Manolo for the Big Girl Fashion, Lifestyle, and Humor for the Plus Sized Woman.

February 9, 2011

Review Revue: Duo Tulip Boots

Filed under: Boots,Plumcake's Closet,Review Revue — Miss Plumcake @ 5:00 pm

Okay gang, I am about to reveal a deep and shocking secret about myself. I mean this is some next-level Final Season of Oprah stuff that’s about to go down. Ready?

I am, at times, a teensy bit particular.

I will graciously wait while you try to reclaim some sense in your now topsy-turvy universe.

Good.

That being said, there’s a difference between being particular and being unreasonable. If I’m going to my favorite Highly Questionable Taco Cart (Taqueria Las Rosas #2 holla at your girl! Orale!) I don’t expect haute cuisine, I don’t ask too many questions. I just take my taco, try not to knock over any of their fiber optic/ patriotic Jesus statuary and call it a noche.

The same goes for shoes and clothing. If I’m buying a $50 dress, I expect a few threads hanging here or there or less-than-luxe fabrication. If I’m dropping $500? My standards are a lot higher.

My standards were high when I ordered two pairs of boots from London-based Duo.

After hemming and hawing, I decided on the black suede over-the-knee Tulip and the cognac leather knee-high Rochelle.

Duo boots aren’t astronomically expensive –most of the boots run around $225-$325, perfectly reasonable for a pair of quality European-made leather boots– but their flagship fitting room is on Savile Row, a street in London that’s been shorthand for flawless bespoke tailoring for over 200 years.

You do not mess around on Savile Row.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, my initial experience with Duo was not a pleasant one.

Even allowing for the cultural difference (I’m not saying Texans are necessarily nicer people, I’m just saying you think twice about being rude to someone if you’re in a concealed handgun state) I was Not Impressed with the attitude I received from the customer service when after close to a month, I asked after the whereabouts of my boots. That being said my other interactions have been –I won’t say overly warm, but the British didn’t build an empire on warmth– but absolutely satisfactory.

The Fit:

Getting into them is a wee bit difficult as the zipper only goes up to the knee, but a full zip would ruin the look. The toe box is nice and roomy for a wide foot with an elegant almond toe and surprisingly cushy padding, and although the ankle was a bit loose for my personal preference –I have slender ankles for someone with big calves– they were cut generously enough to fit a thick-ankled woman without looking slouchy on someone with slimmer ones. I ordered my regular size and went down a centimeter on the calf fit because leather –especially suede– stretches and I don’t like the slouch-boot look.

The Construction:

The suede is excellent and uniformly soft with only minor flaws in the nap.

These flaws are just going to happen with any natural material and I was pleasantly surprised by its quality and softness. I don’t know what animal they use but it feels like lamb or kid, both of which make suedes with a much finer texture than calf. If it IS calf then I am even more impressed.

The lining was another happy surprise: an incredibly supple fuchsia nappa leather extending to the top of the zipper. The over-the-knee part is finished with the same black suede as the outside, which means you can wear them cuffed to knee-height if your little heart desires.

The stitching is small and even, with the thread changes noticeable but not prominent (anyone who asks why I care about thread changes has clearly never been poked in the leg all day by a bristle-stiff loose end from an improperly secured thread change) and the turns are sharp, no lazy finishing here.

I noticed a few less-than-straight cuts on the leather lining, but I’d classify that more in the realm of adding charm than detracting from the quality.

Comfort:
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February 8, 2011

Lions and Camels and Dragons, Oh My!

Filed under: Best of Miss Plumcake,Uncategorized — Miss Plumcake @ 3:34 pm

Every woman who has ever opened a glossy magazine knows there are few things that women love more than rules. Twelve Hot Rules for Bedroom Bliss! Ten Style Staples You Can’t Live Without!

It’s tough because there is something to be said for never complaining about your body in front of a man or owning one perfect cashmere sweater. Even in life –which is marginally less important than a perfect cashmere sweater– there are basic rules of engagement we are expected to follow because we are social creatures functioning within a society.

And yet? The only thing sadder than a woman afraid to do what she pleases is a woman who is too afraid to ask herself what she likes in the first place.

I believe I’ve told the story a few years back when a young woman of my acquaintance started showing up places dressed in what can only be described as a Miss Plumcake costume. It was embarrassing. Flattering in a sense, but embarrassing. She did not know –or did not have the confidence– to wear what she liked, so she followed someone else’s rules for looking glamorous. Instead she looked like a knock-off. Was she happy? I don’t know. But I do know when I put something on my body, I’m doing so because it expresses something I want to say. My clothes/makeup/shoes/hair/whatever are an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual somethingorother.

My outside reflects the inside, or at least the part of the inside I want to share that day. It’s mine, not yours. I know the rules, I’ve learned them and when it pleases me I reject them. And if you don’t like it? Try not to slip on my single salty tear. And the reverse holds true. If you wear acid washed mom jeans because you LOVE them and you feel they express who you are as a person, then who cares if (by which I mean WHEN) I roll my eyes?

