The red carpet was fantastic at last night’s 83rd Academy Awards. We loved all the red dresses. Anne Hathaway, Jennifer Lawrence, Sandra Bullock and Jennifer Hudson (although hers was actually tangerine) sported this year’s “it” color. Purple was the other color of choice. Natalie Portman’s deep purple Rodarte gown was stunning. Mila Kunis and Cate Blanchet looked lovely in paler shades of purple.
Offsetting the vibrant hues were nudes and metallics – a trend that carried over from last year. But this year, the shimmer, feathers and jewels made the dresses look fresh and fantastic. Gwyneth Paltrow, Hailee Steinfeld, Hillary Swank and Halle Berry all wore beautiful, pale gowns.
Ponytails were the hot accessory this year. Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon both wore this year’s version of the updo.
And in the can’t remember the gown, but aren’t these women stunning category – Mandy Moore and Sharon Stone both looked great.
We only have one winner for the worst category: the show. Yawn. We turned it off.
You’ll notice a “Daily Saves” link at the top of the site. Check it out for daily offers. If you’re going to engage in retail therapy, you may as well save a few dollars. This weekend there are two offers we like:
$27 for $60 worth of wine -delivered!
$5 for a year’s subscription to Working Mother Magzine.
We stayed up talking until one in the morning; three generations spread out across three houses. My mother and my children were asleep in one house. My husband was watching TV with my cousin Annemarie and her husband Norm in another. Inside the cottage five children slept and Isabel packed lunches to bring to the beach the next day.
I sat on the deck of the cottage with my father, my uncle Jimmy, my cousin Paul and his wife Stacia. The citronella candles did a poor job of discouraging the mosquitoes. The wine was gone. My father, the oldest family member, was telling a story about the first cottage, the one that burned down. We were just five people sitting in the dark that night, but we represented something enormous to me.
Just as the stars are more visible in the sky at the Cape than they are at home, my place in the Universe is more obvious when I am there. At home, I am just me: imperfect, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. At the Cape, I am part of something big; something that can’t be broken. At the Cape, I am part of a large family. We are fun. We are kind. We are together.
I am one of twenty-five cousins who spent summers in that cottage. Every year our parents divided the summer into eight two-week intervals and each family took a vacation. Often two families would overlap and cram nine kids and four adults into the tiny, two bedroom house.
Those two weeks always felt like two months. We would pack up our station wagons and drive an hour and a half door-to-door but it always felt like we were entering a whole different world.
There was no telephone at the cottage. If we needed to make a call, we used the pay phone at the Carleton Circle Motel three quarters of a mile down the road. We had no dishwasher and no washing machine. The midway point of most vacations was usually marked by a visit to the laundromat, conveniently located next to the Dairy Queen.
Each family played out its own private story during their two weeks. Maybe someone yelled too loud or drank too much. But if there were any problems, they were self-contained within each two week vacation. We didn’t share them in the group.
What we talked and laughed about were the common rituals that wove our lives together. None of the cousins were allowed to bathe at the cottage. The pipes were unreliable so showers were reserved for adults only. Children washed in the lake with a bar of Ivory soap. There was a television, a 10 inch black and white, but it only received three channels. The summer I turned six it rained almost every day of our vacation. We watched the Watergate Hearings all week.
On nice days we played in the lot next door. The chimney from the original cottage was still standing so we turned it into a fort. And there was the crib. The youngest child in every family slept in that crib until they were five, sometimes six years old, because there was no other place to lie down.
In recent years Jimmy had knocked down the chimney and built on the lot to the left of the cottage. My parents had built a house to the right. And several of my uncles and aunts had graduated to beautiful oceanfront property across town. Now as adults, my cousins and I brought our children to the Cape every weekend. There were almost enough beds for all of us. Two weeks no longer felt like two months. Instead the few precious weekends between Memorial Day and Labor Day always went too fast. If there were any bad memories they had been erased; we only recalled the benign things like the wild parties at the house by the beach and the woman across the street who called the cops if we played kick-the-can after eight o’clock at night.
