3 posts tagged “fashion”

Here I am!

I took a little blog hiatus, as for the past couple weeks I didn't really have anything other than gratuitous amounts of bitching to offer on the internet...so I just kept my mouth shut, and my fingers far away from the Compose link.

I take myself too seriously in my own head and heart, the last thing I need to do is to puke it all up in a post, and have my inner bashing and Emo moments of shame published online.

That's what my frantic emails to my old therapist, and midnight phone calls to my imaginary friends are for.

However.

I had a lot of strange, yet utterly fantastic, things happen to Iain and I this week. I find myself either laughing hysterically or crying in disbelief that we have finally reached this point in our lives, and have actually arrived at this stage in our "Ultimate Plan To Take Over The World"™.

Last February, I was still waking up at 3:30 every single morning, making Matcha green tea lattes, and wallowing in a pit of long distance relationship despair. (I was also suffering a suspicious elbow injury which I later figured out was probably do to all those late night "special phone calls" to England, but that's beside the point.)

My head was full, my heart was heavy, and my stomach so anxiety ridden that it was constantly angry with me for only feeding it espresso, taco bell, and croissants; thus causing it to seek revenge by giving me horrible cramps and numerous fits of constipation, or its counterpart, diarreaha. (Isn't sharing fun??!!!)

Throw in a bit of sexual harassment from my customers, a boss that hated me, and the never ending fretting over how the hell I would-

A) Afford the move to England
B) Quit my job without my Boss slicing my throat and beating me to death with spoiled Frappuccino mix
C) Explain to my mother that I was moving to England...like for reals.

Never mind everyone asking me where I was going to live,

("With my Internet boyfriend! DUH!)

Where I was going to work,

"Um...I have a couple of ideas."

(...Which actually meant: "Fuck no. All I know is I'm getting the hell out of this place, and never making someone a 'Ven-tay, 'atra Crrramel  Frappachacha' ever again...ever!")

And what kind of Visa I was getting,

"Um, a Working Holiday Maker's Visa...well, I should be getting that anyway. I'm just waiting to hear back from the Consulate"

....Which I did a few days after I sent my application off:

"Dear. Miss.CupCate. Your application for Working Holiday Maker Visa was denied, as you are a US National, and are therefore NOT PART OF THE COMMON WEALTH."

What I thought 'common wealth' meant when I read over the initial application, I'll never know. My ($200) bad.

How I lived through the stress, judgement, disapproval, and disappointment from others regarding my move, I really don't know. Well, I do, actually. It was probably due to my blind faith that everything would work out, Iain's practical planning, and the fact that we could no longer be apart from each other.

We were actually at the point where if we had to be separated for one more month, we would sell all our possessions, buy a small house boat, and live along the canals of Amsterdam. By day we would juggle and recite beat poetry to tourists (Iain's mad crazy on the bongos). And by night I would do nude interpretive dances to Iain's "Afro Celt Sound System" CD in the Red Light district...

Thankfully for us, and sadly for Amsterdam, it never got to that point.

Considering that our online romance originally sparked while I was flaunting myself under the name Adzurro on MyForeignBride.com (I think it was my offer to "take in lover man who presend me apartment in spa plase of egypt" that hooked him), marriage was always in our plans. **

When I moved over to England, I had just over $1,000 in my US  bank account -er- make that £500 due to the US Dollar's incredibly astounding strength as a currency! Thanks Georgie!

Iain and I knew that until I could get a visa that allowed me to work, we would be living off of dented cans of chicken broth and boiled pots of rain water.

That's just how it was going to be.

However, the thought of financially depending on Iain, and having to ask him to buy me tampons every 28 days was so traumatic that the idea of shaving my head and assaulting innocent vehicles with golf umbrellas seemed totally plausible.

I was an independent woman! The shoes on my feet? I bought 'em! The car I was driving? I bought it! The watch I was wearing?? I bought it! Cuz I depend(ed) on me!

If I wanted to go out to dinner, buy an appetizer AND a dessert, and then go to a movie....I could totally afford it.

But no. Not any more.

