I'm home!
My trip to the hospital lasted from 6:00 in the morning on Tuesday to noon on Wednesday and involved a lot of awkward semi-sleeping, visits from sweet coworkers, watching bad TV with my boyfriend, many takings of my pulse, oxygen level & blood pressure, tons of drugs, and many very sweet nurses who loved having someone under the age of 60 on the floor. I apparently woke up from surgery moaning for Chapstick and putting on lotion for the first time after the surgery became one of the single most blissful feelings I've ever encountered. I painted my nails and started reading Serena by Ron Rash (my boss has challenged me to read 12 books while I'm out). I wore puffy leg wraps, which is a big upgrade from the puffy boots I had to wear last time. And now I can officially check "have a catheter placed" off my bucket list.
But most important, far more important than any of that: my surgery was a success, and my doctor is very pleased with how it went. Full recovery is highly likely, and after I have my one stitch (just one stitch!) out on November 10th, I'll start physical therapy. I was bedridden yesterday and nervous about getting up this morning, but once the physical therapist had me on my feet, I was so happy--I can sit and stand, walk and very carefully take steps if need be. I've been standing around a lot, just because it feels good. I mean...why not, right? The physical therapist thinks my biggest struggle will be remembering to take it easy; I'm moving pretty gingerly right now, but as my incision heals, I'm going to need to remind myself to take everything slow. I can't lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk right now, and I can't bend over much further than to lift the toilet lid. (At least I can make that happen.) I'm really looking forward to being able to bend over and pet my dog again.
Thank you all for your well wishes and support here and on Instagram! It was actually a lot of fun to keep up with everything via IG and show off my sweet boots and sharing the whole process was actually rather cathartic. I'll keep sharing too, I'm sure--nothing like some photos of bandages and PT to pass the time, and I can't wait to start taking outfit photos again!
And in case you were wondering, I was the best dressed patient when I was discharged--I wore this dress out of the hospital. Who says comfort has to come before style?
There's a certain beauty in bad news. There's always a story, there's always a topic of discussion surrounding it. It doesn't stand on its own laurels; there are extenuating circumstances.
On Friday, I reached an apex of pain that heretofore did not exist in my body. I was in such pain that I was sweating bullets and thought I was going to throw up. The nurse couldn't take my blood pressure because I couldn't sit, but I can tell you that if the machine had read my BP it would have been through the roof. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest.
I had already planned to be at my orthopedist's office because I had an MRI that Monday to assess the cause of on-and-off pain I'd been feeling in my butt (as I've been telling my friends, this is all a literal pain in my ass) where the hip and leg meet. It felt like it had been getting worse, so I headed into the tube. Friday was results day. Friday was my bad news day.
My L5-S1 disc, which is the very last disc in the human back, is recurrent. Which means it has herniated again, almost ten years after doing it the first time, when I was thrown off a horse. I don't know what caused the recurrence, but I have seen my fair share of lumbar MRIs (mostly my own) and when my doctor pulled up my MRI on the screen, I immediately started crying. And all I could really say was the word "fuck". Out loud and then in my head, over and over and over again.
The large black thing in the middle of this photo is my L5-S1 disc. The white crescent beneath it is my spinal cord. In a healthy back, the disc would be an oval and the spinal cord would be a circle.
There are no conservative solutions to this problem. No pills, no PT, no acupuncture is going to fix this. The only option my doctor has put forth is surgery.
While I was a strong advocate during my first injury of trying all the options, I ultimately spent a year "trying" and failing to relieve my pain. The only thing that fixed it was surgery, which took place in May 2006. And this time around, part of me is happy because I am not going to wait a year while being jerked around from office to office hoping for a miracle cure. My orthopedist is going IN. And that's all there is to it.
I did not realise how upset I'd be when faced with another surgery. But I am. It's honestly a scary proposition: someone slices open your back and removes something poking deeply into your spinal cord with a knife. One slip and I won't be able to walk ever again. But my doctor is one of the best in the area, and he's done this surgery so many times he can probably do it to himself. I'm still nailing down a date for surgery; I was originally scheduled for the end of November (by my choice), but I've decided to move it up a month because I am worried about the repercussions of waiting.
I will be out of work for a month. That's a little unnerving. I've only had a few days to process all of this, but some of the info has gone down easier that other parts of it. It's one thing to take a month of vacation, but it's another to be forced out of commission. I'm struggling with that. I'm sacrificing a lot, professionally and personally, to take the month of November off completely: multiple big programs at work, doing some very fun things (my first and probably only real Halloween party), and even voting at my poling place are all now off the table so I can be on the table. I've decided, though, to make the absolute best out of my convalescence (thanks Downton Abbey for the introduction to THAT word): I am going to paint and read graphic novels and watch documentaries and learn to poach an egg and make Julia Child's boeuf bourguignon. I'm not going to let this get me down. Work is such a big part of my life that being taken away from it for a month is daunting.
I've been really lucky: my parents, of course, will help me deal with this (it's pretty easy since I still live with them!), and the outpouring of support from my friends has been incredible. I have an amazing support system in so many levels: my boyfriend, my boss, my many coworkers who overlap as friends, and my long distance besties all have my back (insert back joke here). Knowing that these people are here during the good and the bad has made all the difference.
