Visual Fashion Beauty Friend Friday: R.O.C.K in the USA (Favorite clothing)

This week, Fashion Beauty Friend Friday is taking a visual turn and focusing on our favorite clothing item, as suggested by Ashley of Getting Dressed. I have to admit that I struggled with choosing a favorite piece. My thrifting and vintage addiction had led to a closet filled with unique, one-of-a-kind items that I spent hours digging out of racks and bins. So I'm highlighting one of my most recent thrifing scores. Warning: You might be blinded or offended by the amount of bling. And considerable 80's influence.

Okay. I understand that this vest is kind of ridiculous. I mean, it's bedazzled and studded. But I love it. It brings a flood of 80's teenage adolescence references to mind. I like to imagine that this lovely little piece of fashion iconography was created by a mother-daughter team back during the summer of 1986. They spent hours debating the type of studs and rhinestones they were going to use to decorate this vest, which they found in the Sears just off Main street. Eagerly they attacked their project, working into the night, their teased, permed hair casting a shadow over their work.

Eventually, the daughter grew bored of their endeavor. She was missing her favorite episode of Who's The Boss. The phone rang with calls from her friends, wondering why she wasn't hanging out at the Dairy Queen with them. So she abandoned the bedazzling, sneaking to her room, and turning on John Cougar Mellencamp to drown out the shrill nagging of her mom. When she drifted from her room the next morning, the vest was finished, her mother snoring softly on the couch. The girl wore it to school, generating envious looks from friends. And naturally, she took all the credit for its enticing sparkle.

So how did I style this piece? Very, very carefully.

$3 Thrifted vintage vest; Target layered tanks; Joe's Jeans (from Nordstrom Rack) White Mountain sandals; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets

As usual, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic in the comments! Fashion Beauty Friend Friday was created by Katy Rose of Modly Chic. Become a member at the Fashion Beauty Friend Friday Google Group to join in the discussion!

Daily Outfit 8/3/11

Thrifted J Crew silk dress; White Mountain sandals; vintage estate sale clutch; Charming Charlie bracelets; Michael Kors rose gold watch

I go thrifting at least four days a week. On three of those days, I walk out empty handed. A failed thrifting trip is a bitter pill to swallow. I question the universe when those days happen. Sometimes I get a teensy bit angry. Sometimes I feel haunted by what I didn't purchase. Maybe I should have bought that neon plaid Chaus vintage maxi skirt. How could I have left that vintage straw hat behind? And what about that black fur-trimmed evening coat? HAVE I LOST MY MIND???


But sometimes I get lucky. Such as I did when I stumbled upon this dress at a Goodwill I rarely have luck in. It fits me beautifully and makes me feel kinda like a forties movie star, all glam and sensuous and cat-like. Thought I doubt movie stars would be caught in the Goodwill. But if I ever bump into one, I'll let you know.

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.

Outfit Post: Are muscles and femininity mutually exclusive?

In between blogging and housework and working on my first book and child-rearing, I've been putting more time into a running routine. I'm not training for a race, or trying to beat a certain goal. I just like how running makes me feel. 

The other night I was lying in bed, stretching out my legs, when I noticed how defined my calves are getting. Not just defined - wider. More solid. More muscular. It seemed that I had muscles where I didn't know any existed. And it kind of freaked me out. Was all this running causing me to bulk up? Even worse, did my new muscles make me unfeminine? I feared I was transforming, Hulk-style, into a monster, some kind of half-man, half-woman. And I really, really like being a woman.

As I stared at my legs, I was reminded of  a 2008 article  featuring Dana Torres, the then 41 year-old Olympic swimmer, and the following photo:

This photo, taken by Robert Maxwell, elevated Torres' awe-inspiring figure from merely admired to iconic. Torres is a mother of one and a nine-time Olympic medalist. Her body is a product of genetics and a lifelong dedication to physical fitness. Torres employs a substantial team of fitness and wellness professionals to support her, including a head coach, a sprint coach, a strength coach, two stretchers, two massage therapists, a chiropractor, and a nanny, at the cost of at least $100,000 per year. Torres' has a figure that is strong, rugged and intimidating - one that many women might admire, and even obsess over.

Unsurprisingly, Maxwell's photo received a huge reaction when it was originally printed in the New York Times Magazine. The portrait of the phenomenally ripped Torres made her, understandably, a topic of breathless conversation on morning chat shows, held up as a physical ideal for mothers, women at or approaching middle age, and just women in general. A body as sculpted Torres' is something unusual and captivating, both in its capacity for athletic prowess as its musculature.

