Fitting

I see a text from a group chat that says the reserve department I’ve been volunteering with for the last year will be having structure gear fittings the next day at 0900. I got this same text six months ago, also the day before, and couldn’t shift my schedule around to make it.

This time though, I’m on shift and will be getting off the next morning at 8. It couldn’t have worked out better. I’ll get a workout in from 8-9, get fitted, and go home. 

The fitting has been set up for the most recent academy grads. Their graduation officially marks the elevation of my graduating class from the bottom of the totem pole. There are no females in this new class. The guys start to show up around 0830 and 'yes ma’am' me and hold the door open. 

I don’t mind the yes-siring and always running ahead to get the door, it feels respectful and even playful sometimes. Having it done for me for the first time after a year though, that feels good too.

I try on the smallest turnout pants they have and they are night-and-day different from the hand-me-downs I’ve been running calls in. The length on these is perfect and they’re only a few inches too wide around the waist. He has me squat and crawl and lift my legs to check the fitting and they feel so good. I feel agile. I feel like they’re made for me. I feel a knot in my throat.

I’m suddenly aware of how many subtle things I push aside that make me feel like I don’t fit in here. I haven’t thought about how frustrating it is to have gear three sizes too big since my academy. Then, I was being tested and timed and felt loppy like a clown - trying to hustle up a ladder when the crotch of my pants sags to my knees - trying to get my gear on in under a minute when the sleeves of my jacket hang well past my fingers making me feel like a little girl in a man’s coat - thoughtfully yanking my feet up every step as I run so I don’t trip over my massive structure boots, trying to focus, trying not to get pissed. 

I remember reading somewhere about a boss setting up their office so that whoever came to sit across from them would have to look up at them sitting in their grand desk - and the seat of the guest's chair was tall so their feet would dangle, making them feel small in two ways and establishing a power dynamic through interior design. 

Now, I just put my gear on without thinking twice about it.

Suddenly though, with these pants, these pants that almost fit me, they make me want to cry. I’m surprised that this makes me emotional and I shrug it off, thinking I must be tired from the long shift. 

I know the guy who is doing the fitting is also stopping at several ambulance stations to fit people who have to work today. I want him to know how much we appreciate what he’s doing for us, so I tell him.

“This really means a lot for you to come out and get us custom fit. I can’t believe the difference in how even trying these on feels. I feel ready to go - it’s exciting. Having gear that fits makes me feel more like I belong here.” I say.

He had started out just measuring. But by the end, he was making eye contact with me. He says he didn’t bring the female sizes and will come back with them. He says it’s his pleasure.

I realize how much I mean what I said, and how seen I feel, and notice my throat tighten again.

We tell each other to have a good day, and on my drive home, I feel strangely more competent. Like my competence and my tools go hand-in-hand more than I’d thought. Like I might be unstoppable. Like I finally found my cape.

---

Review

---

Fitting, is a moving, well-paced exploration of belonging, identity, and the often-overlooked power of material symbols—like gear that actually fits—to communicate respect, readiness, and recognition.

The central theme—how institutional systems often overlook or marginalize people in subtle ways—is delivered without preaching. The gear becomes a metaphor for all the small compromises women (and others) make in traditionally male-dominated fields, and how powerful it is when that burden is lifted, even momentarily. The piece quietly interrogates gender equity in the fire service, belonging and competence as felt experiences, and how respect can be embedded in practical things.

This story is deceptively simple and deeply human. The final paragraph sings: "Like my competence and my tools go hand-in-hand more than I’d thought. Like I might be unstoppable. Like I finally found my cape." This is confident, poetic, and satisfying. It elevates the narrative arc and ties back beautifully to the deeper metaphor of gear-as-identity. It evokes empowerment without overstating it.