The shoes on my feet? He bought 'em. The house I live in? He bought it. The clothes I'm wearing? He bought it.

Cuz I depend on him.

(All the ladies! Who are Dependent! Throw your hands up at maaaaaaeeee!)

Iain and I weren't exactly thrilled with the idea, as he's had past partners do the, "Oh I'm sorry, when you said that we would both have jobs, I thought that meant that my 'job' was to sit at home all day coloring and writing haikus about Xena ...." thing. While our poverty situation was based on the fact that I could not work because it was THE LAW, it was still difficult for me to have to depend on him, and to be draining our financial funds, rather that contributing  to them.

My god, the things we have learned about patience these past 10 months...

We've learned that you cannot force things to happen against their will, or speed time sensitive processes that are  simply that: time sensitive.

We've learned to accept our financial situation. We don't like it, as, well,  it makes EVERYTHING hard.

Not having money makes everything panicky.

Gah! The cat has fleas, we can't afford to take him to the vet!

Blarg! Does my tooth hurt? I think my tooth hurts. Holy shit. We can't afford the dentist!

And then I would lay awake at night imagining having to take our cat to some backstreet vet from Compton who's office consists of an ironing board used as a examining table and keeps his medical instruments in a tool box...or having to knock out my tooth with an ice skate like Tom Hanks in Castaway.

I think my worst moment was when my STUPID ASS FUCKING BANK (Washington Mutual) decided that July 3rd would be a good day to charge me $75 worth of "International Cash Withdrawal Fees", which depleted my account. Why is July 3rd significant? OH Washington Mutual FUNNY you should ask! July 3rd is significant because it was 2 days before Iain's BIRTHDAY and I was buying him his fucking birthday present. Needless to say, I cried in front of the cashier, all the way home, and then to the cats.

Never mind my HOME MADE birthday gifts, or Iain's self-paid Christmas gifts from me, there are also the effects it has on your own entertainment, social life, and self-esteem.

I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but one of the greatest financial obstacles I've had to overcome would be having to start a new life, make new first impressions, and try to give off my impression of who "Cate" really is to my new community....without any of the usual suspects.

For example...Starting a new year at school always involves shopping, doesn't it? Buy a new binder, new backpack, new glasses, new shoes, new tops....this is the NEW ME, and every accessory and possession must represent that.

Our accessories tend to define us, don't they?

Our appearance, our clothing, our fashion tells a story about us.

How many occasions do we run out and buy a new dress, T-shirt, or complete outfits for?

Job interviews, cocktail parties, dates, weddings, birthdays, Fridays, bad days, dinner parties, award ceremonies, meeting the parents, travel days....

I've had to go through every single one of these occasions, and let me tell you, our bank account hasn't exactly let me go shopping for them. "Recycle, re-wear, reuse!" has been my motto. And it's been fucking difficult.

I've had to make my very best impressions be about ME.

I haven't had a new manicure or haircut to make me feel empowered at a job interview.

I haven't had that new, sexy dress to surprise my husband with on his birthday.

Not even the new, posh sweater to help me "feel sassy" when walking into a room full of new people.

I've had to try and repress those, "God, I'm wearing the same jeans as I did last time I saw them, and I hate this stupid shirt that I've worn a thousand times..." feelings that I used to convince myself that I was ugly, unattractive, and therefore unworthy of everything.

Around the time I wrote my "Real Beauty" post I had a meltdown in our local Starbucks (Yes, that was me in the corner crying into my chai) because I thought I needed a hair cut. I needed new jeans. I said I needed a new shirt, a dermatologist, a gym, a house full or organic lowfat hippie food, new shirts, new underwear, a new bra, etc, etc. Basically, the message I was sending Iain was,

"Hand over your credit card and let me buy and fix everything wrong with my wardrobe, body, face, and hair. Money will fix how ugly and fat I feel."

I never actually said that. But my message was basically, "Money will fix how ugly I feel about myself." He offered to get my hair done, cut out our already limited funds so I could join a gym, take me shopping if it would make me feel better.

 I stopped crying. I looked at him. And something snapped,

"No, thank you, sweetheart...but no. If it's not my hair, it would be something else."

