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A Past of Pageantry If someone had told me when I was 12 years old that in five years I would not only compete in a beauty pageant, but also win, I would have thought they were either downright crazy or just mean.
I should preface this by saying that at 12 years old I was in a pretty awkward place in life. Severe scoliosis put me in a rigid back brace for two years, leaving me no other choice for clothes, but big bulky sweaters and oversized band tee shirts and flannels. Thankfully this was the 90s and I was all about grunge music, but I still felt incredibly insecure about my situation. I closed off inside myself and hoped for a more “normal” future, but seriously doubted I’d ever have one. I became a loner, camping out in my room and daydreaming the hours away. When the back brace didn’t work, I underwent major spinal surgery with titanium rod implantation, allowing me to skip most of my freshman year of high school and bask in months’ worth of Vicodin. Bedridden and sentenced to months of physical therapy to learn how to use my new body, I continued to spend a lot of time alone, isolation made all the more bearable with a number of obsessions and compulsions—writing, the Internet and intense body maintenance, especially in the realm of body hair removal. I clung to these obsessions even when I returned to school, feeling a little more open without the back brace, but still painfully self-conscious. Fashion magazines also became an obsession, their covers offering new and beautiful white actresses I tried to emulate as best I could. Gwyneth Paltrow playing Estella in the adaptation of Great Expectations became my ideal of beauty, appearing smooth and slim and seductive throughout the film. I copied dramatic gazes from perfume ads, refused to leave the house without red lipstick, bought green contact lenses to cover up my brown hue and coated my face in my mom’s expensive facial creams that smelled like jasmine and perfection.
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Beatlemania Producers & Stylists: Amy Gatewood and Shannon Minor Photographer: Shannon Minor Model: Margaret Carmel QuailBellMagazine.com Feminine Menswear + Dark Eye Makeup + Short Hair = '60s Dream The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
As Temperatures Drop, Textures Rise Producers/Stylists: Amy Gatewood, Shannon Minor, Lindsey Story Photographer: Amy Gatewood Model: Tracy Chau QuailBellMagazine.com With crisp autumn fresh air breezes, layers of cozy sweaters, kimonos and other flowy outerwear pieces provide warmth and style for the fall season. Neutrals, greens and blues mix and match well together, and as autumn temperatures lower, it is a great time to play around with different textured fabrics. Bundle up; go for an exploratory, neighborhood walk, all while experimenting with color and layers for beautiful fall days to come. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Burlesque Booty Queen Editor's Note: The following was originally an exclusive interview with Luna Luna Mag, but our friends there have been kind enough to let us republish their words with Jan Tina. Image: Michi R. Studio Rezin Hello, Jan Tina! Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with Luna Luna magazine.
Ok, so I’m going to be totally honest from the get-go. I saw you perform at #whatdatbootydo2 and I was blown away by your performance. And since then I’ve pretty much been lurking on your Facebook and taking notes. This is for a professional interview. I am notthat creepy! But I thought a disclaimer might be in order since some of the questions I have for you come directly from things I saw on Facebook. LYNSEY: So first question: are you totally freaked out by people lurking on your Facebook? (I really hope not.) JAN TINA: Not really…I have learned to look at lurkers as admirers. I am flattered actually! Thank you. LYNSEY: All right, now that the air is totally clear! Tell me about yourself, Jan Tina! I hear that you are originally from the Detroit area. What brought you to New York, and how long ago did you arrive? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
How One Haircut Changed My Perspective On Girly By Kate Hickey QuailBellMagazine.com When I was twenty, I cut off all of my hair. Granted, I’d never had super long hair, but it usually fell to about my shoulders. But one day I walked into the salon, clippers were applied, and I walked out with my first pixie cut. It was a strange feeling. I’d never realized how much of my own personal femininity was bound up in my hair. Immediately, I felt as though I had to compensate for that femininity in ways I never had before. In those first few weeks without much hair, I learned a lot about make-up, blow-drying, and accessorizing—all things I’d never really given much thought to before, when I had girly hair. I’d never considered myself to be a particularly feminine person. I generally preferred pants to dresses (although that has changed…), didn’t wear a lot of make up, and chose comfort over style. But suddenly, with my safety net femininity blanket completely gone, I had some soul searching to do. The year I spent actively keeping my hair short was a time of personal growth. While I buzzed my hair down as far as I possibly could, I was figuring out a lot of things about myself. I wore more dresses. I bought nicer shoes. Most importantly, to me, I learned that I