Almost daily outfit of the day: In which I reference the Ivy League 10.15.11

Forever 21 denim jacket; Citizens of Humanity jeans (eBay); thrifted vintage tee; thrifted Cole Haan loafers; Dolly Python bracelets

Confession: This  outfit is a bald face lie. I am wearing a thrifted Dartmouth tee shirt today, and I (gasp) did not attend Dartmouth. There was a very distinct group of peers in my high school who were absolutely desperate to attend an Ivy League school. They spent their free time hanging out in the college guidance counselor's office, pouring over those behemoth 627198326 page Pearson's Guide To Colleges and Universities books, trying to determine which Ivy offered the best dorms and which was the most competitive and which had the strongest program in political science or art history or Russian literature or whatever.

I was not one of those students. I wanted nothing to do with the preppy lifestyle of an Ivy school, what with their crew teams, parking lots filled with BMW's and girls who wore head-to-toe J Crew. I couldn't care less about vacations in St Barts and whether I wore pearl studs or tiny gold hoops from Tiffany's. Not to mention that my S.A.T scores were nowhere near what they needed to be to gain admittance to an Ivy League school. So I was quite happy to spend my college years at a music conservatory and state school, where I wore my Dr. Martens and thrifted Levis without so much as a second glance.

I can't deny that I felt a tiny bit smarter in this tee shirt, but that's probably due to the fact that I thrifted it for eighty-nine cents. I'll take what I can get.

In case you missed it:

• Enter my giveaway to win a $25 gift care to JC Penney!
• Don't miss my second giveaway: Win a $99 pair of Moissanite stud earrings!

 

Almost daily outfit 9.27: Nobody puts Baby in a corner

Thrifted Ralph Lauren linen shirt; thrifted vintage Levis cutoffs; Gap sandals; thrifted Coach bag; Target belt; Dolly Python cuff;

Last week I thrifted a pair of old, worn out Levis with the sole purpose of chopping them into shorts. (This is the closest I'll ever come to exhibiting a DIY on this blog, by the way. Pinkie swear.) Because I am a child of the eighties, denim cutoffs make me think of one thing, and one thing only - Dirty Dancing. Also known as The Greatest Movie Ever Scripted. In cutoffs, I become Baby, a cynical daddy's girl intent on joining the Peace Corps until becoming entranced by bad-boy Johnny and doing elaborate dance moves with him in a lake. Baby wears her cutoffs, which look suspiciously like the same ones I purchased from the Gap in 1987, everywhere. She wears them while seductively walking down flights of stairs. She wears them while simultaneously slithering and lip-synching across a dance floor. The cutoffs are even there while she tries on wigs with her exhausting, jealous sister in some weird group class on the near-defunct Poconos resort she's staying in.

So this post is dedicated to you, Baby. You wore cutoffs, carried a watermelon, and fell into my heart.

 In case you missed it:

• Enter my giveaway to win a winter accessories set from Missoni for Target! Giveaway ends October 7th.

 

Daily outfit 7/27/11

Vintage thrifted lace vest; Buffalo Exchange skirt; White Mountain sandals; TIKKR watch; Dolly Python leather cuff; Buffalo Exchange turquoise bracelet

I've decided to break up my posts and include a separate daily outfit post here on Dress With Courage. Considering how long and wordy my posts are, it seems the most effective way to include outfits without overwhelming everyone. And gives me a nice little space to talk about what's going on with this little outfit o' mine.

I found this little stretch lace vest at Goodwill for about $2. We're going on 25 days of one hundred degree plus temperatures here in Dallas, and the mere thought of wearing anything with sleeves makes me perspire. I literally squealed with joy when I dug this vest out of the racks. If a goth high school student in the eighties joined a marching band, she'd probably love it almost as much as I do. Almost, because the goth girls I knew kind of hated most things aside from black lipstick and heavy metal concert tee shirts and cigarettes. Cigarettes they'd smoke illicitly in the girls bathroom. Not that I know anything about that.

