Why I don't want to lose weight

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.

On my personality

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!

On smiling

Brooch: mom | Dress: Loft Outlet | Belt: off a skirt from Kohl's | Wedges: Target
Eleven of thirty

This dress in, pink cardigan out. A smart move, I think. I hope. Though now that I think about it, this is the third blue dress in my 30x30. OH WELL!

Can we talk for a second about my smile? I've been meaning to address this topic for a while now, at least ever since I received a comment on this here post that I looked "terminally unhappy". My responding comment sums up how I feel about what the commenter said, but this comment is a drop in the bucket compared to the plethora of comments I've received in life that I look miserable, I should smile more, that I need to cheer up, etc. So I'd like to respond to everyone telling me what to do with my own body by saying please, leave my smile alone. I get it. I have a style blog, I'm supposed to frolic blissfully in fields with my attractive photographer husband and two small dogs until I decide to work on my style book/boutique/flower business or some bullshit like that, but that's not who I am or how I live my life. If I run off a potential reader because I'm not smiling, well, I can think of worse reasons for them to be run off. Like my sense of style. Since that's what Animated Cardigan is actually about.

My smile and I have been at odds for a very long time--ever since I was kindly notified that I have what my bff A. and I now refer to as my "freakishly small teeth". And they really are, and I'm cool with that. But I don't have the personality to make a wide, toothy grin seem authentic. But apparently, even when I do smile (I normally smile with my lips closed, but I'm training myself into a top-teeth-only smile like the one above) I get comments that I don't look happy. I'm letting everyone in on a big secret: this is just my face. The picture above, on the right? Just my face when the muscles are at rest. My mouth is simply physically incapable of my looking like a freakish clown or the happiest doll child ever when I smile, and I resent the fact that anyone should tell me to do so. It actually makes me far less likely to smile, and then everyone's unhappy because no one wins when I give the Stone Cold Face of Mean.

My coworker D. once got in trouble at another job because a customer claimed she was offended by D. since D. "didn't smile". I've been reverse cat called on boardwalks and in streets that I'm so beautiful, but why don't I smile? Perhaps it is because I am "terminally unhappy" (I have, in fact, been there and done that so forgive me my mild sensitivity to that off-handed remark). Perhaps I just had to put my cat down. Perhaps I was just laid off. Perhaps I want to set my ex's car on fire. The insinuation, out of the blue--or even while we're in the middle of discussing it--that I look unhappy, without knowing any of the internal makeup of today's scowl, is not only unfair, but it is also rude and degrading. Just as with any other public comment on appearance, other people usually hear, and other people usually look. If you were desperate enough to spend time looking through the AC archives, you'd notice that since the comment I mentioned above, I've smiled--or what I think is smiling--in nearly every post. Because now I know that other people are looking, and apparently I have to look happy, even when I'm fucking miserable, because god forbid anyone should let their facial muscles relax around these parts. If that's what's stopping me from having 3000 followers, well, I'll frown all damn day to keep the attitudes at bay.

Coming tomorrow: an equally witty diatribe on feet and WHY ARE THEY SO UGLY????*



*Just kidding, it's going to be about elbows.

On cemeteries

Necklace: Target | Sweater: JCPenney | Skirt: Ann Taylor Outlet | Heels: Urban Outfitters | Nails: butter London Tea with the Queen

I could say a lot today, but I'd rather discuss this.
I haven't thought much about cemeteries, nor spent much time in them. I think this is where the trouble starts for most of us. There's a real clinical privatization of cemeteries and death in general by Americans (I don't know if it's the same in other countries). In the book I'm currently reading, the author describes a game designed specifically for use in cemeteries. At first I thought it sounded kind of ridiculous--who would do that in a place of the dead?--but the more I thought about it and the more I read, the more I realized that cemeteries are for the dead, but they're about the living. Consider this: when you're dead, do you want your body (or your ashes, if you have those buried) to be left alone for all eternity, in a space where people thing your existence should be "respected"? The average grave is visited exactly twice after it is created. Twice ever. Or would you rather have running dogs, playing children, bike riders and joggers and picnickers hanging out six feet above you? I greatly prefer the prospect of the latter. I'll probably never see my grandfather's grave again, and that breaks my heart. But I would be happier to take solace knowing that other people are indirectly keeping his spot in the universe company, playing and running and using his cemetery as it was originally intended, as a public park. I may honestly be the first person to set foot in the cemetery in today's pictures in a year or so, I don't know. It's not in the best shape, unfortunately, as with most historical cemeteries. But I went, and visited, and socialized with the graves. And on my way out, I promised I'd come back. We, as humans, need to come back to our open spaces, especially at a time when everything is being built bigger and taller and more imposing. And the dead need us to come back and keep them company. I'll always be respectful--and last I checked, respect involved some sort of interaction. So I'll be there, sometimes with my camera, sometimes with a sandwich. Maybe sometimes with some friends to play a game. This stump is the right size for a Monopoly board, after all. But I refuse to fall under the privatization of mourning any longer; I prefer the public embrace of remembrance.