should focus my make-up on my lips rather than my eyes. I grew into a sense of style that was ultimately shaped and cradled by having short hair. Femininity is something that is a part of me in a way I can’t explain. Sure, I pick and choose which aspects of femininity are more or less important to me, but in general, I adhere to most of the standards. Realizing that femininity is a part of who I am made me feel better about doing things that I previously thought were “too girly”—like caring about clothes or liking the color pink. A lot of feminine things get a bad rap these days. For some reason, people have decided that it’s better to make bimbo jokes about put-together women than to take a moment to think about the role femininity plays in our society. I think it would be healthy if everyone out there who reads this takes a moment to think about something feminine you like. Something downright girly that makes you smile. And don’t be ashamed of it. #Real #Femininity #SelfLove #Hair #Buzzcuts #ShortHair #BodyImage #Womanhood #Feminism #Haircuts #Hairstyles Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Carrie Bradshaw's Hypothetical OKCupid Profile shoeslover
32 • F •New York, NYMy self-summary: I'm a lifelong Upper East Sider. Though I grew up in Connecticut, we all know life begins when you move to New York. Like any New Yorker, I'm better at making reservations than I am at making toast. I write a column for The New York Star and I've written two books. What I'm doing with my life: What does every Upper East Sider do with her life? I love shopping, Sunday brunch with my best girlfriends, parties, sample sales and going out to dinner. I'm really good at: Running in high heels, making headlines and being a good friend. I'm good at some other stuff too, but you'll have to take me on a date to find that out ;) The first things people usually notice about me: What I'm wearing and my curly blonde hair. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Not Crisp But Cool Producers/Stylists: Shannon Minor, Amy Gatewood and Lindsey Story Photographer: Shannon Minor Model: Angela Poreda QuailBellMagazine.com The witching hour of summer means the advent of autumn. Rejoice, fairy punks, rejoice. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Shamelessly Being Who You Are Looks Like Fun By Kate Hickey QuailBellMagazine.com You might remember Mary Lambert from Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’s hit “Same Love” in 2012. She sang the beautiful, haunting chorus that truly pulled that song together. She, along with Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, made a difference in Washington state’s Referendum 74, which legalized same-sex marriage that year. Since then, Macklemore and Ryan Lewis have rocketed into superstardom, but Mary Lambert was a bit left behind.
Not anymore. Her music video for her single “Secrets” debuted at the end of July and has since gained over two million views on YouTube. Most of Lambert’s other work is slow, serious, and quiet, but this song is an upbeat jam, something anybody would love to play at a party to get people dancing. You could definitely leave the song at that and continue on with your life, but if you look a little deeper, the song becomes so much more. In this song, Mary Lambert tells us all of her secrets. She tells us the silly, the absurd, the sensitive, and the sad parts of her that anybody would be inclined to hide from the world. She opens the song with the lyrics: “Okay. Game face. Here we go.” In this deep breath before the plunge, you can feel that this song, and Mary Lambert, are going to be one hundred percent honest with the audience. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
From the Mouth of a MetalsmithSerendipitous happenings. My love for transforming metals and stones into my own personal adornments expanded into creating for friends, which eventually led to small collections and shows and finally into my very own brand. I now have a full working studio in our two bedroom apartment to meet my growing customer base—a feat I am ever grateful for. Dabbling in several different facets of jewelry design allowed me to explore and find the areas in which I thrived. Each day is a learning process where I continue to surprise myself with small serendipitous happenings that make for new designs and techniques. Alchemy. Minimalism is a concept that inspires my work in both metals and precious/semi-precious stones. I aim to create pieces highlighting my strong metalsmithing abilities. These pieces can either stand out alone or be layered, stacked, and mixed to create a unique look dependent on the wearer. Ideally, I aim to create pieces that everyone will enjoy, but in the end, I usually ask myself, would I wear this? If the answer is no, I will keep tinkering until the piece becomes what I envision and sometimes beyond my imagination. There is certainly a different kind of satisfaction that comes from visualizing, creating, and wearing the thing that once lived in my own imagination: it’s alchemical.
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The Gorgeous Minds and Bodies of Hindu Goddesses By Gypsy Mack QuailBellMagazine.com I have always had difficulty with finding ideals of beauty. I suppose that I do not need to have a beauty ideal, but it is actually a nice thing to have someone that I find beautiful, someone I look up to, and someone I aspire to be like.