Everybody, Everywhere: Thrifting - Trendy pastime, time-tested addiction

This week, Everybody Everywhere focuses on a special feature regarding thrifting. Imagine my delight when I, thrift queen and author of a 23 part series on shopping for vintage and thrifted clothes, discovered this. Swoon.

I discovered thrifting as a high school student back in the late 80's. Back then, thrifting didn't have the appeal it does now. Shopping at thrift stores was a secret activity, born from necessity. You thrifted because you could not afford to pay retail price for clothes. You didn't brag about it; you didn't bring friends along; and you certainly didn't gloat about your finest score (as I am likely to do.) I was drawn to thrifting because it was a cheap way to buy clothes, and it made me feel unique. I loved knowing I was wearing something no one else had.

There is no doubt that our culture had become much more accepting of thrifting. According to the National Association of Resale and Thrift Shops, the industry is growing at a rate of 5 percent a year. The association estimates that there are 25,000 such stores in the United States. Furthermore, Britt Beemer, the founder and chief executive of America’s Research Group, a consumer behavior research firm, stated that 16 to 18 percent of Americans shop in thrift stores, while 12 to 15 percent visit consignment stores.  Thrifting is so popular that it has it's own Wikipedia page, StumbleUpon category, and an infinite number of blogs devoted to the art of scoring and wearing thrifted items.

The recent popularity of thrifting is most likely due to the tough financial conditions our country has faced in recent years. More people have turned to thrifting since the economic shift, as The New York Times noted back in April of 2008. However, the popularity of the vintage movement has had a certain amount of impact on the thrifting trend as well. The resurgence in the interest of vintage is due mostly to celebrities' desire for the glamorous, classic styles of bygone eras. Julia Roberts' choice to wear a vintage Valentino dress for the 2001 Oscars signaled the love of vintage clothing among celebrities. And since celebrities are today's biggest trendsetters, their support of vintage clothing has also infiltrated the mainstream, encouraging women to consider incorporating vintage clothing into their daily wardrobes.

A key component of the vintage movement is creativity - specifically, the mixing of vintage pieces along with modern-day accessories and garments. It takes thought and planning to wear thrifted clothes without looking as though you're dressed for a theme party. It's a fun, affordable way to play with fashion, and mold it to express your individuality. And it's a great way to exercise your creative muscles.

So thrifting is about affordability, creativity, and personal style. But my favorite reason to thrift is for the adventure. Pulling up to a store always gets my blood pumping, because I have no clue what to expect. Maybe I'll unearth a 1980's peach velour jumpsuit discarded from the set of the Golden Girls. Perhaps a 1940's vintage bathing suit will beckon. I might uncover a selection of vintage hats, or gold lame lounge wear, or vintage sequined blouses. I might leave with armloads of clothes, or nothing at all. I love that moment when I spy an employee rolling out a rack of new-to-me merchandise, and I stalk it like a famished cheetah circles a herd of axis deer. Thrifting makes me unbelievably, gleefully happy.

My entire outfit today (aside from my shoes) is from thrift stores. And I couldn't be more proud. For the other parts of my extensive thrifting 101 series, which covers everything from fashion history to cleaning tips to styling advice, search my blog using the label thrifting 101.

Thrifted vintage Wrangler top; thrifted vintage skirt; vintage Buffalo Exchange bag; Lucky Brand wedges; Dolly Python leather cuff; TIKKR watch; thrifted turquoise and silver bracelet

Outfit Post: Why fat is not a feeling

The other day my husband and I found ourselves in a rip-roaring fight on the phone. He said hurtful things; I countered back with a few digs of my own. Eventually, we realized our fight was getting us nowhere, and we hung up.

Later that evening, as I sat working on a blog post and chewing on the argument, I began to ruminate on everything Id eaten that day. Suddenly, I could feel my thighs expand. My stomach felt bloated and bulging. And my arms, oh good God, how could I have worn a sleeveless shirt with flabby arms like these? I am so, so fat, I decided. I feel fat and gross and disgusting and OH GOD I FEEL TOO FAT TO EVER LEAVE THE HOUSE AGAIN.