On the Cape, I can feel my grandparents’ presence. Our parents tell us Nana wanted the summer cottage to be a place where her family would get together. Many times when I am sitting on that deck I whisper silently to her and thank her for creating this world for us. And I thank my generation for adding the deck. To me the deck is more than extra living space for a cramped house. Nana and Grandpa built the house. Our parents, aunts and uncles kept the house. And it was the cousins who extended and improved the house. It was our generation that made the house more functional, that started a new tradition and erected a new gathering spot. To me the deck represents hope that our family will stay together. As our parents age and someday die, as our children grow and our lives evolve, we will return to the Cape each summer to be together. We will step into the roles vacated by our parents and we will be okay.
Off the Cape we come from eight related but separate families. We experience birth, love, success, cancer, addiction, divorce and death. On the Cape, we are a group; and we create something powerful and unconditional. We don’t speak of problems because we don’t make any room for them. We don’t want, because whatever we might lack can be found in the group. We don’t hurt, because we are together. Love, laughter (and food) are the only currencies in which we deal.
I was aware that night on the deck that something special was happening.
“This is a moment,” I said when my father stopped to take a breath. “We are having a moment.”
Stacia, always positive, smiled and nodded in agreement. My father, my uncle and Paul said nothing. Like most families, ours has an unwritten code of conduct. We will be kind and loving and we will be together. But we will not mention it. A few minutes after I spoke, the group broke up and everyone went to bed, a subtle reminder of the rules.
The other day I opened my email and there was an offer to review a pair of Pajama Jeans. If you don’t watch late night TV, you may not have seen the commercials for these so-called jeans that supposedly fit and feel like pajamas.
Are Pajama Jeans ever okay?
At first I was offended. I don’t wear Crocs, see no reason for flip flops and I would never wear pajama jeans. Then I was intrigued. I did break down and by UGGs after all. And then I remembered a favorite motto – Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
The whole three minute incident prompted me to revive this essay which first appeared on My It Things in 2007. Enjoy.
Does Fashion Matter?
At the risk of incurring Miranda Priestley’s infamous Cerulean speech from “The Devil Wears Prada” when she verbally shreds her assistant for referring to fashion as “stuff”, I need to ask the question: Does fashion matter?
Here’s the thing: I am an unfashionable size 12. I live in a middle class suburb. I work in a male-dominated industry in a blue-collar town west of Boston. My social life consists of family movie night every Friday (microwave popcorn and a Disney DVD), SwimTots at the community pool every Saturday morning, and dinner at my in-laws on Sundays. These are hardly the stats of a fashion insider.
I could easily live my life in two pair of khakis, a pair of jeans and a few sweaters from the Gap. Yet I soak up the features in fashion magazines. I like the articles that tell you how to go from office to evening–you know the ones that advise you to wear a suit to work and then change from the spectator pumps to strappy stilettos, from the Thomas Pink button-down to a sequined camisole, and from the Longchamp tote to an oversized satin clutch and voila, you’re ready to party.
I spend hundreds of dollars on fashion magazines every year. I have at least six fashion blogs bookmarked on my computer. I can tell a Prada from a Miu Miu, and spot a Tory Burch tunic a mile away. I lust after Manolo heels and Delman flats. I know that gray is the new black, Zac Posen is the new Marc Jacobs, and Agynes is the new Kate. My closet is packed with an eclectic mix of designer, vintage, leopard, and metallic. This season I covet cuffs and gladiator sandals.
For the office, I mix high-end, classic items from Armani and Escada with basics and trendy pieces from Banana Republic and Club Monaco. I carry my laptop in a Prada bowling bag circa 2000. My coworkers favor Chicos for the high-end and Walmart for the low-end. At PTO meetings and at the playground, my neighbors sport Old Navy fleece or knock-off Burberry jackets with Merrel sneakers.
So why do I bother? I have a modest budget. I share one salary with a spouse, two kids, two dogs and a 1920s Colonial fixer upper. I could put my time and money to much better use.
Like many 40-something, middle class women, my life looks good on paper. And it is. I have a husband I not only love, but I actually like. I have two healthy children. I own a home. I have no reason, no right really, to complain.
But I’m so tired all the time. I go from home to work and back again with barely any time to think. What my husband, a stay at home Dad, offers in love and compassion, he lacks in housekeeping. Laundry is stacked on the dining room table. Toys cover the living room floor. Our bed hasn’t been made since we bought a new duvet cover in 1999. While my job pays well, it is just that, a job — not a career. And exercise, something I do no more than five times a month, feels like a burden. I am fueled by two pots of coffee and a modest dose of Prozac every day yet I still can’t get out of my rut.