On Say Anything

My best friend E. once said that a favourite band is the kind of band that is there for you, not just the other way around. You look at parts of your life history, and that band's music is playing in the background. Not necessarily that you were listening to their album when you got into grad school or met the love of your life, but when you think about those times, they meld in your memory with songs your favourite band gave to you. You listened, and you made them part of yourself.

Say Anything has been there for me since 2005, when I first saw their video for Alive with the Glory of Love on Fuse, which at some point stopped airing music videos, just like all the other stations did. I was initially struck by how hot the bass player was, but pretty rapidly I turned my attention to the song, which was catchy, but had an incredibly lyrical and fantastic story--that of the lead singer's grandparents during the Holocaust. I loved it, I couldn't get enough of it, I wanted more. So I went to Best Buy (sigh, no local music stores here) and found their first official album, ...Is a Real Boy, for something sad like $7.98, and bought it. And listened, and listened, and fell so desperately in love with every song in a very different way. Music lovers all have those albums, ones where they just can't get enough. They listen for weeks, months, years. For me, ...Is a Real Boy played on a continuous loop for 5 months. (The only album that's beaten that is Keasbey Nights Vol. 2 by Streetlight Manifesto, which is another monster entirely.) And I still go back and listen again and again. It's a fallback. There are some albums I can't listen to from the 2004-2006 time period of my life, but I'm so grateful that ...Is a Real Boy isn't one of them.

Last month, Say Anything released their fourth album, Anarchy, My Dear, and for the first time, I listened twice, and turned it off. I didn't like it. And I expected this--the previous two albums were the same way, where I had to listen and focus and find a place in my heart that hadn't been taken by ...Is a Real Boy where I could put other songs. But I always found space. This time, though, I felt like this album didn't deserve space. I was in a different car, juggling a million things, and suddenly a much different person. Say Anything had changed too--the lead singer was married, mentally stable (thankfully!), on a different record label. Did Say Anything still have room for me? And more importantly, did I still have room for Say Anything?



So I drove around for a month, in my different car with my different life, wondering if this was the end. After what felt like torture, I finally got my car back from the shop (an exceptionally happy moment for me), and when I slid back into the seat, I suddenly felt it. The craving. The same craving I had after the first time I heard Alive with the Glory of Love, when I realised I was missing something I didn't know existed. I suddenly was missing Anarchy, My Dear, and I wasn't going to move without it. And since then, it's been playing nonstop, on its loop, and I am beginning to appreciate every single song for what each one is. A bitterly sweet love song (So Good), a fuck off opus (Peace Out), an alt-country powerhouse (Anarchy, My Dear). At 11 songs, it's the shortest Say Anything album, but it's not the weakest. And I'm happy to have realised that, even if it's late in coming.

So over the last seven years and three albums and countless tours, I've been there. Four times live, and a solo acoustic show from the lead singer. (That's where the picture at the top came from.) I'll be there a fifth time in two weeks, and I'll keep being there. I have so many memories from the last seven years, and every time I look back, there's a song playing. And far more often than not, it's Max Bemis's voice I'm hearing. I can already see moments of my life in the future (grad school graduation, walking into my first house, getting married) and hearing Say Anything in the background. And I'm really happy about that. They'll always be there, these six guys with their guitars and painfully honest lyrics, and no one will ever take that away.

So maybe I should get a Say Anything tattoo next??? Just kidding. Tell me about your favourite band.