I went to India last winter, and I experienced very different ideas of beauty. Where I was living for two months, in Karnataka, I was told that if a woman was plump, her size was a sign of wealth, and comfort, and that her plumpness was considered attractive. This intrigued me because I had always been so used to the idea that being thin was the most widely accepted idea of beauty. I also noticed that, at least where I was living, women had a different way of carrying themselves. I can’t quite explain it, but it seemed that they had more confidence. I thought that this confidence was a very nice thing to see, so I took note of the way the women around me walked. I tried my best to imitate the way them—not only because I wanted to look like them because they were beautiful, but because I also wished to fit in, so that I could observe a different culture without being immediately perceived as a foreigner. While in India, I became very interested in Hinduism. I began to feel a sort of connection to the beliefs, the rituals, and the deities. I realized that the different forms of the divine feminine in Hinduism were fast becoming beauty ideals for me. I found that each and every one was a different sort of perfection, and not just physically. The Hindu goddesses displayed strength and power both in spirit and mind. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A "Bass" Step to Beauty Acceptance By Sarah Schwister QuailBellMagazine.com Meghan Trainor’s hit song “All About That Bass,” has been booming and blasting through radio speakers all summer, drawing listeners and critics in alike. With over eleven million hits on her music video on YouTube (and climbing) and number eight on the Billboard’s Top 100, it makes you wonder, what is all the commotion about?
It’s a positive, mainstream, easy to understand body acceptance piece. And the best part: It’s taking off like wildfire. “Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I ain’t a size two,” is one of the first lines in the song. Why is the acceptance of bigger ladies such a positive thing? Because all people should be treated as people, no matter what they look like. The power of this mainstream hit is that ideally people will hear more about being accepting of people who are bigger built, especially the ladies. Bloggers who do “not understanding the fat acceptance movement” will hopefully “understand” a bit better that some things are beyond our control. We don’t chose what family we are born into, what our skin color is (no, tanning doesn’t count), what sex we are born with, or where we'll grow up. Songs like this—ones with a positive message—not only call attention to the fact that it's not bad to look different but that all people are people. So, she ain’t a size two, and tell all those skinny bitches—hey, it sounds like Trainor is skinny shaming. Could she be? There is a thin woman dancing in the candy pop pink music video in a blue dress and plastic wrap generally getting out “booty shake’d” by the heavier woman. Although skinny shaming is a factor, it's not a major point of the song (and she does say she is just kidding). The song is validation for women who are curvier, who in our current culture don’t tend to receive many props. That validation is a daily thing for the more culturally accepted, skinnier, commonly attractive women so much so that they don’t often realize it. Why not pass the baton around to all women rather than keeping it in the secluded section of “beautiful” women? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Bunny Pistol: Burlesque Performer Extraordanaire Rosa Sifuentez—aka Bunny Pistol—isn't your average anything. Born and raised "East of East L.A." she wended her way to San Francisco at 19 and never looked back.
Toggling between two careers—by day she works as an event + hair color specialist/make-up artist at Tease Salon and by night shakes it in her skivvies as the founder of Barbary Coast Burlesque—Bunny is anything but bored. A curvaceous woman with shocks of lagoon-green hair amid dark tresses and a bevy of tattoos, she feels like a neo-Bettie Page. We met up at Good Bellies Cafe in Temescal Oakland to talk about this month's show, her upcoming festival in New York and how burlesque saved her life. So how did this whole burlesque career get off of the ground? Why San Francisco? San Francisco was a city I dreamed about moving to—it's very different than L.A. To me, it represented a lot of history. I loved the architecture, the weather—it felt careful, cool and artistic. [laughs.] I went to my first burlesque show in 2002—Teaserama at Bimbo's and I said to myself, "I wanna do that! That's exactly what I need to be doing." But it took me five years to take my first class. It's such a celebration of the female body—I feel in love with it and came out of "retirement" in 2007. When I was an actor I didn't feel like I hitting my stride—but with burlesque I immediately felt like, this is where my family of freaks are! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Derriere Duty By Fay Funk QuailBellMagazine.com “Miss. Miss. Miss! MISS!”
