40 for 40, a set on Flickr.
24 days down.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
40 for 40 or 40 Days and Nights in The Fashion Wilderness
Tomorrow marks the beginning of Lent, and another one of my Lenten projects. This year's project is superficial, yes, but maybe I'll learn something from it. Largely inspired by Kendi and others' 30 for 30 projects, I'm going for 40X40. I've picked out 39 items and have given myself one Wild Card if I get totally stumped.
The rules:
Pick out 40 items, make 40 outfits, NO SHOPPING.
Why:
Lent, sacrifice, you know.
Live within my means.
Confront my horrific little addiction to Fast Fashion.
Confront my horrific little addiction to "if I only had XXXXX, things would be perfect."
Confront additional "I'm so fat, I have nothing to wear" and "I am so awesome. I need something to wear" and "I suck so bad. Something new to wear would cheer me up" addictions.
Get creative with shoes, accessories, all that.
What I'm hoping:
That I can actually do it.
That I save some money.
That I look fanfuckingtastic.*
* I am also giving up swearing. Let that be my last.
The rules:
Pick out 40 items, make 40 outfits, NO SHOPPING.
Why:
Lent, sacrifice, you know.
Live within my means.
Confront my horrific little addiction to Fast Fashion.
Confront my horrific little addiction to "if I only had XXXXX, things would be perfect."
Confront additional "I'm so fat, I have nothing to wear" and "I am so awesome. I need something to wear" and "I suck so bad. Something new to wear would cheer me up" addictions.
Get creative with shoes, accessories, all that.
What I'm hoping:
That I can actually do it.
That I save some money.
That I look fanfuckingtastic.*
* I am also giving up swearing. Let that be my last.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Does Georgia Hate Fat Kids?
The new year is here, and so is the flood of diet ads, weight loss pill advertisements and general fat shaming.
Salon's Mary Elizabeth Williams has a great article out today, Why is Georgia Shaming Fat Children?, discussing a new Strong 4 Life ad campaign. The campaign features five different kids talking about how hard it is to be a fat kid in school today. Obviously, my heart breaks for these kids, and I have no doubt that life is hard for them. But is making them feel worse good for them? And other fat kids? If shame were that powerful a motivator, there would be no fat kids left. Right?
The balance between not shaming and acknowledging the fact that children are getting more and more unhealthy is a tricky one. As Williams states, "Despite our cultural obsession with weight problems, we still chafe at identifying individuals – especially children — who have them. Calling someone obese is considered a cruel taunt rather than a statement of fact. The unusually frank public service announcements demystify fatness." I get that, but I also get that this ad campaign, and the vast majority of other obesity-fighting initiatives focus on obese PEOPLE and not obesity. Demonizing people keeps the focus off other issues like the influence of food industry lobbyists on nutrition standards, lack of public places to excercise, diminished focus on physical education, etc. Basically, you know, the causes.
Salon's Mary Elizabeth Williams has a great article out today, Why is Georgia Shaming Fat Children?, discussing a new Strong 4 Life ad campaign. The campaign features five different kids talking about how hard it is to be a fat kid in school today. Obviously, my heart breaks for these kids, and I have no doubt that life is hard for them. But is making them feel worse good for them? And other fat kids? If shame were that powerful a motivator, there would be no fat kids left. Right?
The balance between not shaming and acknowledging the fact that children are getting more and more unhealthy is a tricky one. As Williams states, "Despite our cultural obsession with weight problems, we still chafe at identifying individuals – especially children — who have them. Calling someone obese is considered a cruel taunt rather than a statement of fact. The unusually frank public service announcements demystify fatness." I get that, but I also get that this ad campaign, and the vast majority of other obesity-fighting initiatives focus on obese PEOPLE and not obesity. Demonizing people keeps the focus off other issues like the influence of food industry lobbyists on nutrition standards, lack of public places to excercise, diminished focus on physical education, etc. Basically, you know, the causes.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Tis The Season of Gender-Specific Consumerism
I'm hoping to start regular posting again in the new year, but for now a round up of my favorite hits:
SO WHY DO ALL THE GIRLS HAVE TO BUY PINK STUFF?
LEGOS FOR GIRLS KIND OF SUCK.
Except for this girl. In 1981.
SO WHY DO ALL THE GIRLS HAVE TO BUY PINK STUFF?
LEGOS FOR GIRLS KIND OF SUCK.
Except for this girl. In 1981.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Fuck Off You Nutritionists
In one of my first posts, I alluded to my ill-fated trip to a nutritionist back in 2007. It was one of the more humiliating experiences of my life, mainly because I totally let it get to me and force me back in a destructive, depressive spiral, but it wasn't a total fail. Two good things came out of it. The first was a new found passion about where health, nutrition, beauty and women's self-esteem issues intersect. The second was my first long-form essay in years. I've gotten a few personalized rejections for the piece over the last few years, so I know I'm on the right track.