On bookshelves

Scarf: Target
Top: Target
Dress as skirt: Anthropologie
Tights: Target
Wedges: Shoe Carnival



In relatively unexciting (but exciting to some of you) news, my bookshelf is fully assembled and mostly filled! I warned most of you that I actually don't own many books; I'm a library user through and through, and most of the books I do own are either Latin & Italian history books from college or books that are special to me--favourites, signed copies, etc. Beyond that, most of my Latin books are actually boxed up right now, and I'm trying to decide if I want to haul them out and put them in my bookshelf which I will eventually have to move or if I want to use the shelf space for other things. The latter will likely avail.



If you take a good look at this grainy iPhone picture of the new bookshelf, you'll see that I have an assorted variety of complete crap. I have made a few changes since this picture was taken--moving a few things around, collecting more things. Although I try to live an uncluttered life, I am a thing collector. I don't have a difficult time throwing things away, but my mind has to be pretty far removed from the object, or I have to be fed up with it as a piece of clutter, to toss it. I also am guilty of liking pretty things, and unique things, and things that are fun to look at.



So my bookshelf is really more a receptacle for some of these random objects I've amassed over the years. My fiberglass xylophone mallets from high school. A framed picture of my dad at his college graduation. A signed copy of Jimmy Fallon's Thank You Notes. The stuffed bunny my grandfather game me as a baby. (The stuffed frog he gave me still lives on my headboard.) The roller skates I practically lived in during middle school (and which still fit, so I need to get back into that!). Crayons, nail polish, pens, lotion, the roses that were in one of the arrangements at my grandfather's funeral. My college class ring box. A birthday card my friend E. sent me a couple years ago that I just can't throw away. I have a lot of random objects, and they aren't necessarily books, but to me they're just as enjoyable to look at.

Though that I Voted sticker from two years ago? Yeah, that's gotta go.

The tweest of them all

Flower clips: H&M
Coat: JCPenney
Dress: JCPenney
Tights: Target?
Wedges: Shoe Carnival



Let's talk twee! My best friend A. and I spent some quality time (ok so it was like 2 hours) picking the perfect sleeve for my Macbook. And even then, I was still uncertain and had to ask another friend for advice. And my mom! This is how bad I am at making decisions, you guys. I ended up buying this sleeve, and I think I made the right choice. During our long, epic journey through Etsyland, A. referred to more than one of my picks as "twee". I don't really know a lot about twee, so I set off to investigate.



Turns out, in Britain, twee's kind of an insult. Sweet to the point of disgust, like eating 20 packets of Splenda. I'm sure A. didn't mean it that way, and I certainly didn't take it that way. In America, though, twee is a term for a specific subgenre of indie pop that is surprisingly sweet and seemingly innocent. Ever heard of Belle and Sebastian? Los Campesinos!? Camera Obscura? The Postal Service, even, is a little bit twee. And the serious terminologists end the definition at that--a type of saccharine music that is enjoyable but can be almost too precious for its own good.



But twee seems to go beyond that simple genre description, according to most of the internet. The styles of Zooey Deschanel, Miranda July and Carey Mulligan are considered twee. The Athens (Georgia, y'all) Banner-Journal even outlined twee fashion points before a local concert. Women are often derided for dressing too uptight, too childish, and everything in between. Wearing anything other than a black sweater and black trousers is an open gate for criticism, and I'm not a fan of that, especially since for a very long time I personally believed that wearing twee clothing was really not classy or cute. But I think, after being introduced to the world of style blogging, and feeling more comfortable with who I am and confident in how my body is, maybe twee isn't so bad. It looks good on some women, and they embody the positive, happy lifestyle that the music helps develop. And I decided, after looking at this dress and all the research that lay before me, that I might be slightly twee today. And I'm okay with that.