And it would. All of the money couldn't turn off the negative, horrible things I was telling myself.

I then told myself that if I couldn't feel pretty and good enough about myself in my old jeans, Converse, and worn out tshirts...then there's no way I could feel beautiful and worthy of love even if I were wearing the Burberry Prorsum dress of my wet dreams.

However, on the same token, I'm starting to learn that just because you're leaning on the "our credit card debt is large enough to fund a small country" side of things...doesn't mean you can't enjoy life.

Iain and I don't have a TV.

Truth be told, we'll like to have one, and will have one when we can justify spending the money on a TV license...

But we talk to each other. We go for walks, because HEY! walks are free.

We still go out for drinks, even if we can't afford it, because Iain and Cate going more than 1 week sober = getting the shakes, cold sweats, and severe hallucinations.

("Honey?...Do you hear the bagpipes? Is there a man playing bagpipes in bathroom?")

We've tried to focus on the future, and that this stint of surviving off of one income is only temporary.

However, as level headed and accepting as we've tried to be of our situation, it's caught up with me the past two weeks. Probably, because I knew the end was near.

'The end' meaning that our second round of 'Will she or won't she get deported?' would be happening in the form of our  appointment to get my Spouse visa.

This appointment was scheduled for this past Friday, and considering what a hot fucking mess our last appointment in LA was, we weren't exactly all warm and fuzzy with the idea of going in front of yet another UK government official and having him decide the fate of our lives.

However, this time, I didn't get us lost, or break out in hives, NOR did I have diarrhea! (high five!)

In fact, we were so prepared, and on time, and organized that I feel like I could now teach a "How To Stay In The UK As A Foreign Bride" class.

The whole process only took 2.5 hours, and unlike last time when they practically demanded a blood sample and pound of flesh...the only documents they asked for were my application, our passports, and our fucking marriage certificate.

That's it.

The immigration officer -who I love dearly and plan on sending a naked Christmas card to- was efficient, quick, and didn't treat me like the Ukrainian Bride Con-Artist.

Amazing.

And now, here I am, a legal UK resident who can stay for 2 years (after which I can apply for settlement) and...

I! Can! WORK!!!!

Me! I can work now! I can work and make moneys and buy things and pay bills just like a real grown up!

And I can even stay up as late as I want!

We just sat there staring at my visa.

"Dude. You're a resident, now."

"Dude. I know. I can like...work."

"You can buy things!"

"Holy fuck...I can buy my own tampons...."

Of course we're excited that I can stay here legally for the next tour years...but I CAN BUY MY OWN TAMPONS, NOW!!

The ultimate glory of all this is that I actually have my new gig all set up!

As of late, I've been doing some oober freelance  writing/blogging (I think the legal term would be 'Volunteer Writing') for the lovely folks at Shiny Media, who found me a few months ago on Vox, and were like, "Hey, do you want to write for us?" to which I was like, "Dude!  Totally!.......As long as I don't have to make you Frappuccinos!!!!...Wait, I can't actually work yet. How about I work for free for a couple months! Cool?" and then we laughed, high-fived, and did a super secret handshake.

How super neat is that?

They have saved me from said head shaving and the "umbrella on car" action I described earlier, and I like contributing to their blogs <<<<<<THIS MUCH>>>>>>>>>.

So now, I'm trying to wrap my mind around having a grown-up writing job, being a freelance writer, and now doing things like going to swanky awards ceremonies in Soho, drinking free wine, and being asked to accept a Shiny Award on behalf of Vox.

(No really, you guys will get your award. Sure it looks nice on my coffee table, but I swear! You'll get it!)

I even have BUSINESS CARDS.

Okay, I may have had business cards before, but these say "Freelance Writer"....not "Assistant Manager/Coffee Master/Espresso Wench".

The only problem is, is that basically, my brain and psyche like to do this really cool thing where I like to tell myself that I'm a horrible, undeserving, useless, worthless human being when anything good happens to me.

Hmmm, maybe this would be because ever since I was little I was given the impression from my "supportive friends" that if I did anything deemed praise worthy -such as getting all 'A's, being the lead in the school play, or never getting detention- that I didn't deserve it, must have cheated, and was an unworthy, greedy, miserable bitch.