Blogwise, I don't think a whole lot will change--I'll probably be taking pause from outfit blogging for a bit because I won't be dressing for anything but PT, at least for part of the time. I'm going to hope that I can get up and about after a couple of weeks, which was what happened after my last surgery. Back surgery usually doesn't involve a lot of lying in bed like an invalid--the more I move the better, so maybe I'll be able to get back to outfit photos relatively soon. In the meantime, though, expect photos of books and poached eggs and cats and whatever else I do. I might even work on a very slight blog design upgrade. And I will no doubt be aggressively Instagramming every tiny bit of my convalescence as well.
So yeah. Back to our regularly scheduled blogging, starting tomorrow.
Necklace: Kate Spade | Top: Target | Skirt: Target | Heels: Urban Outfitters
We need to talk. Or more importantly, Abigail van Buren and I need to talk.
Today's article for Dear Abby included a letter writer who wanted advice on how to deal with her mother, who is uncomfortable with how the author, who is overweight, dresses around the house. Abby's response, to say the least, was devastating. I'm not quoting the letter or the response here because of possible copyright issues, but I urge anyone who reads this blog and respects me as a human (instead of a fatty fat who won't stop eating god get over it and eat some lettuce, etc.) should read the letter, and then read this:
The only word that can truly describe Abby's response is "presumptuous", and the only word that can truly describe my response is "disappointed". I agree with the first half of Abby's response--when you're in someone else's home, you have to respect their wishes. If someone wants you to take your shoes off, you take your shoes off, right? Even if it's your mom (hell, ESPECIALLY if it's your mom) you do what she says.
HOWEVER.
Abby's additional paragraph noting that the writer's mom would be prouder if she basically got off her ass and did something about losing some weight is what is called "fat shaming". This was noted by many in the comments, which mostly call Abby out on her sanctimoniousness and the lack of necessity to discuss the writer's weight. Dealing with your mom does not equal dealing with your weight. I've had my fair share of arguments with my mom over my weight and what I wear, though mostly this was when I was younger and struggling to dress myself; my mom wanted me to wear colours and dresses. All I wanted to wear was baggy jeans and hoodies that made me look even larger than I already was, or clothing that was way too small because I didn't know there were other options. (I think we're both happier now that I've accepted colours and dresses as my general dress code!) However, those were arguments that danced around much deeper situations, which is how a lot of daughters fight with their moms. And as a side note, my mom was disgusted by Abby's response.
Abby has no knowledge of the writer's personal health, whether or not she has medical issues, or perhaps even is overweight but it's ALL muscle. (Most NFL linebackers are considered obese, but most of them are also in excellent shape.) Some diseases and disorders make it nigh impossible to lose weight. Perhaps the writer has already lost 100 pounds and is really proud of her accomplishment, and Abby's cutting her down is going to give her a complex. We have no idea. What disturbs me most, though, is that as a longtime Dear Abby reader, I know Abby has always supported and advocating for being oneself and fuck the rest. Especially when it comes to LGBTQ rights and women's rights, Abby has been firmly in the corner of supporting everyone equally and treating all people with respect. However, this comes as an extreme slap in the face: for those of us who read Dear Abby and are not normally sized, this comes across as "you're fat so you're subhuman and you deserve to only make other people happy instead of yourself". And that is deeply disturbing.
Fat shaming--which involves making a person feel bad about his or her weight, either directly or indirectly--is wrong. ANY body shaming ("You're too thin! You need a burger!") is wrong. Flat out. We are all human. We all have emotions. We all have bodies, which are absolutely fascinating things and the fact that they work day in and day out to keep us alive should be celebrated, regardless of how said body looks. At the end of the day, our bodies should not be fodder for anyone else. We should be concerned with only ourselves and our happiness, and however it comes. Relying on someone else's happiness, as Abby suggests the letter writer should do with her mother, is crude, disturbing, and completely off the mark. And at the end of the day, the only business anyone should be into is his or her own. I'm not going to ask a stranger about his or her finances or sex life, right? So why the fuck is it cool do do that with weight? Being overweight, or underweight, or black, or white, or having tattoos, or having blue hair, or being pregnant, does not mean that one's body has become open season for discussion. It should never be that way.
I can only hope that Abby takes the time to read the comments on her response (and the letter I wrote her) and reconsiders her response and what she actually said. No one wants to read Dear Abby if Abby's going to be harsh. If you want that, you need to go read Carolyn Hax instead.
Cardigan: Target | Top: J.Crew Factory | Skirt: Talbots | Heels: Urban Outfitters
Summer has been hectic, to say the least; this was my first year at work kind of having control of our adult summer reading program, which was an encompassing program that covered all ten of our branches and involved a lot of work to put together--not that I'm complaining, because I love summer reading and I'm VERY proud of the program & how it came together. But it's kept me very busy! There are days where my boss and I will go home and she'll text me and say "are you as tired as I am?" and the answer is almost always yes. And although summer reading is over, there are still statistics to compile, reports to write, debriefing to do...and then my boss is going on sabbatical for a month. And my coworker (and my very good friend) C. has moved to Atlanta to pursue her Ph.D. in English literature. I cried when she told me she was leaving, and I'm crushed to see her go, but the amount of pride that I have for her makes my heart glow like a neon sign in the desert.
This is also my first summer in a very long time with a boyfriend. (I know you're all chomping at the bit to hear more about him, and I promise I'll do a post about him soon!) It's made things harder--we are technically long distance, although he lives a two hour drive away instead of a two hour flight away, like my last boyfriend did. We see each other most weekends, and sometimes even during the week. Having him to rely on for support when I need it has been amazing, but I've felt a bit of a struggle between the life I've had for the last three years of hanging out with my friends and doing whatever I want & the life I have now--the one where I actually have to consider what someone else wants. I've been on the road a lot since February, when we first started dating, replacing curling for the most part with visiting my boyfriend. We will, hopefully, not be so far apart for TOO much longer, but my time has been taken away from other things...like spending half an hour taking pictures of myself in an abandoned parking lot.