I find myself thinking "I feel fat" at least a few times a week. After a twenty battle-year with an eating disorder, my self-esteem is pretty much welded to my body image. When I feel good about myself, when I like who I am, I feel “skinny”. When I make a mistake, when I’m not 100% perfect, I feel “fat”.

Do you ever wonder why it is that you can wake up feeling good about your appearance, but by the end of the day feel certain that you have gained twenty pounds? Sometimes it doesn’t even take all day for the shift in mindset - it can seem to happen in an instant. But usually there's a precipitating event, something that triggered such self-critical thoughts about your body.

One explanation for our reliance on "I feel fat" is that we might not know how to identify feelings other than “fat.”Our culture discourages us from complaining, or otherwise expressing dissatisfaction with aspects of our lives other than our body image. Because of this we may not be comfortable identifying and articulating our feelings. Considering that we learn at a young age that complaining about our bodies is socially acceptable and even encouraged, we may not have a lot of practice identifying feelings other than "fat."

Dr. Stacy Nye a specialist in the field of eating disorders describes this, “Saying I feel fat can often be a common denominator for a variety of powerful forces, especially dysphoric moods.”(Dysphoric = an emotional state characterized by anxiety, depression, or unease.) “The problem comes when a person is unable to decipher these moods and they get condensed into a final common denominator – feeling fat” Says Dr. Nye.

In addition, we might have been so unhappy about our appearance for so long that we see it as the cause of all problems. The explanation for the state of our life might be, "Of course I'm unhappy - I'm so fat." Body dissatisfaction becomes the explanation for the problems in our lives. Though destructive, this narrative may be rooted in an attempt at self-preservation. Our psyches tend to steer us toward things we can tolerate, and away from those which are messy, overwhelming, or threatening. Proclaiming "I feel fat" becomes so routine, so part of our daily monologue, that we aren't even aware of how often we say it.

When I find myself stewing in negative vitriol about my body, I try to step back and take stock. What am I really feeling? Could there be more going on than dissatisfaction with my body? Has something happened to agitate me?

How often do you find yourself complaining that you "feel fat"? Do you find yourself using these words after a stressful event? Or is "I feel fat" part of your routine, everyday dialogue?

Thrifted white sleeveless top; thrifted vintage skirt; Old Navy flip flops; Buffalo Exchange vintage bag; Dolly Python leather cuff

Outfit Post: The "pink culture" and a pretty floral dress

Think back to when you were a little girl. What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you dream about being a teacher, leading a group of eager students through creative writing exercises and complex math equations? Or were your fantasies about designing clothes for a living, showing your collections at Bryant Park? Maybe your dreams were more adventurous...defending our country as an Air Force pilot, or carrying terrified homeowners out of a burning building.

When I was eight or nine, the only thing I wanted to be when I grew up was Barbie. I spent hours in my room arranging and dressing my Barbie dolls, styling their long, luxurious swoops of glossy blonde hair, and reenacting dramas comparable to those of your trashiest soap opera. Despite the fact that they lived, hillbilly sorority-style, in a Barbie Motor Home (I swear this was real) my Barbies lived a very glamorous existence, lounging around in sequined gowns, taking jaunts to the "city" (the nether regions of my closet) and going for swims in their above ground pool. They were best friends who shared clothes and always looked impeccable, their long spidery legs encased in teeny tiny miniskirts and slim pants with Velcro closures at the waist. I diligently saved my allowance to buy them spindly high heels, and pink party dresses, and tiny terry cloth bikinis, which they wore to entertain and sunbathe and throw lavish parties where they served drinks in teeny tiny cups on teeny tiny trays.

