How far...

How far would you go to look good? What would you subject yourself to in order to maintain a certain appearance?

These shoes are fabulous, aren't they?



I wore them on a special night. But I felt like a giant Amazon woman as I towered over everyone else in the room, and I could barely walk. Were they worth it? Ask WebMD...they have a great slideshow of the damage high heels can cause (see it here).


I have worn necklaces and wigs that plague me with itchy red skin for days afterward. I have suffered headaches from scarves tied too tight, eye irritation resulting from eyeliner applied right on the rims of my eyes, and a pinched gut from too-tight jeans.

Is it all worth it? This is all mild compared to the surgeries and procedures many people undergo in order to feel good when they step out of their homes. Why do we do this to ourselves?!

It's nothing new, of course. All cultures, throughout history, have created painful ways of maintaining "beauty". Corsets, footbinding, neck rings--if you can imagine it, it's been done.

It's such a shame. I don't mind a little itchiness or sore feet once in awhile, but it becomes a problem when I can't fully enjoy activities I normally would because my apparel and/or body is dysfunctional. I have begun to rebel against my need to look "just so" recently. I stopped wearing my high heeled boots to work (where I'm on my feet for hours at a time), I will go without eyeliner on my lower lids once in awhile, and I am much more careful about my head feeling comfortable.

Confidence is all about the refusal to need external affirmation of inner truths. I am a beautiful person. I can convey that better with a genuine smile than a pain-filled grimace. I will still wear fabulous shoes and glittery fake lashes when the occasion calls for it. But I will determine the level of discomfort I am willing to endure by the extent to which my appearance will allow me to connect with people.

So, I ask again...how far are you willing to go to "look good"?

Double Take

I read once that you should always add a picture to every blog post, so people will be more interested in what they are reading.

Well, I can't out a picture up tonight. You'll have to use your imagination. Tonight I'm writing about a woman I met the other day. I didn't take her picture, and I can't find anything that comes close to what she looked like.

She came in to the Dry Cleaner/Tailor shop in my neighborhood where I was picking up a pair of suit pants. This was last Thursday. It was a sunny day, not warm yet but no longer bitter cold. A decent wind was blowing, making it uncomfortable to walk long distances.

I was getting ready to pay for the pants, when this old woman came into the shop and asked the owner if she could use the phone to make a local call. She kind of shouted it, in a demanding tone, which immediately made me think she had a mental illness. She walked up to the counter next to me, and I turned to look at her while she was muttering to herself. She was dressed in baggy pants, high boots, a few layers of sweaters and coats, and a scarf wrapped around her head.

She looked in the full-length mirror that was propped on the wall to our left, and repeated over and over again: "I look like hell."

I wanted to deny it for her just to make her feel better, but I thought it would sound like an obvious lie. So I just shook my head and smiled at her. She began to show me the veins in her arms and tell me about the hospital she was just released from, where she came out sicker than when she went in. I never found out what her sickness was.

Somehow, the conversation turned to me and the state of my health. I assured her I was healthy, despite my own headwrap, and I started explaining my disorder to her. She suddenly became very lucid and attentive, and as she faced me head-on I could see that she must have been a strikingly beautiful woman in her younger years. Even now, dressed as a bag lady and drooping everywhere, she was not unpleasant to look at. Not at all. Right now all I can really recall are her large, brown eyes. Like a deer.

Well, after I described my condition to her, she asked if she could see my head. I've never had that request from anyone other than children. The owner of the shop, a cute little Korean woman, was also looking at me expectantly. So I pulled my scarf off in one quick, painless movement, and felt the color come rushing to my face. As I pulled off my scarf, the woman took a pronounced step backward and exclaimed "Oh, you are stunning!"

The very word I had thought of for her.

I've never had quite a reaction to my bald head. I took it to be genuine, coming from a woman who had clearly seen her share of both beauty and tragedy in this world. I felt like I had been given a special gift: my bald head was something to show off, my crowning glory.