But oh, when I get the chance to take those photos of myself, how I cherish it. Right now, it's about the only time that I'm truly alone. A lot of my friends now will probably tell you I'm extroverted, but it's not exactly true--I like to be social and active, but I need a lot of time to unwind and separate from the world, and I don't get to do that very often. I miss the chance to document what I wear, and to be honest, I'm going to be repeating some outfits in the future so I can photograph them for the blog. I miss manipulating my camera, experimenting with framing, and being the only model I'll never have full control over. And most of all, I miss all of you. Having people who understand what it's like to do this silly thing where we take pictures of what we wear and put them online for other people to look at is essential to having the motivation to keep coming back, and I always get that from y'all. And you have no idea how much I appreciate it.
And also I'm really lazy, but I can get over that. The point of all of this is to explain myself, I guess, but also to just verify that I'm going nowhere. My priorities in life have shifted some, from school and curling to work and boyfriend, but none of it matters if I'm not wearing clothing. I'll keep wearing clothing, and I'll keep documenting it whenever I can. Like this outfit...for which I got the daylights bitten out of me by noseeums, but it was worth it.
This is a pretty introspective post.
I had a free day before the Governors Ball Music Festival started. After checking with my friend E., who kindly let me stay at her apartment in Brooklyn while I was in New York, I decided to travel a day early so I could be in New York for a day. Although I grew up in New Jersey, I grew up far enough from New York (state AND city) that I had only been there a few times. I've spent plenty of time in Philadelphia though! (Insert Philly jokes here.) I am a big art fan, and New York is one of the greatest cities on earth for that.
But in addition, I was interested in seeing the 9/11 Memorial Museum. I was a sophomore in high school on 9/11, and it's something that anyone over the age of...13 (holy whoa) has in common. We were all here, we know what happened. This museum has been a long time coming, and I wanted to see long wrought conclusion. It had just opened a couple of weeks before I visited New York, and I felt that if I didn't go then, I probably never would.
No day shall erase you from the memory of time. --Virgil
This is the only photo I took in the museum. I sat in front of it a lot.
I reserved my ticket online, then arrived at the museum a couple minutes after 11am, when I was scheduled to enter. I went through the metal detector and had my bag checked, then descended into the museum proper. I had to check my bookbag (which I later did at the Museum of Modern Art as well), and at first, I was all right. There's a hallway to enter into the museum that projects photographs on columns in the hallway, along with a map of the east coast spread across a wall, which lit up during the narration that played overhead explaining what happened that day. I pushed past the crowd gathered around the map--I saw the photos and I know play by play what happened on September 11th, and I don't need a recap.
The hallway opens into what used to be one of the lower floors of one of the towers. (I can't remember specifics of numbers and which tower was which because at this point things get blurry.) There's actually a balcony that overlooks a large two story room, which includes the uncovered foundation of one of the towers, and that was the point where things began to travel rapidly downhill for me. I started crying, which I didn't expect--I hadn't brought tissues, and I was paranoid about the hundreds of people around me who were snapping photos and reading the map and talking and laughing and whatever the hell else was going on at that moment. The only way to go was down, further into the large room, which led visitors through the construction of the towers. The escalator was aligned with the survivors' staircase, and I was deposited at the bottom next to the mural above, which is compiled of thousands of tiles made to depict the colour of the sky on September 11th. (Blue. Very blue.) Benches lined the wall opposite the mural.
I attempted to push forward through more of the museum, since I had just entered, after all, and maybe it got better! But it didn't. I couldn't stop crying. I got more and more emotional the deeper in I went, which was really not deep at all--I only got as far as that one room, which has smaller areas dedicated to the victims and some of the artifacts saved from the day. I imagine the museum is in roughly chronological order, since it started with the history of the construction, but between that and the Pentagon and the planes themselves and the vast amount of aftermath...I can't imagine how large the museum actually is. Obviously, I didn't make it through the entire building. I had to sit at one of the benches across from the blue sky mural multiple times, and eventually I had the wherewithal to ask a security guard to help me get out of the building. He walked me back to the main doors. I felt like I had been trapped in there for hours, but I only stuck it out for twenty minutes.
My saving grace was that no one stared at me, and no one behaved as though my actions were abnormal. On the way out, the guard handed me a tissue, but other than that, no one acknowledged that I was upset. And I think that was the healthiest thing for me, and the wisest choice for everyone involved. I spent the rest of the day eating French comfort food and absorbing everything at the Museum of Modern Art, which ended up being far more my speed.
I've been to two Holocaust museums, the one in Washington and the one in New York, and for some reason a lot of arguments surrounding 9/11 call upon the Holocaust in comparison. I was not emotionally moved at either Holocaust museum in the way that I was at the 9/11 Museum. I'm usually not really emotionally moved at all--I have a tendency to internalize, which I understand is not healthy, but that's how I react to most things. But for some reason, the 9/11 Museum was different. I wasn't personally invested in 9/11 in any way--no family members died or were even in New York; all of my family lives in south Jersey, and has for a long time. I have no attachment to New York and have actually always kind of hated it (too loud, too dirty, too crowded, etc.), and no friends were affected by the events of September 11th.