Here's a snippet of what I wrote about my visit:
I thought about Miss Huntyface Nutritionist a lot today. Earlier this morning, I was exploring some local graduate nutrition programs (read: slacking off at work). I have been fantasizing about one particular certificate program that specializes in Nutrition Communication, but I was looking at more structured programs and imagining what kinds of jobs I could have. Could I be a nutritionist? And if I was, what would I specialize in? All I know is that I would never, ever shame anyone the way I had been shamed.
Later today, my good friend, SKB, posted on Facebook about her own horrific experience with a nutritionist. I won't give all the background details -- it's her story to tell -- but she is one week away from her due date and was instructed to see a nutritionist after getting some borderline gestational diabetes results. Her experience was similar to mine in that it consisted of tons of shaming tactics ("only you can decide how much artificial sweetener is good for your baby") and bad feelings all around. My friend has nurtured and cared for her body (yes, that's a lame phrase, but whatever) during this much- wants pregnancy, and works out as much as anyone else I know -- she is not a sloth or lazy or stuffing herself full of fried foods 24-7. She's normal and tries her best to be healthy, like most other people I know. I shared my story and asked what the name of her nutritionist was.
DEAR READER, IT WAS THE SAME FUCKING BITCH.
Cue my righteous indignation.
If you look around the Interwebs, you will find all sorts of different definitions of what a nutritionist is and how it's different or the same as a nurse or dietitian or counselor. I like this one: A nutritionist is someone who specializes in the study of nutrition, including nutritional deficiencies, sources of nutrition, and nutritional challenges which may face individuals or communities.
When you treat everyone that walks into your office as an idiot who just needs the right amount of your "expertise" to change their life, you are ignoring all of the physical, emotional and psychological reasons why they might be there, what their history with food might be, cultural leanings, eating disorders, etc. I have absolutely zip, zero health training, and I know that. I also know that shaming rarely works. If it did, I'd be a size 0 supermodel by now and would never let processed food anywhere near me.
That's not real life. And I am rambling. But hoping to channel all my bile and rage into something productive.
Like a bag full of flaming poop. Or a mailed fart.
Here's a snippet of what I wrote about my visit:
On the day of the appointment, as the doctor, a small, bird-like woman with thin, pursed lips, led me back to her office, I told her my story of why I was there. Before the door to her stuffed, windowless office was even closed, she glanced over at me and said, “Well, you’re obviously overweight.”
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach and I tried desperately to pay attention, but my mind was screaming, “Obviously? OBVIOUSLY?” I could accept the overweight part. If you believe that the Body Mass Index is a scientifically sound way of determining someone’s health, then, yes, I have been scientifically proven to be overweight. But I knew that. I was more shocked by “obviously.” What did that mean? How obvious was it?
She asked me to stand on the scale, and I retreated. I was burning with shame and could barely concentrate on what she was saying.
“177.”
FAT.
“And how tall are you?”
Not tall enough for all this fat.
“5.7. Well, 5.6 1/2”
Just plain big.
“Yes, that’s much too high.”
Yeah, I know.
Any shred of dignity I had left disappeared. I sat down in her rickety office chair and let my mind wander into the familiar bad places, the fantasy places, as I was instructed to pick up plastic replicas of standard foods to learn proper weights and portion sizes. She knew I wasn’t paying attention and punctuated every statement with a condescending, “do you understand?”
What are you, fat AND stupid?
“And how much do you exercise?”
Here, I perked up. Finally, something I did right. I told her about my 25-mile bike rides on the rail trail and my yoga class. I told her about the running program I just completed and how I started running 5Ks.
“That’s not nearly enough. You need to exercise five times a week if you want to be serious about this stuff.”
I’m surprised you can even move around at your size.
I nodded solemnly. I neglected to ask what it was that I was being serious about. She pulled out a handful of photocopied colored sheets and detailed my new, healthy eating “plan.” It looked suspiciously like a diet, but she assured me that this was not a diet, but a way of life. She told me to come back in a month, when she expected that I would have lost at least five pounds.
I thought about Miss Huntyface Nutritionist a lot today. Earlier this morning, I was exploring some local graduate nutrition programs (read: slacking off at work). I have been fantasizing about one particular certificate program that specializes in Nutrition Communication, but I was looking at more structured programs and imagining what kinds of jobs I could have. Could I be a nutritionist? And if I was, what would I specialize in? All I know is that I would never, ever shame anyone the way I had been shamed.
Later today, my good friend, SKB, posted on Facebook about her own horrific experience with a nutritionist. I won't give all the background details -- it's her story to tell -- but she is one week away from her due date and was instructed to see a nutritionist after getting some borderline gestational diabetes results. Her experience was similar to mine in that it consisted of tons of shaming tactics ("only you can decide how much artificial sweetener is good for your baby") and bad feelings all around. My friend has nurtured and cared for her body (yes, that's a lame phrase, but whatever) during this much- wants pregnancy, and works out as much as anyone else I know -- she is not a sloth or lazy or stuffing herself full of fried foods 24-7. She's normal and tries her best to be healthy, like most other people I know. I shared my story and asked what the name of her nutritionist was.
DEAR READER, IT WAS THE SAME FUCKING BITCH.
Cue my righteous indignation.