It's interesting to me that we both realized each other's unique, breathtaking beauty only after we had taken the time to really see who was standing in front of us. We were able to see past the clothes, past the circumstances, and into the character of the woman before us, perhaps accentuated by our physical appearance. I've never experienced anything like that before. In that instant, she and I were queens.

This made me think of a recent post, when I expressed my trouble with the fact that women always seem to give each other compliments about looks above everything else. I feel that I need to adjust my position on that a little. One friend said that complimenting a woman on her choice of attire is one of our "cultural greetings". It's a standard conversational routine. As a linguist, I get that.

It also struck me, in listening to exchanges between women over the past week or so, that women simply notice beauty and have to comment on it. I don't think we are being superficial when we compliment each other on some aspect of our physical appearance. We just love to see colors that go well together, patterns that create energy, fabrics that wrap the body in just the right way, and lines that carry our eyes as we take everything in.

I still want to be careful to compliment women on other things just as often, like the confidence they exude, their wit, or good questions they ask. But complimenting a woman on her looks because you have seen past your own insecurities and noticed a manifestation of another person's choice, personality or values is a gift that women should not be ashamed to use.

(Not) So Easily Deflated

(Image from www.karipatterson.com)

Air comes out of a balloon so much easier than it goes in, leaving it crumpled and shapeless; stretched thin and fallen. It once floated, weightless with its own purpose, but as it loses its air over and over again, its skin wears thin, eventually giving way to a hole. Then it can never fly.

I feel like that purple balloon. Once in awhile I come to a point of inflation--a point where I fill up with positive feelings about myself and I soar upwards. But all too soon, a critical comment just sucks all the air out of me and I crumple.

I received some very subtle criticism in passing today, and I just withered. I'm sure the person who made the comment didn't think twice about it. He wasn't getting personal, he was just trying to be efficient (no, this did not happen in my home...this is a work thing). But I ended up feeling how I so often do when I get even a little bit of criticism: like an immature kid with no common sense. From then on, I doubted my work, my decisions, my ability to live well as an adult.

Why should one little comment, which some people would probably not even see as a criticism, do such a number on my self-image? Why can I only see myself the way I imagine other people see me? And I imagine that other people are either wondering how I have lived so long with so little brain, or are totally in love with me.

In the words of Beyoncé, "I got a big ego".

I need to deflate-proof my balloon; fortify it with truths about who I am, regardless of bad decisions I make or accidents I have. I need to see myself as unshakeable because I have been fashioned from material that is divinely planned, crafted and protected.

Actually, now I'm seeing the image of a hot air balloon, fed by a source that will keep me rising and traveling to places of new opportunity.


(Image from www.hotairballoonridescolorado.com)

May you, beautiful reader, not be so easily deflated.

Females

These questions are for my female readers:

*When you meet up with a good female friend, what is the first thing you comment on?

*When you see a female acquaintance in the office, or an elevator, or on the train, what do you say to them?

*When you are standing in line at the grocery store with a complete female stranger, do you feel compelled to say something? About what?

If you are like me, you could answer each question by saying "I compliment her on some aspect of her appearance, usually clothes." I can't tell you how many times I have recently caught myself (or another woman within earshot) compliment another woman on something she is wearing.

"Nice sweater. Where'd you get it?"

"Ooh, I love those shoes. Where'd you get them?"

"Those earrings look great on you. Are they homemade?"

And it goes on.

Why do we do this? Male readers, if you are still reading this, how would you answer those questions? Do you feel the need to comment on other men's clothing and accessories? Somehow, I doubt it.

So why do women do it? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that women care about building each other up--at least on the surface. I have enjoyed being on the receiving end of such comments. Most recently I have gotten tons of comments on this great headcovering my sister got me for Christmas (I think it's officially called a "snood"):



I wonder if people think I am trying to get compliments. After all, the huge flower on the side of my head clearly wants to be noticed. I choose my apparel and accessories carefully, and when people compliment me on my choice of color or my skill in coordinating patterns, I feel validated.

Is that why I similarly compliment other women on their appearance? Is it because I recognize the struggle to step out of the house with the perfect blend of confidence, comfort and identity that most women aim for when they get dressed?