There has been a significant amount of discussion about the 9/11 Museum and the thousands of details regarding its existence, from the location of the museum and its very existence to the fact that it has a gift shop. For what little it's worth, I think that overall, the museum (what of it I saw) is well done. It's hard to make a museum about a topic like this, and it's hard to make money to keep it running (the reason for the gift shop, and the reason for charging admission). It's an essential museum for the people who will live in America and in the world in the future, because otherwise, the memory will weaken. It won't disappear, but consider the emotion of someone who lived through Pearl Harbor versus those of us who were born long after that. There's a detachment. And while the detachment will be there in the future, having a visual reminder in concrete will help others understand.
That said: I don't think I'll never set foot in the museum again. The memorial was beautiful and perfect and I wouldn't mind if I ended up back on the property again. And maybe I'll change my mind someday, but as of right now, I can't envision ever going back in. I had a headache the size of Brooklyn after crying so much, and there's so much I never saw. That I'll never see. And I think it's best that way. The museum exists for a purpose, and it's very important for people to go, people who otherwise have no comprehension of what happened that day. But it isn't the museum for me.
At least no one can say I didn't try.
"Will you play sexy librarian with me?"
I've heard this a number of times before. Sometimes jokingly, sometimes seriously. Being a librarian runs the weird spectrum of either being a stuffy, angry old lady with a severe bun and severer glasses to being super-sexy with a half open button down and and a short, super tight pencil skirt. Compare these two images, for example.
Kill me now, please.
I didn't get into librarianship because I was a grump old coot or a sex bomb. People don't (usually) pick their life careers based on how they look or want to look to others. But there's no other profession, I think, that has the level of physical stereotyping that librarianship does. I don't know about you, but when I was young, I never encountered either of the librarians above. My first librarian was a 30something African-American woman with short hair who wore khakis. My second librarian was a grumpy old man, a rarity in the field. I work in a public library now, which is what the average person thinks of when he or she hears "librarian", and my coworkers now run the sheer gamut, though they are mostly women, and a solid 80% of them don't wear pencil skirts or buns.
I've never introduced myself as a librarian: I'm not really officially one until December 16th, and I hate telling people I'm something I'm not, even though most people look at all library employees the same way. We're all librarians, from the pages who shelve the books to the head of HR to the systems department, who may not even know how to work our staff client that handles everything from searching for books to cataloging and patron information (our ILS, for those of us who really are librarians). We're all librarians, even though we're not, and we're crammed into these two stereotypes, even though we're not.
I don't generally blog my outfits as a librarian and how a librarian dresses, but just how I dress on a day to day basis. Most of these outfits are for work, of course, but I also write about what I wear to concerts and weddings. I am a librarian at neither of those things. But aren't we all defined by what we do? When someone says "tell me about yourself" or "who are you", don't you first explain your job? And at heart, I am a librarian. I just wish that didn't mean that I simultaneously dragged "sexy" and "grumpy" behind me like a ball and chain.
For a view of the actual broad range of librarian style, take a look at Amber's Check Us Out linkup from Friday. Screw buns and pencil skirts!
I was bit with a nasty bug this week, and I missed SIA. I also haven't been able to do outfit posts, so in lieu, here's a post that I've been building the balls to post for a while. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but please be civil. It has taken a lot for me to post this.
There are a few reasons for this post, but at the heart of them all is the fact that I am very slowly and increasingly becoming happy with my body. Don't rob me of that, you skinny sons of bitches who think that all fat people are asking for a heart attack and deserve to die because they're overweight and a suck on the health care system. Here are the five reasons why I don't want to lose weight.
Reason 1. I like my closet.
I really, really do. I've been the same size my entire adult life. Lucky number 18. (OH MY GOD, SHE SAID IT.) I have a bit of wiggle room--sometimes I have to go up to a 20 or down to a 16--but for the most part, 18 is where I've stayed. And that's nice, and that's predictable, and I don't have to worry too much about fluctuation when I go shopping. My problem areas (arms, stomach, hips) have always been the same, while my assets (ass, waist, calves) have similarly remained. When I started working at my job four (!) years ago, I was allowed to wear jeans and t-shirts. Which was good, because that was all I owned. When I was promoted to a position that involved significant interaction with the public (mostly from the waist up, from behind a desk), my wardrobe needed an upgrade, and fast. So I began buying nice tops to go with the trousers I already owned. And when I was promoted to another position that involved significant interaction with the public from both behind and away from a desk, I realised I had to work on a full wardrobe.
So over the last three years, I have diligently cultivated a beautiful wardrobe filled with items for all the parts of my body that both cover me and look good on me. I take my clothing seriously, because I know that I have one shot to make a first impression on every patron I see. I may dress weirdly to some people (mostly older patrons and the ultraconservative), but at work I have achieved a little mini-following of patrons (mostly women, but a few men too) who love to see what I wear. And because of that, I've been able to build a trust with them that some other employees haven't been able to do.
I've thought about making the effort to lose a sizable amount of weight before, but as selfish and materialistic as it sounds, I don't want to have to say goodbye to my entire wardrobe and start from scratch. I also don't have the money for that. I also don't have the money to tailor all the clothing I would want to keep.
Reason 2. I don't want to become obsessed with weight.
I have some friends who have lost large amounts of weight, and I laud them for that. It's fantastic. But often, those friends have become obsessed with calorie counting or fitness class hoarding, and eventually, they become their weight loss. I can't stand that. You are far more than your weight. Haven't you read a book lately? What's happening at work? How are your parents? You can't tell me that the only thing you have to talk about is your weight loss. And I worry that I wouldn't have the resolve to not be overly obsessed and eat, sleep and breathe weight loss.