There is a man shouting urgently behind me. Did I drop my wallet? Maybe my cell phone? Is he in some sort of trouble? I almost turn around to talk to him, but some part of me, some cynical part of me I haven’t seen recently tells me no. No, don’t turn around, it’s not what you think. As I continue down the street I hear the man say behind me, with a grin in his voice, “I just wanted to let you know, you have the fattest ass I’ve ever seen…” At first I’m shocked. He shouted at me like I’m on fire for that? Then extreme humiliation. Then anger. But the longest feeling is the uncomfortable awareness of just how big my ass is, the mental cataloging of every calorie in the past month that has contributed to the size of my ass, the number of miles on the treadmill it will take to make my ass smaller. That part I’m still thinking about, a week after the incident. Oh yeah, this is why I don’t live in New York City anymore. I am not Kim Kardashian. But I look like Kim Kardashian. There are a million songs that my body, but very few songs about me. I look like a sex goddess, and I don’t get to choose who worships me. My body is a flashing neon sign above my head that screams “OPEN FOR BUSINESS.” I want that business to close. I am not a sex goddess. I want this all to stop. I want there to be less. Less. If there were less of me I would be safe. Is that true or is it just my perception? It seems so true when I’m out on the street, though there is plenty of evidence to refute that belief. Thin women get attacked too. But less is a plan, and evidence from my personal life shows results. It’s simple: eat less and exercise more. Don’t have the body they want you to have. My main weight-loss motivator is no longer beauty. It’s protection from sexual harassment. When I moved to New York City at 18 for college, despite my best efforts, I gained the freshman fifteen. The clothes I’d worn for years now looked very scandalous on my body. I was crabby about the weight gain purely for vanity reasons at first. Then I became terrified. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Luxurious Lawn Lounging (Because alliteration rules.) School's out, but only for a little longer, Quail Bell(e)s. Get away with color and leggier looks the admins won't let you pull off in the classroom. We dare you—even if you graduated long, long ago. Of course, no pressure here and certainly no body shame. Be creative and touch hearts during this summer twilight. (And send us your pics, no matter your brand of beautiful.) Find out more about R.A.I.N.—Ramirez's brain child, a community organization that champions Richmond, Virginia's fashion talent at high-energy local events. R.A.I.N. has even provided hair and makeup services for Quail Bell Magazine's annual fashion show. #Real #Fashion #SummerLooks #SummerClothing #HairAndMakeUp #BodyImage #PhotoShoot #BeautifulWoman Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Fishnet Awareness By Ghia Vitale QuailBellMagazine.com Ah, fishnets. In my modest opinion, no other garment compares to fishnets and their instantly beautifying powers. Unfortunately, ignorance causes people to deem them immodest, maybe even moreso than short skirts, V-necks, and the ever-so-controversial yoga pants. Much like yoga pants, I never understood why fishnets have not become fully normalized. Society still considers fishnets risqué despite the visual proof that they abide by the fashion police’s sanctions to cover up my body. And let’s face it: Fishnets cover up more than they reveal, so what’s the big deal? Somehow, the mere presence of fishnet stockings makes any outfit more sultry.
That line of thinking is exactly the reason why I can’t wear fishnets anywhere I damn please and it pisses me off that their appeal is exactly why they’re stigmatized. If Paris were heaven, I’d thank it for sending fishnet stockings to America in 1908, even though the women who wore them get charged with indecent exposure. My native country obviously wasn’t hip to the epic greatness of fishnet stockings because the kinds of ladies who perform at Moulin Rouge wore them. Fishnets were made to be sexy and unlike France at the time, America was still quite uncomfortable with nearly any public acknowledgment of sex. Even today, the stockings remain heavily associated with the sex worker archetype in America's cultural imagination. Perhaps the first people to dream up wearing fish netting were the Grimm Brothers. They authored “The Clever Peasant’s Daughter," a story about how a peasant’s daughter outwitted a king into marriage. The king told the girl's peasant father that he would agree to marry her if she returned “neither clothed nor naked, neither riding nor driving, neither on the road nor off the road.” It was supposed to be a test of the girl's cleverness. Thus, she disrobed and wrapped herself in a fish net while making sure that her big toe always touched the ground. After tying the fish net to the tail of the rent-an-ass’s help she enlisted, the ass dragged her to the king. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Writer Is Living Proof That Body Positivity Matters By Kate Hickey QuailBellMagazine.com Editor's Note: The following is a direct response to writer Carolyn Hall's Thought Catalog piece, "6 Things I Don't Understand About the Fat Acceptance Movement." Read that piece first, please. Danke. First, a little information about how your personal information is worthless. The fact that you admit to only recently finding the Body Positivity movement tells me that you haven’t done much reading about it and are still very much ingrained with the notion that fatness as a lived experience is bad. You also seem to blame the Internet for people trying to not hate themselves. Along with this, you say you fluctuate between a size 6 and a size 10, but that means absolutely nothing to anybody because 1) sizing of women’s clothes in this country is meaningless and arbitrary and 2) you could be six feet tall and underweight for all I know. Finally, I will explain to you things about this movement that you don’t understand, and hopefully at the end of reading this, you will be less of a judgmental person. (P.S. Your need to set up your article with biographical information points out that you want us, the readers, to remember that you’re just a person with some thoughts, and you don’t want any of the backlash you rightfully deserve for writing an article which boils down to “fat people are gross and should lose some weight.” You want us to humanize you while you go right ahead and dehumanize the fatties. Not cool.) 1. America is not accepting of fatness. You pointed out yourself that fat people are bullied, harassed, and negatively stereotyped for existing. That is not acceptance. Just because McDonalds is a successful company doesn’t mean that fatness is something that we, as a culture, find acceptable. Claiming that the United States has embraced fatness, or “tolerates” fat people and in the same sentence stating that people react negatively to fat people existing tells me that you actually already know that fatness somewhere deep down in the bottomless pit you call a soul is not acceptable in America. 2. Body positivity does include health, which you’d know if you had done some actual research before writing your shitty article. You also do not understand that health and weight are not the same. Skinny is not necessarily healthy. Fat is not necessarily healthy. But unfortunately for you, we aren’t talking about physical health most of the time when we talk about body positivity and fat acceptance. We’re talking about mental health and self esteem. Fat people don’t hate themselves because they sit around and eat; they hate themselves because society tells them they’re ugly, hideous, worthless, and unlovable because they are fat. So, what you seem to logically argue, is that we should continue to tell these people that they are worthless unless they lose some weight? Hmm. That really sounds like a great strategy to get obese people up and at ‘em! Or, perhaps we could say something a little less…douchey. We could say, “You are a person, and therefore you have inherent worth.” We could remind them that there are people who love them, and not “despite” the fact that they are fat. They just love them. We could encourage fat people to make decisions that will make them happy and healthy, rather than just healthy. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
3 Fashion Trends Seriously Hazardous to Health From Spanx, to stilettos to plastic surgery, women of the modern age are clearly more-than-willing to endure some pain to keep up with current trends and pursue our societal dream of perpetual youth.
But there are some fashion crazes of the past that can legitimately toss their hat in the ring of bodily-injury—and sometimes death. We all know about corsets and foot-binding, but here we’ve got three lesser-known beauty blasts from the past sure to make you grateful to live in the here and now. Decorative Tooth Rot Sugar may be the opiate of the masses today, but in the Elizabethan era this white magic was both rare and pricey. That means only the rich could access its sweet charms . . . and its resulting tooth decay. Oral hygiene, like regular hygiene, left much to be desired in those days—resulting in decidedly greying smiles among the elite. But because it’s a universal trait of human nature to laud the trends of the rich and famous, aristocratic rotting teeth became en vogue, temporarily spawning a fad among commoners to fake bacteria-filled smiles by masking their teeth with black powder. Mmm. So much for pearly whites. Happily, as sugar became more ubiquitous and toothaches grew old, the trend ceased to be chic—though gingivitis still hung around. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
We are miraculous, twigs and non-twigs alike. I'm a size 3. Poor me right? I can fit into cute outfits, look “acceptable” in a bikini, and I don't know...do "skinny girl things" that only we skinny girls know about, things that keep us skinny and, no, you're not invited! I learned to value my skinny figure growing up, especially when people would say, “I hate you Courtney, you're so skinny.” Clearly I had something other less skinny girls wanted to have. But why did they want it? Probably because, like me, their favorite Disney movies growing up all had beautiful thin princesses who always won their princes. Maybe because our Barbies all came with tiny little matching outfits for their tiny little waists. Maybe because our favorite singers and actresses were all tall and thin creatures like the ones in every ad ever made. Our perception of what is beautiful clearly comes from our society relentlessly conditioning this into us from an early age. There is no disputing that.