...And that NO I wasn't going to be invited to Shannon's birthday sleepover.

Now as an adult, I have this whole "I don't deserve this" complex and can often be heard moaning, "SHANNON! INVIIIIIIIITE MEEEE?!?!?!!" in the night...

However, it's ironically getting better as my successes become greater, despite the counter affect of my "supportive friends" getting greener and faithful "out for blood" haters (kisses to y'all, by the way) become more psychotic.

The beginning of this new week, marks something wonderful. It's the end of the "emotionally trying but positively influential" prologue, and the beginning of the REAL chapter one.

Our second month of marriage, my first month of pay, and the end of dented cans of chicken broth.

And now we can finally buy the cats new shoes!

** I kid, I kid. Marriage was in our plans because I was a knocked up. I somehow convinced him it was his, so then he decided to marry me. Sucker.***

***Seriously, though. We met on MySpace. I wasn't really knocked up. But, for some reason, he really did want to marry me. Go figure.

The British Fashion Council has refused to ban the use of 'Size 0' models in London's Fashion Week.

Instead, they have requested that all designers use "healthy models" ages 16 and over...

(Because clearly fashion designers have a tight grip on what healthy looks like...)

Recently, Brazilian supermodel, Gisele Bundchen, claims that she has never suffered from anorexia because she "had a very strong family base" and that "The parents are responsible, not fashion."

Never mind that in the past month 3 women from Brazil have died from this disease, including 21 year old fashion model Ana Caolina Reston.

Fuck you, Gisele.

I'd say "Fuck You" to the British Fashion Council but I'd doubt they'd hear me as their heads are probably stuffed a toilet regurgitating their Sunday Roasts, or busy snorting coke off of Kate Moss' ribs.

Plus, the owner of Topshop -Sir Phillip Green- has pretty much given a big FUCK YOU to the BFC by taking some fucking responsibility by banning "waif" models:

"We all know what the definition of unhealthy is and we want to try to act correctly, responsibly and without causing a rift. Everyone wants to see people being healthy and we have got lots of good-looking girls who can be a healthy weight and look great."

Now, while it's great that a male owned fashion company is saying it wants to use "healthy" models and their website models don't look shockingly emaciated, they're certainly not exactly screaming,"LOOK I'M HEALTHY! I EAT!"

But still. At least his chickpea sized testicles had enough oomph  to set an good example. Or, if nothing else, a PC PR move.

And Gisele? Oh please. PLEASE.

Look, I'm glad that she had such a sweet, and sugary home life and that her family apparently loved her enough to prevent her from feeling like she needed to starve herself.

What the fuck was that comment supposed to mean?

Does that mean that all those poor girls who feel so disgusted and horrible about themselves that the only way they can cope is to indirectly address their problems by depriving and starving themselves, should blame their parents for not loving them enough, or the "right way"?

Parents have a massive, colossal responsibility to educate, nurture their children. I agree whole heartedly and will thoroughly acknowledge that in a moment...

But PLEASE do not tell me, Gisele, that it is only PARENTS to blame for the GLOBAL issue of poor body image, low self-esteem, and eating disorders amongst young women and girls.

NOT FASHION?

If it's not fashion, than it's not fashion magazines, either, I suppose. It's not ads, or commercials. It's not TV. It's not movies. It's not lingerie catalogues. It's not runway shoes. It's just the parents fault.

Ummmm.....

Remember that whole Parental Advisory thing? Apparently, society, and the government think that certain types of media can be harmful to children, despite having a "strong family base".That sticker means that the music industry, despite it being forced, are still helping out parents by saying "Dude, you may not want your 13 year old son listening to this."

Globally, the film industry admits "Yeah, sure. We'll help a brother out" and rates it's movies, giving parents a heads up that "This gay love scene between 2 sexually frustrated cowboys may not be suitable for your 9 year old."

Holy crap, Gisele. Even TELEVISION agrees that parents, despite loving their children and doing their gosh darndest to raise their kids in a way that would cause them to not want to starve themselves to death, need some help and therefore RATE THEIR TELEVISION SHOWS to guide parents on which programs are appropriate for children.