As I read through the comments accompanying the Times piece, it became clear that readers were either impressed - even envious - of Torres' physique, or horrified. What should have been a healthy discussion about female athletes dissolved into discourse regarding the attractiveness of her physique. One commenter stated the following:

"It isn’t a woman’s body Torres has, its a man’s. There’s nothing feminine about that look. If that’s your ideal for women then go get a sex change. Men are built to have abs like that (maybe), women are not. That’s not jealousy or misogyny, that’s just biology. Torres is a freak, and I believe ugly for that."

Some countered with the fact that Torres' figure was "healthy and fit", and that muscles were not exclusive to masculinity. Furthermore,  others argued that "feminine" is a social and personal construct, and what some regard as feminine might not match with the opinion of others.

The debate regarding Torres' figure led me to question what our physical standards (as they are our most used instruments for judging what is "attractive") are at this moment in time - particularly those that concern femininity.  There seems to be a tendency to equate "athletic" with "powerful" and "feminine" with "attractive." In recent history, Western society has swung from embracing narrow figures to voluptuous, buxom silhouettes; from short, bobbed hair to waves of artificial extensions; from the surgically plumped to lean and toned; and from pale, translucent skin to that possessing a deeply bronzed glow. And those feminine beauty standards are always shifting.

A compelling study by Allure Magazine found that the overwhelming shift in perceptions of beauty in the last 20 years has moved away from what are typically Caucasian characteristics - pale skin, slender physiques, smaller breasts and hips - to the curvy, sun-kissed beauty of multi-ethnic women. According to the survey, 70 percent of those who wish to change their skin color wanted it to be darker, and 74 percent believe that a curvier body type is more appealing now than it has been over the past 10 years.

Furthermore, a year ago, The New York Times’ Fashion Review highlighted the shift from the 1960’s Twiggy standards of beauty towards the more rounded, classically feminine figure (as illustrated in Marc Jacobs' Fall 2010 collection, which featured models in padded girdles to create the illusion of hourglass figures.)

I should note that while it is certain that beauty standards will continue to change and evolve, the fashion world rarely compromises on its one hard and fast criterion: all models must be the same. With minor exceptions, the models chosen for the runway are carbon copies of one another: Frequently European, and size-zero. Models are the least diverse constituent of the business.

So what to make of Torres' abs? Can a woman be muscular and athletic, and still be considered feminine? Must femininity depend on the classical idea of rounded hips and full breasts? Do you believe muscles equal masculine? Do you consider Torres your physical ideal, or do you prefer a softer, more rounded body type? Do you have an ideal body type at all?

Thrifted vintage silk top; vintage thrifted skirt; White Mountain sandals; Forever 21 necklaces; TIKKR watch

Outfit Post: Happy Fourth!

Target tank; Gap Outlet sports bra; thrifted vintage silk skirt; White Mountain sandals; vintage estate sale clutch;  TIKKR watch; Forever 21 horn necklace; Charming Charlie gun necklace; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets

Happy Fourth of July!

I hope you're enjoying your day with friends and family and barbecue. Because if there's one thing that The Fourth of July makes me think of, it's barbecues. But then again, most holidays have some sort of correlation with food in my head. I'll have to give that some thought. Later, when I'm done eating my burger and potato salad.

Outfit Post: Sweet summertime - Do you shop more in the summer?

Ah, summer. To many, summer conjures up memories of lazy afternoons on the beach, dipping toes into icy water and picnicking on the shore. For other people, summer symbolizes vacations at Disney World or Sea World or Six Flags, with sticky overpriced ice pops and standing on endless snaking lines. Summer might mean a reprieve from school, a road trip, an opportunity to barbecue every evening or nights spent camping under the stars.

For Texans, summer means one thing: Heat. Oppressive, stifling, melt-your-lipstick-into-a-greasy-puddle heat. Summer in Texas is third degree burns on your hands from touching the steering wheel. It is three showers a day. It is two cans of sunscreen a week because the ONLY thing you can think about doing is going to the pool, which by end of July feels about as refreshing as a hot tub.

But don't get me wrong. I hate the winter. A forecast of temperatures hovering around freezing leads me to unleash a string of profanities at Mother Nature, meteorologists, frosted windowpanes and soggy mittens. I spend the majority of winter huddled under down throw blankets, nursing mugs of tea while shivering next to my space heater. I hate gray snowy days. I abhor the time it takes me to heat up my car. I despise the fact that I always, ALWAYS lose one of my gloves during the first cold snap. I become a cranky, irritable, whiny douchecanoe filled with melancholy, reminiscing about days spent outdoors on restaurant patios drinking coffee, people watching, and blissfully bathing in sunlight.