Want to read more? Try this stuff:
Twee As Fuck: The Story of Indie Pop on Pitchfork
Twee on Urbandictionary
How to be twee on Wikihow
Don't Fear the Dowager: A Valentine to Maturity by Julie Klausner, and the amazing response by Elizabeth of Delightfully Tacky, The Infinite Variety of Individuals
And if you're really into the point Elizabeth made about the woman's power to bring life into the world, Why Women Aren't Funny by Christopher Hitchens*



*I'm just practicing citing things for grad school

On bodycon

Sweater: JCPenney
Belt: Old Navy
Ring: class ring
Skirt: JCPenney
Booties: Old Navy
Nails: butter London Bluey



In my internet travels over the past few months, I've come across the term bodycon, especially in reference to a certain style of dress, eg. the Herve Leger skin-tight curve-hugging band aid dresses that look so amazing on Kim K. For a long time (threeish months) my brain filled the blank for me and expanded bodycon into body confidence, and I operated on the assumption that this is what bodycon stood for. I recently realised that I didn't actually know the full meaning of the term, so I looked it up. Lo and behold, I was wrong--even according to the Oxford English Dictionary, bodycon actually stands for body-conscious.



In my mind, these two phrases have very different meanings. Conscious, sometimes misconstrued as conscientious, is a rather dubious term that is usually reserved for the easily influenced (or awake). Being self-conscious is rarely seen as a good thing, for example; especially when we compare ourselves to society, the self-conscious label is attached to those who battle low self esteem or with sociological struggles. To be conscious of a subject is colloquially to notice it in a critical light, rather than an optimally positive one. Confidence implies something entirely different, of course--we all want to feel, look and be confident, and we all want to be recognised as such. We strive, day in and day out, to be taken seriously by others, and at the root of successfully winning a client, helping a patron or passing a test is confidence. The confidence to say that I will pass that oral final, that I will find that book with the green cover and the dog (really, that happened once), that I will crack that glass ceiling. That I will wear this outfit--this outfit will not wear me.



So why is bodycon a placeholder for an ambiguous at best, insulting at worst, loaded term thrown around today at the outsiders of the crowd like it's a disease? The women with the chutzpah to wear bodycon dresses are, to me, anything but body-conscious. Instead, they are self aware and understanding of the power of confidence, which is what is instilled in them when they wear this style of clothing. Perhaps it is the strain that society places on perceived attractiveness that brings this terminology to the forefront--the insinuation that we aren't just noticing how another woman dresses, but we are noting it with a critical eye.

I, personally, refuse to give into the true terminology of bodycon; rather, I prefer to keep in mind that any woman willing to slide into a Herve Leger dress or a hip skimming pencil skirt--myself included--deserves the utmost respect for displaying her confidence first and her self-consciousness second. The idea that even as we praise a woman for embracing her body we compress her successful confidence by attaching a cleverly disguised backhanded compliment is gauche, and I refuse to fall victim to the ruse.

Outfit (and, ultimately, post) inspired by this pin.

On graphic tees

Next Wednesday my first time hosting Rachel's amazing weekly feature, called Wear*It Wednesday. I'm featured on Matters of Merrymaking today wearing a tunic! Don't ask me what a tunic is though because I'm still not sure I get it. Anyway, the concept is like a mini-EBEW, where each week is assigned an item of clothing and style bloggers submit their looks to another blogger, who hosts that week. The hostess gets to pick the theme, and I'll admit I kind of jumped in without knowing what my item was going to be. Fortunately a flash in a pan/laundry basket it brought me an idea: how about that graphic tee lumped at the bottom of the pile?



I'll admit it. I own a ton of graphic tees and I wear them a LOT. They're rarely seen on this blog because they're normally not allowed where I work, which is totally understandable. Graphic tees can be a pretty loaded issue, because they can cause strife, insult others who don't agree with your shirt's statement, or seem entirely immature. This is rare, but you wear a shirt with strategically placed shamrocks and you're bound to receive some looks.



I know you've been desperate to see some shots of me in college, and I've been equally desperate to share them with you, so here we go. This was quite honestly my college uniform--one of a rotating cast of 30 graphic tees from Threadless, a pair of jeans from American Eagle, and my trusty black Vans. Every. Single. Day. Sometimes I'd throw on one of two cardigans and that would be a fancy day--if I had a presentation to give, most likely, or a meeting with my adviser. Often, though, my classmates learned something from my shirts: a) that I was a walking billboard for Threadless, and b) that I had Whimsy and Vibrance. Or at the very least I had to have some sort of personality.



The point here is that throughout my life, I've spent a lot of time expressing myself through graphic tees. Even today, when we were allowed to wear our team colours at work to "celebrate" the Palmetto Bowl (I'm sorry but Army-Navy is really the big deal, not Clemson-Carolina), I bucked the trend by dusting off my Invincible/Eagles shirt from Philavania. I wish I could wear it everyday but I won't because that's overkill.