If you look around the Interwebs, you will find all sorts of different definitions of what a nutritionist is and how it's different or the same as a nurse or dietitian or counselor. I like this one: A nutritionist is someone who specializes in the study of nutrition, including nutritional deficiencies, sources of nutrition, and nutritional challenges which may face individuals or communities.
When you treat everyone that walks into your office as an idiot who just needs the right amount of your "expertise" to change their life, you are ignoring all of the physical, emotional and psychological reasons why they might be there, what their history with food might be, cultural leanings, eating disorders, etc. I have absolutely zip, zero health training, and I know that. I also know that shaming rarely works. If it did, I'd be a size 0 supermodel by now and would never let processed food anywhere near me.
That's not real life. And I am rambling. But hoping to channel all my bile and rage into something productive.
Like a bag full of flaming poop. Or a mailed fart.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Am I Pretty?
I stumbled across Teaching My Girls About Beauty: What I wish I was told as a kid on Babble, and it obviously brought up a lot of my own shit about wanting to shield my daughters from this crazy culture we live in. I want them to feel everything – smart, funny, and yes, beautiful.
My parents were no slouches in the compliments department where intelligence was concerned. I knew that I was smart, and I knew they were proud of how well I did in school. I don’t remember my “beauty” really being discussed at all other than it being something trivial, like liking boys, and that I should focus more on studying. Other people’s beauty was up for grabs, though. I come from a long line of judgers and critics and the family get-together almost always included gossip about someone’s nose or someone’s fat ass or so and so losing or gaining weight. Even if people didn't directly talk about my physicality, I knew enough to know that someone would notice and that someone somewhere would be talking if I got too fat, got a bad haircut, had a pimple or did something with my Scorcese-esque brows. Someone was always trying some new diet or workout regimen so the message, or at least how I interpreted it, was that there was something deeply wrong with being fat or ugly and you should do whatever you could to work against that. So I got caught in the cycle, and my esteem for my physical self has always been for shit.
And then I got pregnant. Pregnancy, along with running, gave me an appreciation for my body that 20+ years of dieting and grooming obsession never could.
And then I ended up with all these girls.
Like the author, I feel overwhelming pressure to “ be the “perfect example.” As recommended by the experts, in that role I wouldn’t do things like criticize the creases at the backs of my thighs (otherwise known as cellulite) or my big (ahem, I mean, larger than average) butt, at least not in front of them. And I would do this all while pursuing my writing dreams as a working woman. All of this, I imagined, would save me from having the self-esteem issues of my girls looming over my consciousness … and perhaps save them from having to endure the unhappiness I once felt.”
Yeah, that’s working out great. I stare at my middle-aged baby pooch in horror while I obsessively moisturize, pluck, tweeze, and spanx myself into some work clothes while snarfing down my breakfast of champions – Cocoa Krispies and coffee. But hey, at least, I’m not SAYING I feel ugly. Good cover.
I know that I can say all the right things and that I can avoid saying the wrong things, but the absolute BEST thing I can do for my girls is to be the kind of girl I want them to be. And like the author, when they ask me if they are beautiful or pretty, I can tell them, “yes, you are, and so much more.”
My parents were no slouches in the compliments department where intelligence was concerned. I knew that I was smart, and I knew they were proud of how well I did in school. I don’t remember my “beauty” really being discussed at all other than it being something trivial, like liking boys, and that I should focus more on studying. Other people’s beauty was up for grabs, though. I come from a long line of judgers and critics and the family get-together almost always included gossip about someone’s nose or someone’s fat ass or so and so losing or gaining weight. Even if people didn't directly talk about my physicality, I knew enough to know that someone would notice and that someone somewhere would be talking if I got too fat, got a bad haircut, had a pimple or did something with my Scorcese-esque brows. Someone was always trying some new diet or workout regimen so the message, or at least how I interpreted it, was that there was something deeply wrong with being fat or ugly and you should do whatever you could to work against that. So I got caught in the cycle, and my esteem for my physical self has always been for shit.
And then I got pregnant. Pregnancy, along with running, gave me an appreciation for my body that 20+ years of dieting and grooming obsession never could.
And then I ended up with all these girls.
Like the author, I feel overwhelming pressure to “ be the “perfect example.” As recommended by the experts, in that role I wouldn’t do things like criticize the creases at the backs of my thighs (otherwise known as cellulite) or my big (ahem, I mean, larger than average) butt, at least not in front of them. And I would do this all while pursuing my writing dreams as a working woman. All of this, I imagined, would save me from having the self-esteem issues of my girls looming over my consciousness … and perhaps save them from having to endure the unhappiness I once felt.”
Yeah, that’s working out great. I stare at my middle-aged baby pooch in horror while I obsessively moisturize, pluck, tweeze, and spanx myself into some work clothes while snarfing down my breakfast of champions – Cocoa Krispies and coffee. But hey, at least, I’m not SAYING I feel ugly. Good cover.
I know that I can say all the right things and that I can avoid saying the wrong things, but the absolute BEST thing I can do for my girls is to be the kind of girl I want them to be. And like the author, when they ask me if they are beautiful or pretty, I can tell them, “yes, you are, and so much more.”
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