However, if I was forced to admit to one enjoyable thing about winter, it would be dressing for it. Winter clothes are cozy and sensuous. Sometimes, when getting dressed on frigid mornings, I liked to pretend I'm a chic 1960's snow bunny vacationing in Aspen or St Moritz or some other glamorous wintry place. I would wear cozy sheepskin coats and hand knit scarves and adorably fluffy ear muffs with an charming, girlish look on my face. My hunky investment banker boyfriend would whisk me through aspen woods to our enchanted snow-covered cabin, luxuriously appointed in antlers and Ralph Lauren furniture and Native American textiles. He'd light a massive fire and play records while I nibbled on tapas and sipped red wine. It would all be very mountain resort opulence, with sable furs and Scandinavian quilts and four-ply cashmere sweaters and Turkish coffee laced with brandy. And horses. Horses we would ride bareback. Because that's how they do it in the Swiss Alps. Or so I've seen on The Travel Channel.

Despite my penchant for wool and velvet and cashmere, I cannot deny that summer clothes are both less expensive to shop for and much more fun. Tee shirts, simple cotton dresses and flowy maxi skirts are the foundations of my summer wardrobe, and I rarely (if ever) spend more than $30 on a garment. I feel more inclined to wear color and prints in the summer, and stores are more than eager to meet my demands. So Yes! I say, to strappy layered tanks. Yes! to metallic strappy sandals. And YES YES YES I MUST HAVE THAT GIMME GIMME to sunglasses and gauzy tunics and sleeveless blouses and cutoff shorts. There's always something new to buy - a bright pair of denim shorts, a floral skirt, a silk blouse. Furthermore, a stream of sunny, warm days only intensifies the impulse to shop. With layers impeding progress, shopping is infinitely more complicated in the winter, what with down coats, heavy sweaters and scarves to drag around.

The NY Times recently published an article regarding fast summer fashion, with the opinion that lower prices and a larger inventory encourage consumers to spend more on apparel in the warmer months.“People shop and dress differently in the summer,” said Catherine Moellering, the executive vice president of the Tobe Report, a trend forecasting firm. "Dressing is simpler, not as tricky. We all give ourselves a bit of a break.” Furthermore, she added: “The availability of inexpensive, high-turnover, trend-driven fashion encourages people to shop more often, because they know that they’re going to see something different, and that’s what they’re looking for.”

Fashion chains such as H&M, Forever 21, J Crew and Zara have become adept at churning out warm weather fashion, often replenishing inventory weekly or even daily. In summer, fabrics are lighter and less expensive to reproduce in nearly every segment of the marketplace. As a result, shoppers are quicker to open their wallets and buy items from a variety of stores, picking and choosing from different departments.

Now I ask you: Do you tend to shop more in the summer? Which season do you enjoy dressing more for, summer or winter? 

Thrifted Ann Taylor blouse; thrifted Theory skirt; White Mountain sandals; estate sale vintage clutch; Old navy belt; Charming Charlie bracelets

Get the look!

• J. P. Ourse & Cie. West Chester Clutch Wristlet 
• Industry IAS10-22 Clutch
• Theory 'Lilith' skirt
• Graphic print linen skirt
• White Mountain 'Dean' sandals
• White Mountain 'Minnie' sandals
• Michael Kors gold belt

Outfit Post: Winner takes all - Women and competition

Yesterday I read Beautifully Invisible's post about why women are (at times) their worst enemy. Her words regarding body shaming, labeling, and the pervasive "us versus them" mentality shook me to my core. Today I'm going to talk about a related issue that is common with every single woman out there. Whether you feel it, or someone feels it against you, no one can deny that it exists.

Competition amongst us.
 
Age has no bearing. It doesn't matter if you're a little girl ("She has four Barbies; I have to get six") or older woman ("She just got Botox and has a smoother forehead; I have to get a face-lift and look younger than she does.") Or perhaps, "Her blog has more followers than mine does", "She always looks perfect",  "She's so skinny, I could never look like that",   "She gets invited to more events than I do" , "She has more sponsors than I do", "Gosh, I wish I could...."

Gender expert Susan Shapiro Barash interviewed 500 women in the United States on their views regarding competition. Here are some highlights:

90 percent admit they are (or have been) envious and jealous of other women in their lives.
65 percent say they feel that way about their sister or best friend.
80 percent say they have been victims of  another woman’s envy or jealousy.
And 90 percent of women say the toughest workplace competition comes from women, not men.

Don't get me wrong - there are some positives to being competitive. Competition drives us to be better. It encourages creativity. It pushes us to keep improving. It can give us a chance to collaborate and create something better.