The UK even has this nifty little thing called the ITCwhich even helps monitor which adverts should be played at certain times; the more 'family friendly' adverts playing during when children are more likely to be watching.

Oh yeah. Even video games have a rating system, as some language, themes, and violent scenes may be too intense for youngins.

So, on the whole, some of the biggest media outlets agree that their music/programs/films/games/advertisements contain content that could possibly be inappropriate and damaging to children.

While all of these sources of media cannot be made, for the most part, to remove this material -freedom of speech, etc- it is their legal, and some would say, social responsibility to warn parents and consumers that it contains such material.

There are absolutely times when parents need to take full responsibility for their children's actions, but choose to blame "the media", instead. (For example, the parents blaming Marilyn Manson for the Columbine murders.)

Globally, parents and consumers alike have agreed there are things in the media that can distort, alter, confuse, and even damage children.

Kids stab each other because they "saw it on Power Rangers". They accidentally shoot someone because they played a violent video game and didn't understand people die. They jump off the roof into a swimming pool and light themselves on fire because Johnny Knoxville did it.

We all cried out, "Where were the parents??!!" and "Why is this crap even on TV?"

It seems those in power are taking responsibility, as I've mentioned above, are trying to limit the amount of inappropriate sex, drugs, violence, and harsh language that children are exposed to.

However, how many girls need to die while trying to achieve the standards of beauty that they have learned from the exact some media outlets?

We have a global issue on our hands.

We have millions, and millions of women and girls all over the world who think they're ugly, and fat, and worthless, and disgusting, and are slowly killing themselves to try to obtain this unobtainable, western, media/fashion created image of "beauty".

Again, I agree that parenting has a HUGE impact on this, but where does this image come from?

OH. Fashion. Fashion Magazines. Movies. TV. Ads. Commercials. Even music.

The ONE issue that no body seems to want to touch, or take responsibility for is their influence on young girl's body image, and self-esteem.

Models, fashion agencies, fashion editors, designers, directors have all defended their use of skinny ass, unrealistic looking women by excusing it the problem away.

Models are just skinny. They're supposed to be, right?

Gisele says, "Everybody knows the standard for models is to be thin."

Right. Well, does everybody also know that in 1998, just 3 years after US television shows were introduced to Fiji, 12 out of 100 girls had bulimia?**

Did you know 70% of all 9 year olds are dieting?

Does everybody know that 90% of all women overestimate their body size by an average of 25%, and that 40% of all women see at least one body part as being 50% larger than it really is.

And WHY is this?

If someone says, "My thighs are big..." They're big compared to...what?

"My legs aren't supposed to look like this."....Why?

"My breasts are too small?"....Small compared to what?

You're "FAT"?....Fat compared to what??

The WHAT and the WHY are the images, the air brushed, starved, entourage created, digitally altered, surgically enhanced, UNREALISTIC, unobtainable, projection of what beauty is supposed to look like that we are bombarded with from every single media outlet across the world.

Our entire basis of what sexy, attractive, beautiful, pretty, hot, cute, and fuckable are, is based on what FASHION and MEDIA tell us it's based on. It always has.

But when is enough, enough?

Are the fashion industries really that disgusting that instead of taking responsibility, they will just pass the blame on bad parenting, and pick money and endorsements and playing nice with designers OVER the health of women?

I believe that the Fashion industry won't take any responsibility for these issues as their situation is a bit more unique than any other media outlet's. It's not as simple as just issuing a ratings system, is it?

What are they going to do? Make a "This magazine may cause images that will negatively influence your daughter's self image and greatly increases her chances of developing an eating disorder" sticker for every issue of Vogue?

That's not going to happen. Therefore the body image and beauty standards of the western world, that are poisoning the rest of the globe, need to CHANGE.

Where is the fucking responsibility?

Why will no one stand up? While will no one change? Why, are these poor, hurting girls allowed to feel ugly, and fat, and disgusting and unloved, and have no one in power speak up and MAKE A CHANGE?!!?