When people come up to me and say "oh, you've lost weight!" or "have you lost weight? you look good!", I know it's meant as a compliment, but a little bit of me takes joy from not taking the bait and falling into a weight loss obsession/discussion. Since I don't weigh myself, I can't say for certain if I'm gaining or losing weight. It's stayed relatively stagnant since college, though, and not enough to drop or gain a size. I can't stand the obsession our society has with weight and scrutiny based on sizes both large and small. Talking about weight makes me extremely wary--writing this post has required pushing aside a significant amount of discomfort--and I don't want to have to deal with it any more than I already do, which I definitely would if I lost weight.
Reason 3. I want to be strong, not skinny.
It's one thing to be thin, but it's another to be strong. I'm clearly not small and never will be, but I also am not currently very strong. Two flights of stairs makes me tired. I used to have rock solid calves in college from riding 5-6 days a week, but they're pretty soft now. I like the feeling of strength, of being able to lift this, push that. I want my body to be more capable of doing things, but I don't necessarily care if that means I'll weigh 120 or 220. I don't really care about getting to a goal weight, but I do want parts of my body to not be lumps of fat. I recently joined a gym. It isn't open yet, but T. and I are actually a bit excited about going. The most important thing to me was that there was weight lifting equipment, and there will be a lot of it! I hate treadmills, but I really miss having strength. Strength is a beautiful thing.
Reason 4. I kind of like my shape.
I'm not totally sure what I am. I've never labeled this blog as anything aside from a personal style blog, but I seem to have found both plus size and straight size followers. And I'm happy with that. I have no idea what other people think when they look at my body--am I a "bbw", or plus size, or an Amazon, or Rubenesque, or what? I'm not a big fan of labels, but when it comes to my body, there doesn't seem to be one that works, and I kind of hate that. It feels a lot like Max's dilemma a recent episode of Happy Endings--the one time you want a label and a group to belong to, there is none.
But regardless of what I may be, at least labelwise, I know one thing: I am curvy as fuck. You've seen my silhouette, right? The circumference of my waist is a full foot smaller than that of my hips, and if that isn't curvy, I don't know what is. I don't know, though, if I would maintain that shape if I lost weight. It's taken me a really, really long time to not hate my body, and now that I've finally gotten used to it, I don't want to say farewell. It's kind of like having a really ugly mole, and you hate it, but it's part of you, and then your doctor's like oh no, we have to remove it, and then you get rid of it, and then you miss it. You know?
Reason 5. Fuck the haters.
Some people would probably read this post and think "she's just making excuses not to lose weight and feel better about being soooo fat". And sure, you could look at it that way. But you know what? I don't really give a shit what those people think. Similar to many other social issues--marriage, childrearing, abortion & "personhood"--my body is my business. Don't judge others lest ye be judged, or something like that. I don't think anyone, aside from a doctor, is in a position of deciding whether someone is healthy or not based on the actual shape and size of one's body. The vast majority of linebackers in the NFL, for example, are considered obese according to the body mass index, but they are physically fit. On the other end of the spectrum, some people can be exceptionally thin and healthy too. There's no perfect system for any of this, which is why I don't give a shit if you think I'm fat. And honestly, if you're reading this blog, you probably feel the same way.
Ok! So Tempest of Ellomennopee tagged me to do this Liebster Award deal where you post 11 things about yourself, than answer 11 questions posed by the awarder. This is a relatively serious post, especially compared to most of my posts, which have a slightly herp-de-derp feel to them. (I am proud of that.) It is also rather long. Just a warning. Grab a snack, go pee before you do this. Ok, ready? Here we go!
11 random things about me.
1. I love cottage cheese. omg, you guys, really. Large curd from Publix is it. When I was younger, and Wawa made cottage cheese, I ate like a tub a day of that stuff.
2. I feel like grad school has, thus far, been a waste of my time and money. I definitely understand why I've had to take the classes I have, but as a library employee for the past four (!) years, I wish there had been a way to place out of all the intro classes I had to take. Thus far, I've only really enjoyed two classes--one on music libraries, and one on young adult materials, which I'm taking now. I could go on and on, but point being that library school has been a necessary evil for me to continue on the path of upward mobility; I've reached the glass ceiling in terms of positions I can have without a master's degree. And this goes for almost any sizable public library. I have senioritis already, and I'm only barely halfway done!
Library school on the left, my brain on the right. FLEE, FLEE!
3. My very first favourite book was The Color Wizard. Oh, apparently it was a fairly new book when I first read it at 4 years old! How neat. Anyway, it was a sign of things to come. It's a story about a wizard who lives in a grayscale world and decides to turn the place into a colourful burg. I loved it and I definitely remember reading it ALL THE TIME. My second favourite book was The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses. Similar art style, & I loved tracing the pictures.
4. It's a summer of concerts already, y'all. My coworker A. and I are going to see Bruno Mars in August, and ex-neighbour/current friend & coworker T. and I are making the long haul to Raleigh to bid farewell to Streetlight Manifesto, who are taking an indefinite break from touring. T. and I are going to the Package Tour with New Kids on the Block, 98 Degrees and Boys II Men in June. I'm hoping Kesha and Vampire Weekend run tours over the summer too. I'd give an arm and a leg to see Vampire Weekend live, and Kesha...well, you know.
No but really.
5. Aside from required weigh ins at the doctor, I can't remember the last time I weighed myself, and I have no problem with that.
6. When I was growing up, I almost never wore vibrant colours. I wore navy, gray, black and olive. Seriously. Even in college it was rare for me to have a tee shirt that was red or yellow or green. My mother used to call my outfits "drab". Not anymore, thankfully!