Unfortunately, competition between women is rarely displayed in a healthy, positive way. Women are conditioned to be peacemakers, to get along with others and avoid conflict. We are taught that anger, hostility, and jealousy are emotions to be avoided and even feared. Competition is best left to the boys, we're told, with their sports and career climbing and quest for the most attractive partner (which is partially responsible for the higher male mortality rate.) A study by Stanford University economist and guest presenter Muriel Niederle shows that women actively look for ways to avoid conflict and competition, even when they know they deserve to win. So we learn to inhibit and repress our competitive urges. Over time, these feelings build up. What could have been healthy competition becomes a secret feeling of envy and desire for the other to fail - often laced with guilt and shame.

Ultimately, competition results in a feeling of inadequacy. You feel inferior because you don't measure up, and that leads to resentment, anger, and bitterness. When you get into the rut of comparing and competing, you lose who you really are. Even worse, competition pits us against one another. It forces us to each each other as enemies and sabotages intimacy and trust.

One only glance at my history to see the battle I've had with competition. My twenty-year struggle with anorexia and bulimia was largely about competition - to be the thinnest, the "most perfect" anorexic, the most in control over what I ate (and didn't eat.) As long as I was losing weight, I felt powerful over other women. In my starved brain, being the thinnest made me the best. It meant I had won.

I can’t help but wonder if  women are competitive in the blogging and career worlds because they believe the rewards are limited - that there is a maximum amount of success available. That simply isn’t true. There is enough pie for all of us to get a piece, and there’s no need for us to guard our piece viciously, snapping at anyone who comes near it. We all have something of value to offer. Your competition should be your own goals, your own mission, your own values, and what you hope to accomplish. All you can do is try, work hard, and be the best you can be.

I have learned the hard way that you cannot control what successes others find, and you shouldn’t want to. Be happy when others find success. Sure, you can have that blinking moment of jealousy, but let it roll right over you and smile. Know that if another blogger’s found it, that simply means you can to.

Don't judge. Don't compare. Don't belittle people's lives or feelings. When someone acts ugly out of jealousy, it really hurts. It damages relationships, lives, and spirit. And you know that beauty everyone has? When jealousy comes out, the beauty goes away.

What are your thoughts on competition between women? Do you believe we can find a healthy way to be competitive with each other without becoming mean or passive-aggressive? Do you look for ways to avoid competition with other women? Has competition ever affected your relationships with female friends? 

Thrifted Michael Stars top; thrifted vintage skirt; White Mountain sandals; Forever 21 necklace; estate sale clutch; TIKKR watch

Outfit Post: The myth of overthinking

One stifling hot day this summer, faced with yet another day stuck at home perched in front of the air conditioner, I decided to take my kids to our community pool. I donned my most fetching tankini, slathered myself in sunscreen, and perched at the end of the water, monitoring my brood and trying not to get splashed in the face. At one point, another mom arrived next to me, and we started chatting. She clutched her adorable two week-old daughter to her chest, and as I cooed over her baby, uterus weeping white hot tears of envy, I remarked how lovely it is to have a newborn in the house. She looked me over approvingly, squinted, and said, "Oh you should totally have another baby. You're still young, right? How old are you anyway...29, 30?"

And it was then that my mind took off. First came the complimentary thoughts: Wow, this total stranger thinks I look seven years younger than I actually am! Guess I can ditch my wrinkle cream!!! And, soon after, followed the worry: I'm almost 37, way too old to have another baby. Or am I? What if this is my LAST CHANCE to have another kid? Was this stranger right? Was my weeping uterus trying to tell me something? OH MY GOD I SHOULD HAVE ANOTHER BABY BEFORE I'M TOO OLD TO PICK THE KID UP!!!

I've had similar experiences. My tattoos are frequent sources of confusing conversations with strangers. I've been told that "I must really like pain!" and labeled a "rebel" and "hardcore." These simple remarks have sent me into a tailspin of self-doubt and self-consciousness. Do people think I'm dangerous? Do they fear I engage in risk-taking behavior, like doing drugs and jaywalking and driving too slow in the left-hand lane? Do they think I'm some kind of DEVIANT???

And let's not talk about the comments we all get about weight gain/weight loss.

Like most people, I have a million thoughts and worries, and all million of them jostle for my attention at the exact same time. It is completely irrelevant that a few of them are big worries (my financial situation, my partnership within my marriage) and some more inconsequential (did I remember to turn off the coffee maker this morning?) They all seem equally dramatic and important in my mind.