In contrast to the high-flying life my Barbies lived, I was a chubby, painfully shy child, the kind of girl who sat in the back of class and chewed on her hair. I was tormented by the other girls in my grade for not having the "right" clothes, and felt like an outcast most of the time. I truly believed that if I was Barbie, my life would be completely different. Men would fall at my feet; I'd be tall and skinny and able to wear whatever I wanted; I'd have more friends than I could count. Indeed, if I were like Barbie, I'd be gorgeous and popular just like she was.

This week I came across a book which explores issues of what the "pink culture" (Barbies, princesses, cosmetics and the like) is doing to young girls in America today, specifically how this uber-girly sub-culture, stemming from media and product marketers, is leading girls to confront body image issues and become sexualized at younger and younger ages.

Peggy Orenstein, the author of the book, attempts to determine whether pink-culture mania is merely an innocent phase or a sinister marketing plot with long-term negative impact. Orenstein travels to Disneyland, American Girl Place, the American International Toy Fair; visits a children's beauty pageant; attends a Miley Cyrus concert; tools around the Internet; and interviews parents, historians, psychologists, marketers, and others. She examines what the consumerist culture is doing to girls, and believes that when left to the advertisers, girls will learn to value what they look like and consume more than what they feel.

There seems to be solid evidence to back up this claim. According to the American Psychological Association, the emphasis on beauty and play-sexiness at ever-younger ages is increasing girls’ vulnerability to the pitfalls that most concern parents: eating disorders, negative body image, depression, risky sexual behavior. 50% of girls between the ages of 11 and 13 see themselves as overweight, and 80% of 13-year-olds have attempted to lose weight. Nearly half of six-year-old girls regularly using lipstick or lip gloss, and the percentage of eight- to twelve-year-old girls wearing eyeliner or mascara has doubled in the last two years. Meanwhile, the marketing of pink, pretty, and “sassy” has become a gigantic business: the Disney Princesses alone are pulling in four billion dollars in revenue annually.

It's no stretch to imagine how a subculture dominated by ultra-feminine and girlish stereotypes would contribute to identity development. Certain cultural concepts of femininity are aggressively and pervasively marketed to girls. These include the "princess" mindset that girls look good, are virginal and wait for the prince to arrive to rescue them. However, Barbie and her friends have taken the most heat in debates about the epidemic of body loathing. Some experts argue that Barbie perpetuates the idea that beauty, thinness and perfection are important. Barbie is all about how she looks, what she wears and what kind of cool car she drives. She is plastic, stiff, beautiful, and always smiling.

If she were alive, Barbie would be a woman standing 7 feet tall with a waistline of 18 inches and a bust of 38-40 inches. She would need to walk on all fours just to support her proportions. Yet media advertising, television and Hollywood reinforce her message, influencing what has become the American ideal of beauty. By the time a girl is 17 years old, she has received over 250,000 such commercial messages through the media. Body image disturbances are dangerous because they potentially lead to the fear of being overweight, and therefore to dieting and food restriction, to becoming malnourished and/or excessively thin, and ultimately to the onset of clinical eating disorders. Considering that ninety percent of American girls ages 3-10 own at least one Barbie doll, the impact such an unrealistic doll presents is considerable.

Do I believe Barbie caused my eating disorder and body image struggles? Frankly, no. It's too simple to blame such complex disorders on one object. But I'm so curious to know what you think. Did you play with Barbies and have princess fantasies as a girl? Do you believe these fantasies influenced how you see yourself in terms of body image and femininity? Did the pink culture send you down the wrong track, or are you a well-adjusted woman despite all the pink, thankyouverymuch?

Free People denim vest; thrifted Klovis dress; Gap sandals; agate necklace on leather strap; Anthropologie turquoise necklace; Dolly Python leather cuff

Outfit Post: An exploration of the blogger over-apology

Like most bloggers, I am an obsessive reader of other blogs. I subscribe to nearly 100 through Google Reader, stalk others through Twitter, and catalog a different group on Bloglovin'. I love reading the thoughts of other bloggers, seeing outfit of the day pics, and getting shopping recommendations and beauty tips. I've even gone so far as to meet other bloggers in person, and made some friends I hope to keep for a long time.

