I’m turning this little red wagon around.
So let’s get a few things straight:
1) The entire reason I posted two drastically different shades of “nude” was to illustrate the concept of nude means nude to your leg, specifically. I didn’t spell it out because well, I didn’t think it NEEDED spelling out. When I was going through the shoes for that I chose two shoes: one that, on my screen, would be nude-ish on Sessilee Lopez (she’s my absolute favorite model of the moment because she actually HAS A FACE yes I’m looking at you, anonymous Eastern Bloc automatons) and Aretha Franklin (because she is my everything and you will pry my first press vinyl copy of Aretha in Paris out of my cold dead hands)
and I chose the second pair because they matched lighter skin tones (inasmuch as you can ever find an actual match). I need a bit more blue in mine than some folks, another friend needs more pink. Finding the right nude shoe for your leg is an art, not a science and it’s certainly not a political statement.
2) We have a wonderfully active comments field and I love that, and I try to be pretty hands off when it comes to skirmishes and whatnot –if you recall I spent the first two years out of the comments entirely– but many blogs have turned off their comments fields entirely rather than deal with the infighting and name calling. I would hate for that to happen, but I am just one woman and I cannot deal with writing the blog, editing it, going through all the bazillions of spam message AND babysitting the Hundred Years Flamewar.
Besides, this is my family crest:
This is not:
It’s probably not yours, either.
3) Who has two thumbs and editorial control over this blog?This girl. And Manolo. And Twistie on the weekends. I love that so many readers feel they have ownership in this blog, but you do not have permission to tell other readers of this blog to shut up, stop being a jerk, or tell them to leave. People are welcome at this blog until Manolo, Twistie or I decide they’re not. Early adopters have the exact same amount of editorial control over this blog as newbies: zero.
4) Even though our readership has gone up considerably, I know the past few months have been been rough for some folks who really liked Francesca and I get that. That being said, if Manolo for the Big Girl is not what you want it to be by now; it’s probably not going to be, and because this is a blog and not a forum, all the complaining in the world isn’t going to change it. There are a hundred million blogs on the internet: if this one doesn’t make you happy anymore, skip it. Or better yet, start your own. The more intelligently-written blogs for big girls out there the better. Once you do, send me a link and I’ll more than likely be glad to put it on the links bar.
5) Finally, I suspect there might be some bigotry at play here, but not the sort of I’m being accused of.
I’m a white (technically I’m Alabaster C1 although for three glorious weeks this spring I had a bit of a tan and was upgraded to Porcelain W1) girl who comes from financial privilege. I’m also from the South, and it seems to me many good, decent people who wouldn’t dream of making ugly assumptions based on place of origin or socio-economic status in most cases seem awfully ready to make them about the people in my situation. Of course a comparatively rich white Southern girl is going to be racist or elitist or a million other things. Does it offend me? God no, it’s more tiresome than anything else. But it is what it is: a negative assumption based on inherited characteristics out of my control. There’s a word for that.