Dealing with all these worries makes me feel kind of like an air traffic controller most of the time. Each worry is a little blip on the screen, swirling and floating through my brain, with the potential to collide midair and cause a huge flaming mess. For the most part, I've gotten infinitely better at controlling these worries: determining which deserves my immediate attention, which ones I can procrastinate for a later time, and which ones I can ignore completely. But sometimes my management skills erode. I start having more trouble sleeping, and hearing more negative self-talk, and feel increasingly self-conscious and insecure.

My primary cause of excessive worrying comes down to overthinking. I am a master at taking a seemingly simple situation, innocent comment or off-handed remark and turning it into a grave situation equivalent to the Libyan uprising. Like most women, I have a tendency to ruminate. I focus on the things I'm not doing right and the things that are out of my control, examining them repeatedly until they swell in size. And as these negative thoughts take over, I get increasingly overwhelmed.

I was catching up on some blogs when I came across this excellent passage concerning overthinking from The How of Happiness:

Many of us believe that when we feel down, we should try to focus inwardly and evaluate our feelings and our situation in order to attain self-insight and find solutions that might ultimately resolve our problems and relieve unhappiness. Susan Nolen-Hoeksema, I, and others have compiled a great deal of evidence challenging this assumption. Numerous studies over the past two decades have shown that to the contrary, overthinking ushers in a host of adverse consequences: It sustains or worsens sadness, fosters negatively biased thinking, impairs a person’s ability to solve problems, saps motivation, and interferes with concentration and initiative. Moreover, although people have a strong sense that they are gaining insight into themselves and their problems during their ruminations, this is rarely the case. What they do gain is a distorted, pessimistic perspective on their lives.

Once I start paying more attention to my internal cues, I began to do a better job of monitoring overthinking. When I find myself thinking in circles, I try to find an activity that will relax me, such as reading blogs - my favorite emotional comfort food - going for a run, or even doing housework. Or, if it’s evening, I go to bed early with a book. Things really do look better after a good night’s sleep, and often something that had me agitated the night before seems much less worrisome the next morning.

Are you an overthinker? What are some things you tend to ruminate about? Have you found any helpful strategies to keep yourself from overthinking?

(P.S - Yes, my shirt is totes wrinkled near the hem. I had originally belted it, but nixed the belt at the last minute. No Photoshopping or touch-ups here, folks. And, apparently, no ironing either.)

(P.S.S - Don't forget to enter my giveaway for a TIKKR watch and extra band!) 

Vintage thrifted silk shirt; Old Navy shorts; White Mountain sandals; Forever 21 necklaces; Forever 21 pyramid bracelet; vintage thrifted python clutch

Outfit Post: The tyranny of the "bikini body"

Memorial Day weekend, 1981: I am seven years old. My parents are hosting a barbecue and have invited my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and neighborhood friends. The air smells like roasting barbecue briquettes, daylilies, freshly cut grass and hot dogs.The rhythmic spurt-spurt-spurt of the sprinkler permeates the air. I am wearing an enticing two-piece yellow terry cloth bikini which ties around my neck, and my cousins and I shriek as we run through the needle-sharp spray of the sprinkler. My waist-long hair drips water down my back. I feel happy, unencumbered and free.

Flash forward to Memorial Day weekend, present day: I am 36 years old. My husband and three children chatter excitedly about going to the neighborhood pool. I have zero desire to go to the pool, because going to the pool means wearing my swimsuit in public. I stand in front of my dresser and try to calm myself down. I try on two-piece after two-piece, self-esteem plummeting in the process. Swimsuits lie tangled on the floor. My thighs seem to expand with each selection. My body takes up too much space. I am flabby and fat and all-together unacceptable. I feel like a failure.

Every summer, I go through the exact same ritual. I become obsessively focused on the notion of the perfect bikini body, an entity I am certain every woman possesses except for myself. The NY Times recently ran an article exploring the notion of the bikini body, examining the effect it has on fear-inspired marketing campaigns and as a symbol of physical perfection.

There's no way of figuring out when the phrase "bikini body" was first uttered or when its tyranny took hold. It's common knowledge that the two-piece as we know it was invented in 1946 by engineer Louis Réard who christened it after Bikini Atoll. The style became popular in the 50's and by the 80's was standard beachwear. As our culture increasingly enshrines physical perfection, the bikini has come to inspire dread and awe. It wasn’t always so. In the 1960s, when bellybutton-baring suits first became popular in America, “it was a youthful phenomenon definitely,” said Sarah Kennedy, the author of “The Swimsuit: A History of Twentieth-Century Fashions.” Then the high-fashion set and movie stars began to put on bikinis, and by the ’70s, she said, the bikini was “worn by all ages.”

And a few extra pounds didn’t disqualify anyone, considering the fitness revolution was still roughly a decade away. (The NY Times mentions that in the book there’s a 1940s photograph of a fresh-faced still-brunet Marilyn Monroe looking smashing in a two-piece, a roll of pale flesh at her midsection.)

