think about them at all. The garments cost so little that I don’t feel pressure to make them fit my wardrobe, or my life. I’ve already forgotten why I wanted these particular clothes in the first place.