Why is it that 76% of UK women, and 59% of all US women feel that it is hard to feel personally beautiful when confronted with the media's ideals of beauty??

This is beyond the typical bulimic ballerina, the anorexic models, and the workout crazy fashionistas.

This is YOUR DAUGHTER.

This is YOU..

And this is even me.

I do not have an eating disorder..but, I don't think anyone can honestly say that they don't wish they were thinner, or lighter, or bigger busted.

It's not just "Oh the grass is always greener" or "Of course, everyone wants to change something about their body" or "just a woman thing".

Our minds are poisoned with an image of what women are SUPPOSED to be and look like.

How many times have I thought to myself, "My ass shouldn't look like this...I'm not supposed to have cellulite there...No one else has breasts shaped like this, do they?...Are my hips supposed to look like that in jeans?"

It all starts very young.

As young girls, when our bodies are changing and stretching, we're afraid. We're fragile. Is this supposed to be happening this way?

So we look for examples, we look for support, we look for validation that we are beautiful, just as we are.

And it gets to a point that we don't believe our mothers, anymore...They're our MOTHERS, they're SUPPOSED to think we're beautiful!

So, what else is there?

Hello, Media. Hello, Fashion World. Hello EVERY SINGLE MAGAZINE COVER, TV SHOW AND MOVIE.

No one else has hips like mine. No one else seems to have fat on their body like this....

I'm fat.

I don't look like I'm supposed to look. I'm not beautiful. I'm not loveable. I'm not worthy.

I am disgusted and ashamed to admit that growing up I would cry, and cry because I felt fat. The first time I remember thinking I was "too big" was when I was 12, and was just starting to reach puberty. I was embarrassed of my thighs...AT 12.

I remember dieting for the first time at 14...

I had low self esteem, my parents divorce to live with, and depression that either caused, or stemmed from all of this..I've never had an eating disorder...But my body image has been FUCKED UP.

I'm just now learning to love myself, and love my body. Really love my body. To look in the mirror and instead of saying "I know I'm pretty, but I just have these floppy bits..."  to just look, and like what I see without beating myself up over some aspect of my appearance that isn't as it "should be".

I am learning to appreciate my own REAL BEAUTY.

And this brings me to Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty.

I am so grateful, moved even, that finally...Finally we have people out there who are willing to DO SOMETHING about this horrible psychological epidemic that is killing young women all over the world.

A company that puts beautiful, gorgeous, real women out in the open.

Tattooed, scared, curvy, "imperfect" women who are real. And gorgeous....And that can help lift the shame.

Lift the shame that we all feel for not looking like the "ideal women" should.

I feel that there are hardly any causes greater than the need to improve the self-esteem, self-worth, and mental health of young women out there than this.

What reason do we have to not be passionate and proactive about this?

The depression, self-esteem issues, eating disorders, and psychological disorders that so many girls and women suffer from do not just develop from thin air.

I firmly believe young girls and boys desperately need their parents to set a positive standard for them. They need to feel loved, and nurtured, and intelligent, beautiful, unique, and worthy of love.

Dove is launching a program/workshop in the UK called "Body Talk" to "help young girls (and boys) understand and deal with feelings about their physical appearance, and learn how 'ideal' images of beauty are created".

They also emphasize the importance of positive role models for young women, and that they need positive self-esteem boosts BEFORE it ever occurs to them to think otherwise...

They even have a "Mums and Daughters" booklet that answers questions and gives advice to Mums (or other parental figures) on how to handle tough situations regarding self-esteem and body image, and also gives advice on how to set a postive example and encourage their daughter's self-esteem.

There are extreme cases where mothers or parents have been very harsh critics, negative, and sometimes deadly influences on their daughter's self-esteem.

Parents need to realize that their daughter is or will very soon be faced with these negative influences on their body image.

We need our parents. We need our mothers, we need other women to reach out to us BEFORE it ever crosses our mind that we need to be thin or big breasted or tiny to be worthy of love. We need to complimented, and receive attention for things other than just 'looking good' or being 'thin and pretty'.