Writes The Guardian's Laurie Penny:

When it finally became popular in the 1960s, the bikini was a symbol of physical liberation, of beautiful women reacting to the stern sexual prudery of previous decades by exposing as much skin to the sun as they pleased. Today, as with many iterations of the sexual emancipation rhetoric of the 1960s, wearing a bikini is no longer associated with pleasure and daring, but with anxiety, dieting rituals and joyless physical performance...The bikini body has become cultural shorthand for a moral standard of female perfection whereby any physical flaw should be regarded as a source of shame, an obstacle to collective fantasies of glamour and happiness.

When did  the bikini become the standard of all beauty? I'm going to theorize that the first Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues, published in 1964, had a lot to do with it. With that publication, swimsuits became explicitly linked with the standards of female desirability. Also, the Swimsuit Issue is published in the winter and had little to do with the reality of actual women being at the beach, let alone swimming, and a lot to do with unattainable goals.

"Bikini body" is the going code for "acceptable." It is always in bikinis that the tabloids feature the "best" and "worst" bodies. Type "bikini body" into Google and you get the following suggested searches:

bikini body workout
bikini body diet
bikini body tips
bikini body fast
quick bikini body

The bikini body has nothing to do with overall health, or fitness, or lifestyle. No, it's about shedding "winter weight" fast, before some arbitrary deadline known as "Bikini Season," at which point we're forced to confront a two-piece suit with, naturally, the requisite "bikini wax," and no trace of cold-weather pastyness. Jezebel argues that the "bikini body" craze goes so much deeper than fatism or fatphobia. It is part of our society's relentless insistence that a woman's body is not her own. It is an object to be criticized.  Our society seems to think that a woman wears a bikini not for herself, but for the public to decide her worthiness.

Will the world end tomorrow if I can't cram my butt into a bikini? I was going to ask Stephen Hawking, but, after some careful mathematical calculations, I was able to come up with the answer on my own: No. Does this mean that I still don't have days where I hate my thighs and stomach so much I want to carve them off of my body with a fillet knife? No. But I understand that those days will happen and that they really don't matter because there truly is NOTHING wrong with my body. I've put it through a lot in the past 36 years and it's stuck around and carried me through everything.

So my motto is this: Just be healthy. Eat things that are nutritionally good for you and exercise, but don't forget about delicious, delicious baked goods and gelato from Pacuigo. Don't deprive yourself of things to satisfy the warped and nonsensical views of people that see you as another bottomless pocket and empty head. 

Do what you want, eat what you want, wear what you want, and be who you want.

Now I ask you: How you deal with the pressure of the "bikini body?" Does wearing a swimsuit in public make you break out in a sweat? Do you avoid going to the beach, pool or lake because of this fear? Does wearing a swimsuit cause you to dread summer activities? And do you have a favorite swimsuit that makes you feel great about yourself?

Thrifted Gap chambray shirt: thrifted vintage dress; Old Navy belt; White Mountain sandals; TIKKR watch; Charming Charlie bracelet; Forever 21 necklace

Outfit Post: The labels we wear on the inside

This past Saturday night I went to see the Black Angels with Erin of Work With What You've Got. It was loud, and hot, and the audience was at capacity with bearded and ponytailed twenty-something hipsters in black concert tees, skinny jeans and Chucks. The venue smelled like beer and pot and cigarettes and a million other unidentifiable odors. I wore a fetching ensemble composed of a Forever 21 hot-pink leopard sports bra under a lace trapeze top, paired with a thrifted vintage black skirt and black leather platform sandals. With my tattoos and bright red hair, I thought I blended in pretty well, despite the fifteen year-age difference between me and the rest of the crowd. After five hours of talking and singing and yelling and dancing and people-watching, I eventually crawled home after one o'clock in the morning. All in all, it was a fantastic night.

However, on Sunday morning I was in serious pain. I couldn't hear out of my left ear. My throat was raw. My head ached something fierce. And my feet were sore from hours spent in those platforms (which I wore despite warnings from my husband that they'd make me a cripple before the night was over. Okay, husband, you were right. There, I said it.) I spent most of the day popping Advil and lying on the couch curled in a fetal position.

In the wake of my post-concert trauma, I started to question whether I should have attended the event in the first place. I wondered about the condition of the other concert-goers the next morning. Were they suffering from pounding headaches and sore throats? Did their feet hurt? And the came the inevitable questions: Was I too old to have been there? Did I look ridiculous? Were my days of late nights behind me? Did I belong at home, watching depressing sitcoms on CBS and clipping coupons for things like Sunsweet prunes?