Now let me just say this skinny thing is not by choice on my part. I don't starve myself. I come from a long line of twigs. One of my Aunts was actually nicknamed “Twiggy." It's genetics, and just like everyone, baby, I was born this way. Thankfully for those women out there with curves, the more voluptuous body types are more and more celebrated nowadays. My most favorite women in my life are of all shapes and sizes and they own their figures proudly. As they should. So now, “I hate you Courtney, you're so skinny” has at times turned into, “Real women have curves, thank you very much!” Fine. I mean, technically if I have a female reproductive system I'm pretty sure I'm a woman for realz, but I digress... Only within the last few years have I been able to detach myself from my obsession with my thin appearance and get to know and appreciate the whole package. For all of my life my biggest attribute (being slim and fit), was also my biggest flaw because I let it define me, because I thought it had to. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Visnu's Dream Machine I hereby solemnly swear this is not another essay about body image and self-esteem. It’s more of an existential crisis and I definitely talk about death. Lately, my eyes somewhat glaze over when I see memes about “real” bodies, Photoshop, and beauty. Not because it’s not a thing, so much, as I think it just misses my real question about bodies, which is: What the *#!@ is this whole body thing all about, anyway? What is going on with bodies? Why do I have one? What is it? Whaaat? The writer's self-portrait. Am I seriously the only adult that thinks it’s bizarre that we have bodies? I know babies know what I am talking about. Watching them constantly re-discovering things like fingers and faces is hilarious. Babies clearly don’t expect to encounter them, bodies: still getting used to them. Bodies baffle babies, and me along with them.
Somewhere after that stage of life, though, people seem to stop questioning the body thing. Well, I haven’t stopped. Kids for example definitely seem more accepting of bodies than babies. Sure, everybody poops, they say, I have a book about it. What’s the big deal? That’s just the way it works. And I am the weirdo grown-up left alone going, yeah, but whaaat? How weird is that, that everybody poops? Everybody?! Everybody POOPS! That’s so weird! We ALL do the SAME poop thing together, ONE BIG HUMAN POOP FAMILY! It’s bizarre to me that human beings, for all our questions and art forms and inventions and winter Olympics and religions and dreams, boil down to creatures of bodies. As a friend recently put it, we just eat, poop, copulate, and die. For some (I’m looking at you, religion and popular culture and longing), this is a problem. The body thing isn’t enough the way it is, or it’s simply bad. Bodies become the obstacle between us and purity/eternity/beauty/glory/whatever-we-think-is-better, an obstacle between us and the way we think it ought to be. And yet we have to have a body because, well, we just do. So our relationship with our body becomes complicated. We have to fix it. Discipline it. Starve its appetites, sometimes, or fence them in safely. But, dear god, we must control and dominate it lest it dominate us. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Ashley in Brooklyn Ashley and I reconnected in Brooklyn years after we studied with Jim Scherzi, a photographer up in Syracuse, New York. We blended clothing pieces into the patterns of the street and shared a similar eye for color and punk fashion. #Real #Fashion #Photography #Model #Ashely #Brooklyn #Tattoos #TonyWashington
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Unrequited Vintage Love Dear ModCloth, I have a confession to make: I don't like you or even like like you. I love you. I know, I'm sick. But isn't it your fault? "Unique and cute"—that's how you brand yourself. I prefer "addictive" and "diabolical." The devil's perfectly flounced darling. You cast a spell on me or maybe you forced some pill down my throat while diverting me with a colorful scarf that reminded me of picnics in Paris, I'm not sure, but suddenly I have no impulse control and my cart is full because you have "frocks in every color for every occasion." You even have a frock for hugging your cat while it dies a poetic death on the porch one July afternoon. I know it because you told me so, because your names are divinely descriptive. The average department store tag describes a dress as "dark blue," but you'll call the same one something like "Midnight Star Party" or "Dusk in Florence." Who can resist a star party or a Florence evening? That's what makes you so perfect: Your clever/sexy, sexy/clever word play. Dare I say...your marketing. But that's really not all. There has to be more. I can't admit that it was your marketing alone that grabbed me. After all, I'm an independent thinker, a free spirit. That's why I shop at ModCloth and not the same big box retailers as everyone else. I go to warehouse parties in Brooklyn and do everything with so much ironic flourish it's batty. There's a ukulele in my closet, I swear. I almost took it out and wrote you a love song, but I thought I'd write you a letter instead. Oh, wow. This love letter has become a stream of consciousness, hasn't it? I'm some fancy fool at my desk, scribbling away about my ModCloth passion while wearing a Peter Pan collar. I'm even doing it with a plume. A real plume. Like the one printed on my dress. The dress I bought on ModCloth. I have to keep punctuating these realizations because they are just that life-changing. This letter has allowed me to understand so many things about myself, just the way my plume-printed dress has made me realize who I am. It's shown me my soul. That's what a real dress does. ModCloth, I