Or are women just silly? Why can't we stop ourselves from constantly saying "Nice sweater", thus perpetuating the myth that women are valued for looks and not much more? Of course, when we are first meeting someone or just crossing paths, we comment on the only possible point of connection--besides the weather, maybe.

I don't know why it's been bothering me lately. Every time I give, or hear, a compliment of this sort, a voice inside me screams, "There's so much more to her/me!" Should I just relax about it? Or should we occasionally find an alternative way to build a bridge connecting our island to this other person's island, opening up endless possibilities of further connection and communication?

Any ideas?

Let's Talk About Moms, Baby

Yes, let's talk about moms.


(Picture taken from Viking Jenn's blog--check it out!)

We know them all.

There is the mom who curls her daughter's hair, never goes out without makeup, knows all the rules of football and makes an amazing lemon tart.

There is the mom who homeschools her kids, sews her own clothes, only buys organic foods and meditates every morning.

There is the mom who hauls three kids back and forth on the bus all day, goes the laundromat twice a week, works two jobs and feeds her kids McDonald's.

There is the mom who brings her kids to school in pajamas, has the TV on all night, and leans out the window to smoke her cigarettes.

I mean, we know them all, right?!

Wrong. We don't know sh--. (Sorry for almost swearing, granny...)

Do we know anything about these women's lives? Not unless we live a day in their shoes. "Judge not, lest you yourselves be judged."

This morning I brought my son to school with no coat, no shoes or socks, and no hat. In the winter. I got some stares, for sure. But what these gapers don't know is that I dressed him three times, and each time he stripped everything off. I decided to let him feel the cold, so that tomorrow (hopefully) he will keep his winter gear on.

My neighbors have heard me yell at my kids many, many times. I threw my daughter's prized pink water bottle across the room the other day and broke it. I dumped an entire bottle of chocolate milk in the sink this morning. Then I sobbed in my room.

What "kind" of mom does that make me? Some would say, and have said to my face, that I am crazy. I have a mental illness and need to be on medication. I will end up hurting my kids if I don't get myself under control.

So that's the mom I am.

I have been put into a box and slapped with a label.


(Taken from http://www.clker.com/clipart-203947.html)

It's not fair. The label doesn't even begin to capture my essence. By looking at that label you would never know all the positive things I tried before simply losing my patience. You would never know the daily struggles I go through.

I confess, shamefully, that the moms I described above are stereotypes of my own making. I have labeled moms according to external appearances, and then I judge them according to my own limited experiences.

To you moms, I'm so terribly sorry. I'm in this with you.

Time to Go on a Diyet?

A friend of mine forwarded a link to me today, and when I clicked on it I saw this:



At first, it reminded me of another image I saw on another friend's Pinterest board:


So at first I though it was a hoax--a writer using child-like penmanship in order to illustrate a point and garner some attention about an issue.

But as I read on, I became convinced it was true. A seven-year-old wrote that list. And her mom is naturally very angry at society for upholding the values we do concerning appearance and beauty, which eventually led to this little girl making such a list.

Apparently the girl heard about this "diyet" from a friend at school. Who knows how the friend heard about it. Maybe she has a big sister who reads teen magazines.

I understand the mother's frustration. I, too, am worried that I will be forced to talk about issues with my young daughter that she really shouldn't have to deal with until she's much older.

I might try to look at it another way, though. Maybe these girls are writing about "diyets" because they have read about them and they seem like important, grown-up things to emulate. Like when a kid writes a "menu" and takes your order, or "writes a check" to pay for toys in their room.

But let's say these girls are taking this seriously. This mom did exactly the right thing and talked to her daughter about the beauty of her body just the way it is. I also suggest having the friend over and doing some activities that will get counter-cultural messages across.

But the real issue here is that little girls are taking their bodies very seriously. They are learning how to put on makeup, accessorize, dance and walk in ways that make them feel grown up. Because our culture tells them that their value lies in how much attention they can get for their looks.