7. I have seriously considered shaving my head for St. Baldrick's. I still might someday.
8. I first started working in the library as a page, shelving children's books during summer reading. I was busted once for reading Madeline's Christmas. It was worth it.
9. In case you're just joining us here at Animated Cardigan (I was at Nicole's a bit ago and Audrey's sent over quite a few readers!), I am a massive Philadelphia Eagles fan. Despite that, though, I have never had the pleasure to see a game in person. I did, however, get to see the Phillies back when they were still in the Vet.
fly Beagles fly
10. I do not enjoy reading nonfiction. It is very rare for me to really want to read nonfiction, and it has to be the right kind of book--I liked Moonwalking with Einstein and found great appeal in The Philosophy Book & nonfiction graphic novels like Persepolis, but I vastly prefer fiction. I've been mocked for that, but I don't care. Life's too short to read what you don't like, and I get paid to figure out what novels people will like. Sometimes a patron will want recreational nonfiction, and I know a fair bit about that genre--just don't ask me to read it.
11. The most exciting thing about graduating from grad school is that I'll have time to ride my horse again. I'm sure he's pleased with the current situation, but he's getting FAT. That's a problem! There's no room for body acceptance when you're a horse whose breed has a history of overeating and and founder. Also he really likes being ridden, so I don't think he'll be too offended when we get back into the swing of things.
Hammy!
And now, Tempest's questions for me! I really like her questions. I feel like I'm being interviewed for a Buzzfeed article on small style blogging!
1. When you find a new blog in the sea of blogs, what are the characteristics that make you follow it? I'd be a real liar if I said photography doesn't play a part. I follow quite a few blogs, but the ones that I really read and follow with interest are ones that usually have some crumb of photographic skill. (You guys. Get outside once in a while. You can do it!) I also find self-photographed blogs appealing (remember Monkeyface? Miss her so!), because I receive SO much inspiration from those blogs and they push me further in terms of how I photograph myself. That definitely isn't THE reason I follow a blog though--there are some blogs with great photography and I just don't enjoy what the blogger writes, so I don't follow. The excellence of one isn't enough to counter act the failings of the other. Having a personality certainly helps, as does a sense of style! I tend to be offput by a constant c/o--I kind of look at my clothing as a collection, and I'm the curator, and there has to be a set goal (a representation of your self through clothing) for the collection. "whatever x, y and z sent" is not a collection. Style has to be personal, and that's what I want to see in a blog, through and through--from the design to the photos to the clothing. (I'm not as serious about it as I sound though!) For non-style blogs, I look for good pictures, good content, and a healthy sense of humor. If I want to read something dry, I'll read The Atlantic.
Take good pictures! You'll thank me (and yourself) later!
2. Will blogging be the next Myspace, disappearing into obscurity in a few years? I don't think so, because of the level of original content involved. Myspace was, for the most part, a very cookie cutter site--very little customization, spam and bot ridden, creepier than all get out, and difficult to navigate. Myspace offered little room for any original content to breathe and expand. There are still so many blogs for so many different things that have yet to be created. It's a bit like blogging is working toward its own version of Rule 34, but it has yet to reach that level of saturation. Personal style blogging is a little different because you can look at it both ways--it was immediately saturated with the first blog about style, or it will never be saturated because each person as a different sense of style. There will always be people who think style blogs are an exercise in vanity, but isn't that most of the internet these days? Like Facebook--it's an exercise in indulging your vanity and indulging the vanity of others.
3. Have you experienced any negativity on your blog and how did you deal with it? Sure have, and it was about my smile :D I was pretty hurt by the comment that ignited my smile critique, and then infuriated, and then insulted, and then I got over it, all in about 10 minutes. I addressed it on Animated Cardigan in one post and have addressed it a couple times in comments, but I feel over and over again that I have to defend myself and the fact that I'm not a grinner. I've found a few traffic sources that criticized my smile (one in German!) and it was just so frustrating. Which is why I now link to my smiling post in my profile info to the right--people can complain, but I'd rather they have the full story before judging my lack of smile. With instant gratification available for blogs thanks to sites like GOMI and Reddit, it's easy for everyone to be a critic, when in real life he or she wouldn't say a word to a blog owner's face. It can be tough, but growing up in the north and working as a public servant have given me a tough skin, which has served me well.
Grin and bear it. Or don't.
4. Which is more important on a personal blog, style or content? Are we talking about personal style here? Blog design? Well, either way, I think it's a combination of both. You have to have some modicum of style (both blog style and personal style) to visually attract readers, and then, if you want to maintain readership, you have to have solid content. The style of your content is essential, as is the content of your style. It all rolls together. When Salazar and I created Style Imitating Art, I really thought I'd get an email after week one saying someone had already done this, and had done it much better. A year later and still nothing, and I think it's been a very successful and enjoyable venture. I think Salazar and I have both learned a lot about art and blog collaboration in the process, and I love how many stylish, creative women we've encountered along the way. With this feature, style and content are essential to its success, and I think it's similar for many features and creative concepts.