While pondering these questions, I was reminded of a recent post on Psychology Today about the internal labels we carry. The author explored the life-long struggle many of us have to shake off the limits we think define us. Often these labels have been internalized for years, and the fight against them can feel like a never-ending challenge.

Reading this article led to some fairly deep introspection. I mentally flipped through ways I label myself.

"You're too old to stay up until all hours."
"You're too fat to wear those skinny jeans."
"You can't shop in that store."
"You're not talented enough to be a writer."
"You can't make a long road trip by yourself."
"You're not stylish/cool/youthful enough to wear that outfit."
"You're not fit enough to run a 10k."
"You shouldn't leave the house without make-up."

Labels have a way of sticking around. Often they've been adopted following a traumatic event or conversation with an important person in your life. My mother was a strict enforcer of rules, and I grew up believing that there were certain things I just couldn't do because they were inappropriate, unbecoming or unladylike. That included wearing certain types of clothes, staying out late, or even going places alone. Growing up with such strict limits also discouraged me from even trying to challenge them - why have hope when I'm just going to fail? The defeatist, pessimistic nature of labels keeps us confined and crippled by self-doubt and insecurity. Criticism from a boss, close friend, or teacher can also reinforce the ways we label ourselves. Sometimes it only takes the slightest reminder to trigger our biggest fears and doubts.

Thankfully, I'm determined to challenge the ways I label myself. Despite the fears that I was going to look redonk, I wore that neon leopard bra. I danced and sang at the top of my lungs and stayed out late. And I had a fantastic time. My morning after guilt is inevitable after challenging myself, but it's no excuse for me to continue to abide by labels.

Do you believe that you have internalized labels that limit yourself from being who you are? What are some ways you label yourself? Are there things you believe you just can't or shouldn't do? What do you do to challenge these labels?

Thrifted Target tuxedo jacket; Forever 21 lace tank; Forever 21 sports bra; thrifted vintage skirt; White Mountain sandals; thrifted vintage Coach satchel; TIKKR watch; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelets

Outfit Post: Confessions of a control freak

There's a long list of things I would like to change about myself. There's my tendency to procrastinate - folding the laundry and cleaning the bathrooms and vacuuming and carrying out a myriad of other household tasks. There's my propensity towards driving too fast on the highway. And let's not forget my intolerance towards people that bring more than 15 items to the express check-out line at the supermarket. However, if I had to name what I'd consider my greatest character "challenge,"  I'd say it's my need to feel in control. I go through life the way I drive: gripping the steering wheel until my arms get all scary and veiny and it looks like I'm going to rip the damm wheel off.

Those with issues around control tend to be described by the following attributes: They are dominating, and picky, and highly critical. They are raving perfectionists. They would rather give orders than take them. Someone with control issues finds winning an argument much more fulfilling than finding the right solution, and often makes the people around them anxious, if not alienated. Furthermore, those with control problems often have difficulty trusting others and have a profound fear of having their flaws exposed. Exerting control over our environment is a fundamental human need, but in a certain portion of the population, the mechanism for managing such a need simply doesn't exist. "Control freaks try and control every aspect of the environment," says executive coach Jon Stokes of Stokes & Jolly. "They obsesses. They try to assemble masses of information"

I rationally understand that it's simply not possible for me to always be in control. But more often than not, I find myself struggling to feel like I am. Whether it's insisting on certain seat in a restaurant (usually facing the front entrance, so I can keep tabs on anyone entering and leaving,) or imagining any number of horrific scenarios (so I can work them through in my mind and plan exactly how I'll respond,) my need to feel in control of myself and my circumstances has a significant impact on my life.

For a long time, my need to control was directed at my body. From the foods I put in my mouth to the amount of calories I consumed, I was most definitely in charge and no one - no one - could change that. Studies have shown that many anorexic individuals try to exert control over their bodies through deprivation of food, because they feel very little control over any other aspect of their lives.

But now that I'm solidly in recovery, my control issues squeak out through my shopping habits and wardrobe. I'm constantly in search of the "perfect" piece - the right shade of denim skirt, the sublime touch of a glossy fur, the preppy cut of a slim vintage blazer, the glistening sparkle of a sequined top - and having the perfect wardrobe. It seems I never have the right items to make an outfit look, well, perfect. Nevermind the fact that my closet door is bursting off its hinges. I am convinced that if I keep shopping, and searching, somehow I'll get it right. And if I'm not shopping I'm reorganizing my closet, purging and categorizing and color-coding every item I own. When I feel my life is out of control, this is my self-soothing mechanism. I can't control how often my husband is out of town for work or what my kids do at school,  so I attempt to ease my anxiety by obsessing about shopping, the state of my closet, and dressing "perfectly."