However, ever since I started reading blogs, one pattern has become evident. It seems that for every blogger posting an outfit or thoughts regarding summer trends, there's another apologizing for not posting more, not having "better" photos, not wearing a blog-worthy outfit (what does that even mean?), not writing enough, not writing like 'X" blogger does, not participating in a challenge, or for some other reason they feel they are inadequate. I myself have been guilty of this. It makes me wonder - why do we feel the need to apologize?

If you're like many women, saying "I'm sorry" has become a habit, something you murmur before asking a stranger the time or telling the cashier they've given you the wrong change. Experts observe that women apologize more often than men and for a wider variety of reasons. The fear of conflict is a big reason why many women over-apologize. “Women are hard-wired to focus on cooperation and community, versus competition and confrontation, the way men are,” says Beverly Engel, author of The Power of Apology. And according to Dr. Susan Gaddis, of communicationsdoctor.com, "Women say, ‘I'm sorry’ much more than men because of our nurturing nature and our desire to make everyone happy.”

There's nothing wrong with apologizing in and of itself. Taking responsibility for our impact on others; acknowledging our own mistakes and shortcomings; and restoring connections and trust with those we've wronged (which is what authentic apologizing is all about) are essential qualities of mature relationships and living a fulfilled life.

However, the problem becomes when we start apologizing for who we are. When we're telling our readers that we're sorry for not posting more, or not dressing more blog-worthy, or not participating in a challenge, we're communicating that we're not good enough, and our blogs are not good enough. We're putting ourselves in a position to be judged. We're essentially saying, "I'm bad; it's my fault; don't hate me; don't leave me." I hypothesize that so many bloggers over-apologize because they're afraid of losing followers. In their eyes, losing a follower means they've failed. And who wants to be a failure?

There's nothing wrong with explaining to readers why you skipped a few days of blogging, or why you chose not to do a challenge, or why you're dressed more casually than you normally do. But unwarranted over-apologizing positions us as subservient and hurts us. It can make us feel indebted to our readers and less powerful over what and how often we post. In addition, over-apologizing to your readers immediately puts their happiness at a higher level than yours. It creates a divide: the needs of your readers are 'right', and your own needs are 'wrong.' This leads you to you to feel remorseful for your perceived "inadequacies." The quality of our life depends directly on the choices we make and how we act upon them. Part of the process of building healthy self-esteem comes from making your needs a priority and not being apologetic about them.

When I started blogging, I didn't do so to attract a million readers (though I am THRILLED that you all are here.) I don't blog to be competitive, and I don't blog out of a feeling of obligation. I blog because I want to. This blog is, ultimately, for me - a place to write about topics that interest me, share my thoughts with the world, be part of a community of people with similar ideas, and have fun. It's my space, and it's up to me to set the rules. If I want to post every day, I do. But if I miss a day, so be it. I recognize that my real-life activities and relationships are far more important, and there's no reason for me to apologize for it. None of us should feel we must say sorry to our readers for having a life outside our blogs. There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking a day, or week, or month off. And, in that vein, there's nothing wrong with not participating in a challenge, or not having regular features, or not constantly updating your layout. It's your blog - do what you want, when you want.  Ultimately, your blog exists to make you happy. And that's what matters the most.

And now I ask you: Have you ever felt a need to apologize to your readers? Do you believe bloggers over-apologize out of a fear of losing followers, or is there something deeper going on? Have you ever struggled with apologizing too much? Do you believe you owe your readers an apology when you miss a day of blogging, or aren't participating in a challenge?