Many of my friends, under the pressures of careers and kids and aging parents, feel the same way. As a result, some of them overeat. Some drink. Some spend compulsively. I have experimented with all of those things. But my best coping strategy? I style.
When my children and husband have finally gone to bed, when I have finished answering emails from earlier in the day, I escape to our spare room where I keep my wardrobe. I rule over my closet with the exacting attention to detail that Anna Wintour and Glenda Bailey bring to the pages of their glossy magazines every month.
My closet is the only part of my life that feels organized. Alone in the night, I open every shoe box and reorganize them. Pumps go in the middle of the closet, ballets slippers to the right. Boots are organized by color and heel style. On Friday nights, I take the handbags I’ve carried all week and place them back in their felt sleeper bags. Then I move on to my jewelry. I have a fantastic mix of vintage and costume. I hang the necklaces, pair the earrings, stack the bangles. My kitchen counter may be covered with a days’ worth of dirty dishes but my accessory drawers are pristine.
Every Sunday night, I lay out outfits and create new combinations for the week ahead. I experiment with looks by changing shoes or belts. I take inventory of what’s in my closet and make lists of the pieces I need. Then I go to EBay and Bluefly, neimanmarcus.com and The Budget Fashionista to shop for deals.
I know it sounds frivolous, selfish even. But for me, it is salvation. My wardrobe allows me to exert control in a life that feels like it is controlling me. It lets me dress for the life I want to live, instead of the life I’m living. It helps me envision a future when I will be able to pursue my dreams. And it allows me to appreciate how blessed I am, because I know that is the case.
So to answer the question, does fashion matter? To me, it matters a lot.
Like what you’ve read? Then sign up here to receive future posts by email or RSS.
We love the holidays because we have time to finish all of the books we’ve started during the year. The house is clean, the office is closed and the parties are over. We just sit in front of the fire and turn pages. Need some reading recommendations? Here are our top five picks:
Gloria Feldt is a powerhouse – and she knows how to use her power for the greater good. She’s a leader, a mentor, and an inspiration. This book will clear your path to success, stripping away any of the barriers you think are in your way.
You know how inspired we’ve been by the She Negotiates course –read the book from one of the course leaders. You too can master the conflicts in your life.
“Her Place at the Table” by Deborah M. Kolb, PhD; Judith Williams, PhD; Carol Frolinger, JD
“Her Place at the Table” is another great book grounded in negotiating skills that helps women navigate the challenges of the business world. The authors do a fantastic job of mixing research and real life stories to instruct and inspire women.
Pozner is is founder and executive director of Women In Media & News (WIMN), a media analysis, education and advocacy group. We haven’t cracked this book yet, but we’re looking forward to reading it. Pozner promises to debunk the fairy tales, beauty myths and negative stereotyping of women served up nightly on reality tv shows. If you’ve got a “Real Housewives” habit like we do, read this book.
This is a must-read for mothers, their families, and the people who employee them. Lerner lays out the realities of women trying to manage work, maternity leave, childcare, and careers.
Happy Holidays and happy reading!
Like what you’ve read? Then sign up here to receive future posts by email or RSS.
We are honored and thrilled to be named a Finalist in the Blog of the Year category in the 7th annual Stevie Awards for Women in Business. More than 1,200 entries were submitted this year for consideration in 54 categories.
Stevie Awards for Women in Business honor women executives, entrepreneurs, and the companies they run – worldwide. The Stevie Awards have been hailed as the world’s premier business awards.
The other finalists in the Blog of the Year category are:
Sometimes, I know I like something, but I don’t know why. I could be enjoying a cabernet sauvignon, for example, and then someone with a better palate than mine says, “This is so deep and rich. So many tannins. Do you taste the chocolate?” And bingo! It all becomes clear.
And so it is with politics. For years I thought my interest stemmed from a sense of civic duty, a desire to make the world a better place, from wanting to hold my legislators accountable, demand justice, transparency and equality. But recently it’s become clear to me. I am interested in politics because I love shoes.
Shoes, you see, matter a great deal in politics. The voters in Colorado understand this. They just gave the GOP primary nod to Senate hopeful Ken Buck, the man who said he deserved the vote because he doesn’t wear high heels. He will face Senator Michael Bennet in the general election. Bennet is too frequently photographed from the waist up and so I need to learn more about his footwear. Florsheim? Cole Haan? Gucci? Time will tell.