So here's the deal. Since I'm off all weekend, how about some outfits involving graphic tees? And then you can take all of the little you've learned from my styling my graphic tees and you can style your own graphic tees and email picture of them to me at animatedcardigan at gmail.com. I'll be featuring them ALL on the 30th to celebrate the...uh...end of November. So dig out that college shirt proclaiming your love for the local bar or your English department and join me!

On scarves

Scarves: both from Target
Dress: Old Navy
Tights: Target
Boots: Target



One of the best things about fall is football. Directly behind that is fall accessory season. Boots, scarves, tights. And here are all three! I altered my six shopping picks so I could buy this dress from Old Navy (for $14.71 no less). Goodbye red skirt that I probably won't find in stores anyway since it's fall now.



Back to the scarves. Is anyone interested in a possible scarf tutorial? I know pretty much everyone has one but I wear my scarves pretty crazily (see above and below pictures). I like to do more than one scarf because sometimes one just isn't enough and it can inject a lot of colour/texture/pattern into an otherwise simple outfit. Also, it is sometimes freezing at work and that definitely merits more than one scarf! What do you think? Want to see how I cleverly tie my scarves?

On thrifting

Cardigan: JCPenney
Top: Old Navy
Skirt: thrifted
Wedges: Target



You can probably tell by now that I don't thrift much. It's nothing personal, like I think I'm too good for it or something--goodness knows I'm not--but it's generally very hard for me to find things that a) I like and b) fit. Just like clothes shopping in regular stores! But at least with stores like Gap, Anthro and Target, I have honed an instinct or how their clothes are cut and what will fit me well. Random brands from 20 years ago? Not so much. I have some friends, online and off, who are thriftmasters, but I've just never been able to make clothing work, perhaps because when I was younger all the cool clothes weren't my size and didn't fit me the right way. I do however thrift the daylights out of furniture--I refinish and reupholster chairs and tables with my copious free time and thrift stores are AMAZING for finding well made furniture for very inexpensive.



But that doesn't mean I won't try, especially now that I'm unwilling to try to fit into clothing that isn't my size. My mom recently wanted to know where our city's Salvation Army was, so I took her there, hoping to walk out with a chair or two but instead leaving with two skirts and a scarf. That's so rare for me, though maybe it's because I never really looked before. The next day my mom went to the local Goodwill and bought them out of the skirts in my size. The skirt I'm wearing today is one of them. My only complaint is that it is 100% polyester and as such I did nearly slide out of my chair at work a few times. It was hilarious, I swear!

Anyway, the point is that I'm not the best thrifter in the world and probably never will be. But I won't refuse to try.

On scars

Necklace: gift from parents
Cardigan: Target
Belt: Target
Dress: Anthro
Wedges: Target



How do you feel about scars? I have very few, but each one is very important to me for different reasons. For example, I'm very proud to have earned the distinction of being the only person in the History of My College to injure myself using what may be the tamest power tool in the History of Ever. The band saw is an extremely simple tool with a constantly rotating metal strip with teeth on it; it's used to shape pieces of wood when a jigsaw isn't available or the shaping is detailed or irregular. Because of the size of the blade and the general size of items cut, it's very easy to use.



And apparently I'm more street smart than blade smart because one day (about a year after my training on this machine) I was shaping a wooden gavel head and sliced my right middle finger. My theatre professor announced me as one of the greatest failures in the history of stagecraft (though I ended up with a B+ in the class, thanks Prof) and I now have a slender, straight scar on my top knuckle on my right middle finger to show for it. It's so easy to miss if you don't look for it. I'll know I've found the love of my life because he'll know the stories of all my scars. (And because of other things too.)

I'm listening to a book called Little Bee right now and the main character explains how I feel about scars very aptly--they are symbols of survival and beauty, as they do not grow on the dead, only the living. They belong to storytellers and are reasons to remember, not to forget. And certainly our scars may bring painful memories--Tina Fey's scar across her face, the scar down my back--but they are also important reminders of survival and healing. They note things taken away, but also things given to us. So I embrace my scars and love them because they are my stories and they are always with me.

Is your relationship with scars good or bad?