This mom was questioning her choice to let her daughter play with a Barbie doll. I've been there, making the choice between giving in to my daughter's wishes for pretty playthings and trying to substitute her desired object with something less damaging for her self image.

I let her have a Barbie.

Because ultimately, I think balance is key. I let her have a Barbie, but instead of a Barbie video for Christmas I got her a Veggie Tales movie about true beauty. I think it's okay for little girls to learn from an early age how to take their of their bodies. I think it's okay for them to be affirmed in their desire for "prettiness". The problem comes when we limit the idea of "prettiness" to a Barbie doll or Disney princess. Another problem comes when we indulge them in their desire to grow up too fast. We womanize and sexualize our little girls because we think it's so cute that they look like little ladies.

Look at this swimsuit from Target:


It starts at size 4. Some moms probably think their 4-year-olds look darling in this little mini bikini. Let's face it, a woman's body is very pleasing to look at. Fine. But is the idea of a woman's body so alluring that we must project it onto little girls?

I haven't even addressed the issue of sports, dance, gymnastics and pageants for little girls. Again, balance is key. We as a society tend to keep pushing the envelope--maybe part of our "westward expansion" mentality. We could stand to sit back and let things be.

I'd love your reactions and thoughts.

Get Your Groove On...or something like that

Yes, I'm the girl taking pictures of herself in the mirror at the gym. I just get tired of stealing other people's photos off the Internet.

I just joined this little fitness center, and today was my second day using it. I went yesterday afternoon, thinking it would be empty.

Wrong.

Full of men lifting weights and talking trash to each other. And here comes little ol' me. I actually thought I was doing pretty well, holding my own and looking like I belonged there...until I slipped a bit on the treadmill. It was a little tiny slip, but I think I uttered some kind of surprised noise. Not sure. But I just kept on running. I don't even think my face stayed red for that long. An improvement for me, for sure.

So today I went in the morning (I just love my part-time work schedule). And I was the only one there! So I took advantage--taking photos of my bad self, putting the radio on and practicing my Zumba toning moves with free weights, that kind of thing. I know, none of you would ever do anything like that, alone or not.

As I was watching my bad self in the wall-sized mirror, I was struck by how funny it was that I had given so much thought to what I wore to the gym. I really, really want to look feminine at the gym. I don't want to go in there with a bandana and no earrings, just on the off chance that someone mistakes me for an adolescent boy. So I get my zebra print scarves out and do my makeup, all for an hour of getting stinky and falling off the treadmill.

Why? If I go to the gym and men look at me, I get really creeped out. The answer is that if I go to the gym and no one is there, I actually really enjoy watching myself in the mirror--if I look the part, that is. (By the way, I get my ideas of what a workout outfit should look like from MTV's The Grind workout videos from the 90s.) If I look like I could be on a workout video, I'm happy. I guess I imagine that if I practice enough, someday I can feel as good when there are people to watch me. I know, I'm so vain. I probably think this blog is about me...

At one point during my little workout, I laughed out loud. Here I was, watching my biceps flex (if I squinted and got really close to the mirror) and keeping an eye on the door--and I was convinced I really looked good. But I'm realistic enough to know that I actually looked a bit foolish. Cool at times, but mostly foolish.

But I think that's okay. As soon as someone comes in the door, I feel like a little girl who's out of her league. But by myself, I'm really something! The point, I think, of this whole post is that we need those moments where we can stand all alone in front of a mirrored wall and bust out some moves that boost our confidence--even if the moment only lasts until another person walks in.

No matter your body shape or size, you can feel good when you look in the mirror at a gym. You can. First of all, anyone looks good with a barbell in their hand or sitting on an exercise ball.



Secondly, you are at a gym! You should feel great about making that choice. And finally, I think we all have to have some degree of love for our bodies. We get what we get, and we don't throw a fit, as they say in preschool. It can be scary to look at yourself full on like that, but if you find yourself all alone with the freedom to take it in, just enjoy who you are when no one is watching. Laugh a little but keep on dancing. Or swiveling. Or whatever it is you're doing in front of that mirror. If a bald girl can feel good in front of a mirror, so can you.