Senator Michael Bennet
And Bennet should not take this scrutiny lightly. After all, you remember what happened in the Massachusetts Senate race, don’t you? After easily winning the primary, Attorney General Martha Coakley foolishly underestimated her “age-inappropriate Mary Jane shoes” and lost the general election to Scott Brown, who most likely learned the importance of shoes from Helen Gurley Brown.
Congressman Stephen Lynch gets it. He won’t make the same mistakes Coakley did. Not him. Lynch is paying close attention to the message Massachusetts voters sent in January. And that’s why he is touting his footwear as a reason to vote for him, not challenger Mac D’Alessandro. Fashion forecast for fall: red is the new black and work boots are the new barn jacket.
The New York Times gets it. Last week some women were upset about a story in the Times featuring Congress hopeful Reshma Saujani which dedicated half a sentence to her political goals and 13 paragraphs to her shoes. While I think the story should have appeared in the Style section and a separate, more substantive piece on Saujani is owed New York voters, I did find the article informative. Reading it I learned that the 3 inch high, $300 Kate Spade Halle wedge is the footwear of choice for women in politics. Wearing these shoes you can canvass neighborhoods, run to catch a flight and have “drinks at a new hotel lounge with tech entrepreneurs hungry to see their kind in politics.”
I am going to buy a pair. And then I am going to run for office. I may not be a shoo-in to win but I will certainly be a shoe-in.
Last week a new video, “The Story of Cosmetics,” was released in an effort to raise awareness about the chemicals cosmetics companies use in products. The video was co-produced by The Story of Stuff Project, the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics and Free Range Studios. The video is timed to correspond with the introduction of the Safe Cosmetics Act of 2010, H.R. 5786 introduced by Reps. Ed Markey (D-MA), Tammy Baldwin (D-WI) and Jan Schakowsky (D-IL). The proposed legislation would require cosmetic companies to disclose information about the ingredients and chemicals they use in personal care products. According to a press release from the three U.S. Representatives, under current law the FDA cannot require cosmetic companies to conduct safety assessments or follow FDA labeling guidelines on their products. As such, the average consumer has no idea what the risks, if any, are of slathering their skin with lotion containing Alkyl Acrylate Crosspolymer.
As a feminist, I am very bothered by the fact the cosmetics industry has been allowed to operate unchecked for so many years. I have to wonder if men were the primary users of personal care products would Washington have allowed the industry to go unchecked for so long? After all, advocacy groups claim many household items contain carcinogens and chemicals known to harm animals.
But as a woman-of-a-certain-age, I have to admit, my agenda is slightly different. To be honest, I am more interested in knowing if my L’Oreal Root Rescue™ will really cover 100 percent of my gray coverage than if it contains paraphenylenediamine. And much more important to me at this stage of the game is knowing if my Chanel Rouge Coco Hydrating Crème Lip Colour will bleed into those tiny lines around my mouth than knowing if it contains lead. And the really pressing issue for me is can a woman over 40 pull off OPI Catch Me in Your Net without looking like a fool – not what is Titanium Dioxide?
So while I am in favor of most of what the Safe Cosmetics Act calls for: cosmetic and ingredient testing, ingredient labels on cosmetics, post-market testing, cosmetics and ingredient statements, and mandatory reporting of adverse health effects, I admit, I am a little nervous about giving the FDA recall authority for products that fail to meet a safety standard. I guess I’d first want to know what percentage of the FDA is run by women and if the women are as hooked on Shu Uemura Velvet Perfect Adjusting Powdery Foundation as I am.
“It’s an honor just being nominated.” That’s what the celebrities always say as they walk the red carpet. Well, guess what? It’s a thrill being named a finalist in the 2010 BlogHer Voices of the Year Awards for our post about the red carpet: “FTC Regulates the Red Carpet.”
On August 6, BlogHer and social media site Kirtsy will host a reception and gala in New York where works of art inspired by the winners’ and finalists’ writing will be auctioned off to benefit The Nature Conservancy and its efforts to help the Gulf recovery process.
You can read our entry, a finalist in the Humor category, here. And for more information on the winning posts and other finalists, visit BlogHer.
Thank you BlogHer for recognizing us and congratulations to the winners and finalists. And please, visit The Nature Conservancy to learn more about its work in the Gulf.