know you understand. You more than understand. You taught me the way to dress, the way to think, the way to be. You are my fashion guru, ModCloth, and my greatest love. But I know I am just one of many admirers. You cannot possibly see in me what I see in you. I am but a flawed indie butterfly girl and you...you are ModCloth, a vision, a muse, a goddess. May you reign forever. I shall watch you with bated breath from afar, afar, afar. Adieu, adieu, adieu. Overflowing with love but not money, Your Faithful Shopper Disclaimer: The writer has actually never bought anything from ModCloth.com but fights the urge to do so on a regular basis. #Real #ModCloth #VintageShopping #VintageFashion #VintageClothing #VintageStyle #OnlineShopping #BadHabits Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Talking to an Octopus I never felt invincible. I knew life was too unpredictable to think otherwise. Even in my youth, I could only see my body as a magnet for disaster, particularly when gravity was concerned. At three years of age, I jumped into the deep end of a pool by accident. Instead of floating, I sank. Fortunately, another body noticed me and pulled me up from the water. At the age of four, I lost my footing in a shower and split the top of my head open. A man in a Delaware clinic had to stich the skin back up. Two years later, I ran across a quilt spread out on a hardwood floor and fell. When I got up, I had cut the other end of my head. It is amazing how much blood the chin holds. By the time I needed to take my first Holy Communion, my body intruded again and spiritual concerns had to compromise with it. A few weeks prior I had broken my arm playing kickball.
Along with many other nicks, sprains, scrapes, and cuts, these countless ills might have pushed me to seek something within myself which was invincible, or at least was whole and could not be broken. I remember sitting on the bed in the guestroom and staring at the mirror across from me. I might have been in the room for punishment, or I might have been bored. My childhood was filled with boredom. The mirror was a large, antique monstrosity, like a rhinoceros made of wood and glass. Looking at my brown eyes, I reflected on my reflection and thought about what I was looking at. At that moment, I had a “meta” experience. I was feeling beyond my senses, observing myself not in my body but somehow apart from it, like a puppeteer under the skin and bone. The one pulling the strings was the real me. Everything else was just an appearance given to fluctuation, chaos, and decay. Before I could become completely lost in the soul, puberty pulled me back into the body. I had to acknowledge its presence because so much was changing inside and outside of me. The constant assemblage of organs and sinew I had grown accustomed to was gone. Without my consent, the body went ahead and turned me into an adult. My voice grew deeper, hair started sprouting in new places, and I added a few inches to my height. Certain involuntary petrifications and emissions also took place and were noted. Of all these developments, Hair was the most striking. Where there was once smooth skin, now there were dark curls and stubble. If it was on my face, it had to be cut. While I was used to haircuts, these only took place on a seasonal basis. Shaving required constant vigilance and took place in increasing intervals, moving from a bi-weekly, to a weekly, and finally daily ritual. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
It's not the merkin that's evil; it's how you use it. Ah, the days of Queen Victoria…the pre-Romantic era romanticized through the lens of modernity, shrouded in its own mystique of a signature culture so different from our own. The most radical contrasts between then and now lies within the realm of beauty ideals and sexuality, namely female sexuality. Rumors about the Victorians' paradoxical prudishness still abound: Society at large condemned masturbation as unhealthy and sinful unless performed by a trained professional, someone who knew how to properly operate a vibrator.
Still, despite publicly stigmatizing female sexuality, the Victorians also secretly reveled in it and regularly produced porn extreme even by today's standards. While I believe in the healing power of orgasms, the Victorians probably would’ve been better off doing the job themselves instead of forcing their genitals into contraptions that would qualify as torture devices today. Embracing DIY masturbation might have rescued them from the perils of turning to one of the most flourishing industries of that day: prostitution, the kind of sex work that flourished outside of a medical office with a dildo-wielding doctor and regularly returned people to it. Although the media glamorizes Victorian women as though they were animated versions of the sophisticated portraits of their time, the reality was quite different. Most women didn’t resemble the elegant subjects of oil paintings. Women didn’t tend to wear much makeup. Shaving wasn’t much of a part of their beauty norms. If you were a woman, your pubic garden was free to blossom. That is, if you weren’t a sex worker. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Teenage Love, Universal Fears, and Wonderwall Here’s a show that’s been flying under the radar: My Mad Fat Diary. Starring Sharon Rooney and featuring Ian Hart, this show chronicles the small-town misadventures of a gang of English teenagers in the 1990s. It has everything you’d expect from a show driven by teen hormones: first love, social standing, schoolwork, fear, sex, drinking, and laughing until your sides hurt. But the dark underbelly of this show, the real thing that hooks you and keeps you watching, is the knowledge that the main character has just spent four months in a psychiatric hospital.