For many women, the search for control is an anxiety management technique of choice. Focusing about what others are doing, compulsively trying make something perfect, or obsessing about appearance are ways through which we create a false sense of security in an unpredictable world. Yesterday, as I was reorganizing and editing and obsessing and categorizing my closet, I wondered if I was the only one who struggled with control issues.  The quest to make everything perfect seems to be something we all deal with at one point or another. Do you think there's a connection between a search for control and perfectionism? Has anyone ever called you a control freak? Do you have to deal with someone who fits the description? How has that affected your relationship?

(Have you entered my giveaway for a gift bag and new bronzing products from The Body Shop? Enter here!)

Lucky Brand jacket; thrfted J Crew chambray shirt; Forever 21 lace top; Gap Outlet jeggings; White Mountain sandals; Charming Charlie rings and bracelets

Everybody Everywear: Florals (with a bit about bra shopping)

If you are a woman, and you are wearing a bra, you are probably wearing the wrong size one. That's what they say. According to "experts"  and "surveys," anywhere between 70% to 85% of women are mistreating their breasts, either shoving them into too-small cups or allowing them to flop freely in stretched-out, ill-fitting bras. Origins of this statistic are mysterious - some websites blame it on a Victoria's Secret poll, others something from the Wacoal brand, and some a particularly stressful episode of Oprah. Even worse, in 2008 Jezebel referenced a study by "esteemed" U.K publication The Daily Mail which claimed that wearing the wrong bra size can permanently damage breasts. The terrifying notion that we are wearing the wrong bra size has been quoted back to me by my mom, friends, and basically every women's magazine I've flipped through. "Eighty-five percent of American woman are wearing the wrong bra" is the "more likely to be killed by a terrorist than get married" statistic of the new millennium.

The problem is so dramatic that Oprah devoted two full episodes addressing it. She lauded the importance of the professional bra fitting, proclaiming it "the beauty secret that literally produces miracles." According to Oprah and her team of experts, a bra fitting can reverse aging and "make you look ten, even twenty pounds lighter." The correct bra size also makes your clothes fit better, and  improves your posture. Squees Oprah, a professional fitting culminates in a bra-ha! moment, that magical experience where your boobs are lifted and supported and exotic white doves burst forth from the dressing room in a double rainbow display of ecclesiastical joy. Hmmm. By Oprah's description, getting professionally fitted for a bra falls somewhere between winning the lottery and finding a golden lamp with a wish-granting genie inside. Wrong Bra-Sizegate is so critical that Oprah's website includes a "Bra Intervention" section, profiling unfortunate creatures in before-and-after photos. And it can't be denied that these women look ecstatically happy in their new bras, grinning beatifically at the camera in their lacy concoctions.

Okay. To summarize, wearing the wrong size bra makes me look old, fat, and will permanently masticate my boobs. AND YET you could not pay me enough to get professionally fitted. Bras are my most dreaded item to shop for. There's too much uncertainty, too much itchy lace, too many complicated straps and hooks and pokey underwire and it's so cold that my nipples might poke someone's eye out and OH MY GOD WHY CAN'T I JUST BIND MY BREASTS DOWN WITH ELASTIC LIKE THE FLAPPERS DID THIS IS TORTURE STRESSYTIME AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!. Just the THOUGHT of some other WOMAN prodding my delicate ladybreastesses with her sure-to-be-freezing hands makes me break out in hives. Nothanx.

Some women hate shopping for swimsuits. To them, baring pasty winter skin to the hash light of a dressing room is akin to torture. For others it's jeans; and for some, it's shoes. Regardless of what women's magazines want us to think, shopping is not always the fun, carefree experience they gleefully preach. When your feet are a size eleven, finding properly fitting shoes is an exercise in patience and fortitude. Petite women struggle to hunt down pants that don't sweep the floor; plus-size women endeavor to locate flattering wedding gowns.

I know I'll have to get over my fear of the professional bra fitting, and expose my bosoms to a department store saleslady eventually. I don't want to look fat, or old, or give cause to my clothes not fitting as well as they could (though this pretty vintage floral dress seems made for me - new bra not necessary.) But for now, I'll avoid bra shopping, and focus my stress on something infinitely more challenging: deciding on a new bikini. Pass the Prozac.

So how about you - what's your most dreaded item to shop for? How do you deal with the challenge of shopping for a dreaded item?

Vintage thrifted 1970's silk dress; White Mountain clogs; vintage thrifted satchel; Charming Charlie and Forever 21 bracelets; Loft coral ring; Betsey Johnson gold watch