5. What appeal do smaller, non-professional blogs have to readers, if any? I think there's a really personal appeal that blogs lose as they grow bigger and bigger. When it comes to small blogs, there's very little c/o (my interactions with eShakti are it, and really the only sponsorship I want), there's little monetizing, if any, and posts are longer, more thoughtful, and less canned. If I feel like saying something, I'll say it, and I won't be worried about offending a sponsor or losing readers en masse. (Or ending up on GOMI.) Writers of small blogs seem more attainable, more normal, more human. I read blogs like those written by Kendi and Tieka, and they're great, stylish women, but they're already so established in the style blogging world that it takes a significant amount of effort to even contact them and receive a response & their posts have reached a point of being relatively similar, although they talk about different things everyday. The content begins to stale for some reason. On the other hand, bloggers like Gracey and Heidi are easy to find, contact and connect with. I love Heidi's stories about life up in Minnesota, and Gracey's always going to some fun crazy party that probably involves dressing up like it's an episode of Dynasty. They're also really sweet people, and so easy to reach. The accessibility factor is really appealing for readers, as well as for people who are just starting their own blogs.
Would you ever see a picture like this on Cupcakes and Cashmere?
6. Do you find blogging fuels your consumerism? Well, yes and no. I imagine my consumerism would be well fueled, blog or no blog. I like to shop, but I don't chase trends (one look at my outfits probably reveals this). I know fit and flare is a trend now, but...isn't that the basic line of every dress since the 1950s? A-line? But back to the point--I am a consumer, plain and simple, and I probably always will be. In a way I'm very proud of the closet I have so carefully curated over the years (my style history has been a long struggle with my body and clothing and I deserve to be proud of what I've created), and I've finally gotten to the point where there are no major gaps in my wardrobe. I bought a great LBD in November, and I think that was the grand finale to things I really "needed". I will admit, though, that I do feel the pressure to keep finding amazing skirts! I think that's nice pressure for me though, because now I'm not willing to accept just any skirt--it has to be something special to appear on this blog (& as such it needs to be special for me to buy it), and in that way, Animated Cardigan has actually helped me rein in my consumerism and be more critical of what I purchase and how I wear it.
Really, so proud.
7. Does blogging and social media ever make you feel like you are living life through a camera? No, but I'm not very active on social media. I have a Twitter account & I use Instagram and Pinterest, but I update my Twitter once a week if we're all lucky, and I peruse Pinterest every day or two. Instagram I check regularly, because I don't have to invest much time. It's easier, with a small blog, to stay a step or two behind in social media. I respond to Dani when she tweets me, and I talk to Erin sometimes on Instagram, but I really don't get that involved. I find Twitter very difficult to follow, and I don't feel the need to invest in much else. I tried to be a member of IFB, but it was too much effort for me. With grad school and life at home, I don't really have a lot of time to devote to fucking around on Twitter, and I'm kind of thankful for that. I'm a little worried that I'll get sucked into social media when school ends, but hopefully I'll find other things to fill my time, like reading books and watching shitty reality tv. Oh, what's that? I do that already? OOPS
8. People evolve all the time, do you ever feel the need to edit old posts? Nah. I'm one of the few people I know who hasn't dug through old Facebook photos and untagged anything (except spam), either. If I end up at an old post and find typos, I'll fix them, but I don't devote myself to rewriting the past. I just think that's unrealistic, and I don't believe in trying to alter my past to look more favourable or different in any way. I am what I am and what I always have been, and if I have changed, then it's good to look back and see from whence I came. It might be embarrassing, but it's silly to get so riled up over it that you feel the need to edit your prior self to match your current self. Growth and change are two of the things that make us human. Also, opposable thumbs, but they have nothing to do with this question.
This is a legit picture of me on Facebook. Really, I don't untag anything. (A striped shirt! Look at me go!)
9. Do you ever feel shy to tell people about your blog and why? Yes, quite a bit. I don't have as much of a problem telling women--there's a level of vanity we've all reached where we can kind of understand taking pictures of our outfits--but one of my coworkers recently mentioned my blog in front of a male coworker/friend, and I turned red as a beet and was absolutely insistent that she not show him my blog. I don't know if she ultimately did or not (hi A. & W.?), but my slight fit over it probably didn't quell his interest any. But that base level of vanity that women have is often a level of vanity many men never attain or understand unless they're actively involved with a blog like this in some fashion (photographer, editor, model, etc.). I sometimes wonder, when I date someone, when the right time is to mention that I traipse around town with a tripod and take pictures of myself. Is that a fifth date thing? Tenth? Hide it until death?
10. How much do you think about your online identity and how do you decide what is too much information to share? This is something I try to be careful about, because I work for the government and I don't want to reveal the wrong information without knowing it. If I talk about my job on this blog, it's in mostly vague terms--I run a book discussion group, the internet went down, Nooks are obnoxious--and I never talk about coworkers in a negative light or patrons at all. I haven't revealed my exact location, though Cardiganland is in northwestern South Carolina, or my last name. I have an email address specifically for this blog. There are places where things overlap and wires get crossed and if people were really desperate to know who I was, they would find a way. But I doubt I'm that interesting. And my personality? None of that's fake. None of it is TMI. (Maybe the frowns are TMI, I don't know. Whatever!)
This shot is from a post I wrote on my real personality.
11. What is the most rewarding part of blogging? Knowing that I've inspired someone in some way. About a year after I started this blog, one of my best friends from college me texted me and said "I got the nerve to belt a cardigan today, and it's because of you". I was blown away. I've gotten comments and emails from friends, family, and complete strangers about my style and how it has allowed them to inch a little bit outside of their comfort zone, and that's just incredible. I try to help with photography tips when I can, because I know that among small blogs, Animated Cardigan is one of the self-shot blogs that has a real emphasis on photography first, outfit second. Which has bitten me in the ass a few times, but I loved photography first! But anyway--being able to show someone how to compose a photo or figure out the difference between shutter and aperture is amazing. Helping people--women in particular--realise that they can be self-sufficient and run a blog like this one or dress like me or even take better pictures, all by themselves, now that's an exceptional reward.