I believe a lot of mothers need help on how to deal with their daughter's self-esteem, as many mothers (or parental figures) have/are still suffering from poor body image, and low self-esteem.

Real beauty...

Doesn't that just sound good?

Isn't it nice to say "curvy" and not have it be social code for "fat"? Curvy is beautiful, curves are beautiful.

We need to embrace health. As a society, I don't think we understand what "healthy" even means any more.

We're afraid of fat, we're afraid of eating fat...You're either a health freak, or a couch potato....

Where is the happy medium between being obese, anorexic, and being miserable that we our bodies are not how we think they should look?

The entire world needs to relearn what the world "healthy" really means.

And we need to open our eyes, and look at the real world, and discover that real, tangible beauty is all around....

I'm not condemning those who are thin and beautiful.

There are so many beautiful girls that are just naturally thin and tall. Just like there are many, many beautiful girls who are shorter that 5'8 and weigh plenty more than 115lbs.

 I'm not saying that  those of us, like myself, who are struggling with their body image must be ignorant or suffer from an eating disorder...We're trying to learn how to be healthy, and have a healthy body image.

We need to learn and acknowledge that we can still be BEAUTIFUL even despite having gained weight, or going up a jeans size...as long as you're HEALTHY.

Whoever said that healthy wasn't having any fat on your body? Having a perfectly toned ass?

Healthy doesn't mean that you're lean and trim. Healthy doesn't mean THIN.

At my thinnest, I was also my most unhealthy.

 I was smoking, barely eating, barely sleeping, and living off of taco bell quesedillas, espresso, tea, and day old Starbucks pastries.

Healthy is beautiful. Happy is beautiful.

There is nothing wrong with being "bigger" as long as your health is not in serious risk, and you are HAPPY.

There is nothing wrong with being curvy. Or having a "muffin top", or cellulite, or stretch marks, or wonky tits.

Just look at Tyra Banks.

She's been criticized for gaining 30lbs since she stopped modelling. She's being called fat.

TYRA BANKS is being called FAT.

She is an ambitious, beautiful, intelligent woman who is NOT fat. She is curvy, she is not emaciated, she does not have a perfect stomach, or a perfect face, or a size 6 ass....

She is a real beauty. A real woman. SHE is a woman to look up to and idolize.

This subject is huge, and complex, and upsetting. To get out all of my feelings on this subject, I would probably have to write for a year without stopping. (I have wireless, that may be possible..)

The Dove videos, you've probably already seen them...but please watch them again.

There are moments where I just want to weep...because they're just real. They're honest.

I cannot preach about how to feel better about yourself, as I am a women who is still learning.

I can only share what I've learned.

But this is the most important journey of my life. To truly love and be confident with my mind and body...There is no greater journey, really.

Before we can cleanse the world of stereotypes and prejudices, and unobtainable body images, we first need to cleanse ourselves.

I'm starting with me.

May you do the same...and so on, and so forth.

 

**All statistics can be found on Dove's Campaign For Real Beauty website.

I'm not usually such a photo whore, but some things just need sharing, posting, and voxing.

The other morning I received a lovely gift from my fabulous online lover pal LeendaDLL, who not only created this wonderful Tshirt, but was gracious enough to send a couple across the pond for me!

Thank you Leeeeeenda, and MelMega for the suggesting this brilliant idea!

 

Iain and my Mom teamed up to find me the glorious cupcake slippers from Old Navy. They're perfect for sliding around on hardwood floors to "Sexyback".

I have yet to take them off. I even wear them in the bath.
My sister completely spoiled me, and sent me what I like to call "Carrie Bradshaw Ruby Slippers". I would actually never spend the money or have the balls to buy these for myself, so hats off to my sister for getting me out of my cowboy boots.

These will actually match my wedding dress -which YES I will post a picture of soon- so I guess they'll my "Something New" or perhaps my "Something Shiny".

As far as my "Something Old" goes; if the gigantic zit that I begged Iain to photo shop out of the above pictures festers on my face for a couple more weeks, I suppose that will suffice... 

And for the final installment of my photo whore excursion, behold the Anne Taintor-esque masterpiece that the ever handsome Iain concocted.