Thrifted vintage silk blouse; thrifted Armani skirt; thrifted vintage Coach satchel; Target belt; MIA clogs; Dolly Python leather cuff; World Market Catholic saints bracelet; Forever 21 pendant

Outfit Post: My name is Elissa, and I am a changing room rageaholic

There are so many things that are great about shopping. Inhaling the sweet scent of leather in in the Fossil store? Great. Finding the perfect pair of wedges that make your feet simultaneously comfortable and stylish? Happy happy joy joy. Lounging at the MAC counter chatting with all the adorbz make-up artists in an attempt to figure out how on God's green earth one is supposed to wear Lady Gaga's lipstick which, I'm sorry, looks like foundation, and why would one make the CHOICE to slather foundation on their LIPS? That too is so, so great (if slightly mystifying. Apparently we are supposed to line our lips in magenta or fuchsia lip liner as an "interesting contrast." I have no desire to look like Krusty the Clown, so no thanx.)

There is one little itty bitty thing that I do not like about shopping. And that's trying things on. Just the thought of taking my clothes off makes me shake my tiny ineffectual fists into the air and shout WHY GOD, WHY????? I am not the most thoughtful person when planning a shopping excursion. I do not engage in sensible tactics like wearing dresses and other articles that are easily slip-off-able. No. I am the girl in a tank layered under a button-down which is layered under a cardigan that's layered over oppressively skinny jeans that are off course paired with tall boots and knee-high socks. I am that girl. Which, as a style blogger and fashion writer, is redonk.

I wear this suit of armor as a psychological tactic. See, I hate being nekkid, and I REALLY hate being nekkid in a dressing room. It's too small, and the lighting is horrid, and I am convinced trick funhouse mirrors are involved, and the door never seems to lock securely if there's a door at all, because sometimes there's just a filmy curtain separating me from the general public and I'm naked and what if some intrusive dressing room lady tries to come in and "help" and OM GOD BLOODTHIRSTY BARGAIN SHOPPING ZOMBIES COULD ATTACK ME AND HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I'M NAKED??? So I wear lots and lots of clothes as a way of psyching myself out of trying things on. See? I is a smart. Or not. Because inevitably when I get home and do try everything on I find that only 14% of what I purchased actually fits. Which means I have to go back to the store, and return stuff. /fail

So I was all together unsurprised when I learned from a survey that many women experience something called "changing room rage," wherein store fitting rooms leave them frustrated and cranky. You don't say.

Sky News reports that a survey found 48% of respondents felt frustration in fitting rooms, while 58% suffered disappointment. Half said they tried on clothes at home to avoid the problem, while 75% said they avoided trying them on at all. All of these are apparently symptoms of "changing room rage" or CRR, which can allegedly "lead to shoppers snapping at retail assistants, storming out of stores and even losing self-confidence."

It should be noted that this survey was conducted on behalf of isme.com, an online clothing company, so it seems obvious that they have a vested interest in attracting customers who do not like shopping in stores. And, call me crazy, but I don't see how it's possible that half the women tried clothes on at home, while three-quarters avoided trying on clothes AT ALL. That is the definition of a WTF, if you ask me. 

But still. Is it really that much of a shock that women hate dressing rooms? You wait in line for a long time to enter a tiny enclosed space with bad lighting, where you try on clothes that probably don't fit (either due to sizing inconsistency, or the narrow range of sizes many stores carry.) It's as if you have stepped into a dark netherworld dungeon where torture in the form of ill-fitting pants awaits you.

Personally, I found this survey kind of comforting, and a wave of solidarity washed over me after realizing I AM NOT ALONE. We rage-aholics really need to unite. Much like the suffragettes before us, we should be marching in picket lines, only this time demanding flattering lighting and comfy leather chairs for our friends to recline while we change and doors, doors that shut tightly and extend to the floor so no one can see our feet, and as long as we're asking for stuff a glass of chardonnay would be lovely too thanks for offering.

How do you feel about dressing rooms, and trying on before buying? Do you typically purchase things without trying them on first? Do you shop online as a way of avoiding stores and dressing rooms?

Forever 21 peasant blouse; Gap Outlet cargos; Mis Mooz wedges; thrifted vintage Coach satchel; Plato's Closet braided leather cuff; Dolly Python stamped leather cuff; World Market catholic saints bracelet; geode bracelet