'I worked in a lingerie shop for a year. There was one thing most women said to me in the changing rooms.'

Before I became a writer, I wore many other hats. I worked as an interior designer, a PR girl, an auction house assistant. I now look back at all of my past roles fondly and see how they influence my work as a storyteller. However, the one hat (or bra) that has surprisingly lingered longest was that of my year of working at a lingerie store.

At age 23, fresh back in Sydney after a rather tumultuous two years in London, I had a job at a post-production firm to come home to. In the end that job only lasted four days as it turned out my main role was cleaning up a coke trail after the boss. I wanted to do something creative, not caretake a middle-aged, misogynistic, functioning drug addict (ew!).

So I made a stand and quit. But then panicked and quickly called HR at my old workplace in London - that being a high end lingerie label - and asked if they had any shops in Sydney I could work at instead. They swiftly gave me a job at their Australian flagship boutique, and even though what proceeded was in many ways a very challenging year, it was one of the best of my life, a year in which I made lifelong friendships, found ways to finally express myself and where I ultimately learnt to love my body a bit more.

Having worked for the same brand before, previously as PR assistant, going into my new role I thought I knew the lingerie landscape well - what sold, what didn't, how the customers reacted to certain styles, etc. As it turned out, I was wrong. 

No amount of running numbers in an office could compare to what I learnt by being face to face with so many customers. Can you think of many places more vulnerable than the changing room of a lingerie shop? In them I learnt a lot about how women perceive themselves.

Watch: Wearing outfit #3 to a family dinner would 100% be a crime against your Nan's eyeballs. Post continues after video.

We had all kinds of customers at the shop - from sex workers to CEOs; from students to brides-to-be. There were some similarities between all of our customers of course, all of them were somewhat stylish (you don’t really spend $100 on a g-string unless you’re into fashion), and, on that note, all of them had the money to spend. Yet all the customers seemed to have the same hangups about themselves, hangups which existed regardless of their job titles, penchant for style, money in the bank or their bodies.

The first thing I noticed when I started working there was how women apologised for their figures as soon as I was in the changing room with them. Buying luxury lingerie is a special service, thus the customers often wanted your professional opinion during a try-on session. They would ask me to come in and check the fit, the style, give a second opinion. But as soon as we would be taking in their reflection together - me more focused on any bulging side boobs or any lace in the wrong place - they would blurt out an "I’m sorry."

The apologies for their appearance would range from "I’m sorry, I haven’t been to the gym lately," to "I’m sorry, I don’t usually look like this, I just can’t shake the baby weight." And, the oldest phrase in the book, "I’m sorry, I just need to lose 5 kilos!"

I would do my best to console them, not having judged them for their appearance in the slightest. I would tell them they looked great because they did, and if something wasn’t fitting right, or another colour way would compliment their complexion better, I would go back out to the shop floor and grab it. I was just there doing my job.

I didn’t immediately notice this narrative when I started working there either, it actually took a few weeks to set in. In a way, I was used to hearing these kinds of complaints from friends and female relatives. To dislike one's body, more so back then (this is eight years ago, which does feel a while back in terms of the culture), was somewhat normal - in fact if you instead raved how fab you looked then that was frowned upon.

The second thing I would often witness in the changing room was the reference to 'him.' The boyfriend, the husband, the unrequited love - "Will he like this though?" Even if we had found them a pair of bra and knickers they absolutely adored, even if the design was a bit girly or silly or too much, my customer would often call on 'his' opinion.

As soon as they introduced their phantom man to the conversation, it would derail the mood for everyone. Suddenly a presence of their mystery guy would be in the changing room with us (excuse me, no boys allowed!) and would be dominating the show. We would then start to strive to get his invisible permission for them to make a purchase with their money. Sometimes the customer would even call him up or FaceTime him, otherwise this was all entirely hypothetical.

OK, many of these women were single or didn’t (exclusively) date men, but I found this quite common and quite baffling. Me, being a strident 23-year-old at the time, meant my mind was pretty purely focused on myself. Though by the end of my year of working there, I did have a boyfriend who I very much wanted to impress and the same sentiment came to impact me too. 

The last thing I took away from my year of selling lingerie, was that as soon as we had found the right thing for the customer to don, they would look incredible! Seeing them seeing themselves radiate made my heart sing, and soon I became more focused on enabling this than the actual selling.

My customers would be looking luminous, elegant, sex-kittenish - whether they were wearing a full on corset or a simple bra and knickers set. If we had found the right thing for them, they would look undeniably fabulous. This taught me that there is a sartorial something to truly suit anyone. And that looking good really doesn’t have that much to do with how conventionally attractive you supposedly are. 

Overall, it is all a lesson in perception of oneself. The common narrative, that was purely perception driven, would go from - I’m not perfect therefore I must apologise - to - My boyfriend probably won’t like this even though I love it - to (hopefully) - Actually I do look pretty good because this fits and suits me perfectly. 

Other than a trip to Italy, nothing has ever impacted my relationship with my body image more than working at that store. It had actually taken a while for these lessons to sink in for me, perhaps the reason it’s a piece of my job history that still takes up space in my mind. As a result, I now actively try to stop apologising for myself and my looks, especially in the presence of other women. Instead, I focus on buying and wearing what I like and feel (and thus look) my best in.

Listen to Fill My Cup where Allira is joined by Deni Todorovič, stylist, podcaster and LGBTQIA+ activist to chat how they learnt (and are learning) to love their body in that hopes that we can too. Post continues below.

While I am a bit older now, and unfortunately many of my knickers these days are of the seamless variety (the fact I used to don a lacey suspender belt as part of my shop uniform on the daily astounds me), the sentiment of what I learnt there still holds up. In my opinion, everyone has so much untapped internal and external beauty worth being discovered, showcased and shared.

If you want to feel better about your body, I would say stop apologising for how you look, forget about him when you’re shopping (quite frankly, if he’s a heterosexual Australian bloke, he probably won’t notice anything new in your wardrobe anyway) and remember that you will always shine in the right design.

For more about Charlotte, check out her Instagram here. 

Feature Image: Supplied.

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