Frankly, I can’t quite understand why this show hasn’t become wildly popular in a similar fashion to Orange is the New Black, as these two shows unashamedly take on difficult topics and dig their teeth in the complexities of the people who live within those narratives. Both of them remain relatively upbeat and undeniably charming; both are equally difficult to categorize as a drama or a comedy based on how similar they are to real life, which (as I’m sure you’ve noticed) is never always a drama or always a comedy. And they’re both based on the real lives of real women who wrote real books: Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman and My Mad, Fat Teenage Diary by Rae Earl. This show opens a dialogue about body image and body confidence alongside discussions about mental illness and eating disorders while still maintaining a youthful, fun, reckless feel. Rae experiences problems with boys, her best friend Chloe, and her mother at the same time she deals with binge eating, her friend’s anorexia, and the excruciating pain of facing all of her fears about herself in therapy. The integration of the two extremes of light-hearted and serious topics remind us of the feeling that all of those things seem equally important and can stop the earth turning. Along with the hard-hitting issues of mental and physical wellness that this show discusses, My Mad Fat Diary goes into the complexities of sexuality and all that entails: questioning, coming out, homophobia, both personal and inter-personal acceptance, and pride. It touches on the topics of abortion, a parent remarrying, sexual independence, unhealthy relationships, and self-esteem. And it delves into the intricate issue of how young girls relate to each other, how gender and gender performance affect how adolescent girls interact with each other. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Rock Your Socks By Deniz Zeynep QuailBellMagazine.com Aside from writing, wearing textiles is my manner of interpreting the world around me. Cut. Fabric. Fit. I am at my most comfortable when I am sitting on my bed, Rumi snoring next to me (my pup partner in crime), while words flow out of me like a Georgette skirt that billows over my ankles every time I step (courtesy of my fashion-muse mother). I seem to have inherited Mom's penchant for light fabrics and neutral tones. Classic. Timeless. Being able to find new ways to describe the world around me seeps from the page and into the breezy silk trousers I have acquired for the summer. There are countless blogs, television shows, magazines, and overall commentary on how to be. They range from shamelessly commercial to vehicles for artistic expression. In regards to the commercial interpretation of how—what's in, what's not—it's easy to forget that they are just opinions. Following a trend, whether it be a train of thought or those low-crotch, baggy pants (still don't get it), is mindless. Droning. Bzzz. What's most important is acknowledging these new ideas. Do they fit? Maybe not and somehow the terms "unique" and "weird" and "quirky" seem to be used. Boring. If they fit? Well, homeslice, you just found a great piece to add to your bumpin' style-collage. Style pervades everything—how you speak, stroll, scribble, sneeze—how you BE(E), basically. Bzzz. Too often we are afraid to be who we are. We're only humans. Fallible earthlings with enough intelligence, ego, and passion to both save or destroy ourselves. It starts from youth—you're integrated into a micro-cosmic bubble of bureaucracies with your peers and the person with the strongest opinion (right or wrong, it doesn't matter) sets the tone for how things should be. What to say. When to say it. We end up squeezing ourselves into a mold the way Cinderella's step-sisters are squeezing their feet into a slipper that only hugs their toe. Before you know it, you're cutting off toes and heels just to fit. Good luck walking. This isn't so much a rant as it is a drop of encouragement for all you Fledglings to rock the style you were born with and that you create as you go. There is no right way to live. No right way to dress. No right way to think, create, or feel. As long as you feel like the 100% version of you, who is to say it's wrong? (Well, aside from crossing over to the realm of evil). And think about it, the more comfortable you feel with yourself, the further you'll go. The easier you will find your calling ::cue Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go!:: I saw a quote somewhere that said "You are your home." So dress up your drapes, water your plants, paint your shutters—be the most bitchin' house on the block. Boom, boom. #Real #Authenticity #RealSelf #WearWhatYouWant #AntiFashionSlaves #RealFashionAdvice #YouDoYou #Life Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. |
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