And that was the end of that.
Thanks to Tempest for tagging me for these questions! I had a great time answering them and getting a little introspective. I personally am not a big fan of tagging people in these kinds of things because it gets a bit exclusionist & I don't want to offend my fellow blogettes by picking some but not others, but I'd LOVE to hear everyone's thoughts on these questions, because they're absolutely fantastic! If you decide to respond to them too, please let me know so I can read them (my blogroll backup is very high because of school. Oh, woe.). You can also always leave a comment!
Cardigan: Target | Dress: Anthropologie | Heels: Urban Outfitters
This is what my hair looks like when I wake up in the morning. In case you were uncertain. AND YES THIS DRESS HAS PONIES ON IT ISN'T IT AMAZING?!
I received a lot of comments about my tattoo on my last post, so I thought I'd share the whole thing. It is an Alexander Calder mobile, which currently hangs from the ceiling of the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art. There is a very personal story behind it that I haven't shared with anyone, but it involves perseverance of the strongest type. For the most part, people just think I really like art, and that's definitely not untrue!
I got this tattoo the weekend after Halloween because I had a really rough week at work, and the only thing I could think of that would truly distract me from the stress was physical pain. Since I'm not SUPER willing to sling myself down the steps, I got a tattoo instead. And it worked--for 45 minutes all I felt was searing pain (the blue one hurt the most since it's right on the ball of my shoulder), and it was wonderful. I went alone of a Sunday afternoon, and my mom has seen it once while my dad has seen half of it. They're both aloof about it--they don't like tattoos--but due to the personal nature of this one, I wanted it somewhere that would be easily hidden in case I didn't want prying questions, and it's perfect; the only time you can see it is if I wear something sleeveless, which is rare. And I've found thus far that people are less likely to ask about a tattoo if they can't see the whole thing.
Coworker R. and I recently had a discussion about tattoos, and he's a firm believer that the reason we get tattoos is for them to be seen. Why would I get a tattoo where I wouldn't show it off? I countered by saying that it's seen, just not by him or anyone else. It's pretty rare to get a tattoo specifically for oneself and not want to show it off, and Randy at Empire Tattoo in Asheville did a brilliant job; it's absolutely beautiful, and everyone I know who has seen it (R. has not) agrees. But it's a reminder for me, every morning when I look in the mirror to wash my face, to always persevere. To never stop fighting, to never give up. And I don't need anyone else to see it to be sure of that.
Bonus! Here's a picture of me dancing to Ke$ha in my head. Yeah, her album's that good.
Necklace: JCPenney | Sweater: JCPenney | Skirt: Talbots | Tights: Target | Heels: Urban Outfitters
I have a tendency to stockpile best friends. I know some really amazing, incredible women (and men!), and I can't pick just one. I mean, if I had to pick a maid of honor, I'd do it, but the rest of them would be bridesmaids. They're all important to me for very different reasons, and it's like comparing apples to oranges to peaches to broccoli to radishes. All amazing, all revered, all different.
Two of my best friends, Q. and A., are from my hometown. We spent a vast majority of our formative years together, and to this day we talk and text and send pictures and whatever all the time, though we're very far apart. Today, however, they're within miles of each other and they're both dealing with a very difficult situation that may change the places where they live--and the place where I grew up--permanently. Although Q. was able to evacuate inland, A. and her parents chose to ride out Sandy in their house. Thanks to strategic planning when her parents designed their house, they are situated atop a manmade hill that has thus far protected them as the bay swelled to nine feet above normal levels. Q. is just hoping their flat roof doesn't collapse.
I don't believe in god and I don't pray, but tonight I am keeping my fingers firmly crossed for two of the greatest people I know. Seeing photos of your hometown decimated by a natural disaster is never fun, but it's worse when you know the people on the other side of those pictures. It's no longer an article on Buzzfeed or a slideshow on the Weather Channel's website. It's the people and places I love. So cross your fingers for them too, okay? They can't see you do it since they've both lost power, and you live all over the world, but they'll still appreciate it. and so will I.
Necklace: handmade | Cardigan: J.Crew Outlet | Dress: Loft Outlet | Tights: Target | Boots: Off Broadway
Real talk: I'm actually an unflattering combination of introverted and bitchy in real life. This developed after my long battle with depression, because I went from having the vaguest shadow of personality to having too much, I guess. As such, I've made life a lot more difficult on myself. I don't blame anyone else for this, I just have to deal with my own consequences for opening my mouth in the wrong way at the wrong time, for lack of a better way to go about things. I have a hard time making friends, a harder time keeping them, and the hardest time of all letting them go. I'm an awful person to people I actively like because I have no idea how else to respond. I can't take a compliment and I don't know when, where or how to enter a conversation. The same with leaving one. I overthink my responses to every question, and then I'm left dumbstruck when the questions are actually asked.
Fortunately, with this blog, I have all the answers. In the deep recesses of my heart, I'm a nice person, but I don't know how to make that shine in person. I come off snarky and moody instead of witty and spry, but I can edit my words and my pictures and my style (writing, fashion, photographic) to come off as I want to. So thanks for seeing the best of me and appreciating what I have to offer, even if it's only in a digital medium.
Anyway, I'll be on vacation for the rest of the week. I'm not taking my computer with me, so I won't be posting outfit pictures, but expect a lot of them when I get back!