In The Power of Myth Joseph Campbell talks about a section in “Thus Spake Zarathustra” when Nietzsche describes the journey of being and becoming.

We start out life as a camel and our job is to bear a burden. The weight is the wisdom and knowledge and tradition of others; our friends, our society, our elders. The camel goes out into the desert and there becomes a lion. The strength of the lion depends on how much weight he was able to carry when he was a camel. The lion’s job is to slay the dragon and on that dragon’s every scale is written the words “Thou Shalt.”

When the lion kills the dragon, he is no longer a lion but a child, remembering the burden of the camel and the Thou Shalts of the dragon. He creates his own Self, not out of ignorance, but having weighed and rejected the Thou Shalt in favor of the I Will.

Now generally speaking, Captain Moustache isn’t my idea of a good time, but he makes an interesting point.

As women, especially as fat women, we get pummeled with Thou Shalts from the second we start pudging out, or the second we learn to worry that we might SOMEDAY pudge out.

We get it from our parents, from our well-meaning (or not so well-meaning) friends, from society. Everywhere we look the world is coated with those golden glittering scales.

How many of those scales do you carry with you? How many are valuable? How many help you be who you want to be?

More importantly? How many scales are we trying to pin to other people?

February 7, 2011

Let’s talk about being okay

Filed under: Uncategorized — Miss Plumcake @ 4:12 pm

Different and broken are not the same thing.

I’ve had just about enough of people telling other people what’s “okay” to do with their bodies. My body is different than yours. It’s not broken and what I choose to do with it is not a broken decision if it’s not what you’d choose to do with it were you in my position.

And even if it isn’t the healthiest decision I could make, do you know whose problem that is? Not Yours.

Yes, for our own well-being we ought to try to make lifestyle choices that will keep our motors running the way we want. But it’s not your right or responsibility to tell me or any one else what is OKAY to do with a body that doesn’t belong to you. Except if they’re trying to hide it in the trunk of your classic Cadillac (shoulda thought about that before you bought your smartcar, huh, buddy?)

So enough with the “it’s not okay to” blah blah blah.

I’m the judgiest judge in Judgeville and even I can’t psychologically get to a place where I feel I have authority to say what people should and should not do with their bodies, and I once convinced myself that buying a gold lamé toreador outfit was a good idea, so don’t tell me I can’t stretch.

Be fat or thin or in between, unless you have permission to board the Plumcake Express to Panty Drop Junction (and since most of you are women or gay men, I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s not going to happen) I couldn’t give a hot buttered damn about your body.

I just want you to love it.

And if you don’t love it, then please, for the love of all things holy, don’t spread that hate around.

If you’re unhappy being fat and you diet or get surgery or choose the more traditional method of cocaine, tapeworms and inappropriate men to drop unwanted pounds, that’s totally fine. And if by extension your life is so much better after the tapeworms, superfantastic! But please be mindful not to project your feelings onto other people, even if you’re “just trying to help.” Your experience is not everyone’s experience.

And if you’re fat and happy? Great! Remember that not everyone is, and it’s not fair of you to ask someone to be unhappy with their own body because you think dieting is betraying the home team.

Personally I don’t really have a horse in this race. I’m fat, but I’ve kind of always been okay with being fat and since I’ve had bigger fish to fry when it comes to eating (Miss Plumcake has some weird vitamin issues) I just never really bothered to put moral values on food.

Plus I remember one morning my mother told me that orange juice was “very fattening” and from that point on I decided she was on crack and I wasn’t ever going to listen to anything anyone said about food unless they had a white coat and perhaps suitably geeky glasses.

I am the first to admit to being short-sighted on a lot of common big girl issues. Not personally suffering from a surfeit of humility when it comes to my looks and all around charm (ahem) it’s hard for me to know what it feels like to associate body-size with self-confidence, but I DO know what it’s like to be told I was broken when in fact I wasn’t.

I’m different, you’re different. I’m okay, you’re…well you know the rest.

February 6, 2011

The Pathology of Normal

Filed under: Food — Tags: — Twistie @ 1:42 pm

Trigger warning: If frank discussion of eating disorders and disordered eating may be triggering to you, this would be a good time to move along. Your well-being is way too important to ignore.

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February 2, 2011

Quick Note from Miss Plumcake

Filed under: Books,Moment of Glamor,Movies,Tech Stuff — Miss Plumcake @ 3:19 pm

Alas, glamor month has begun not with a bang, but with a whimper.

My beloved computer Lappy Rockefeller has given up the ghost after six years of faithful service.

She died surrounded by the things she loved: zebra-print duct tape, a MAC 226 blending brush (for structural support), and the crumbs of a thousand McVitie’s digestive biscuits.

Lappy’s last days were spent in relative calm, playing video of Xabi Alonso standing around glistening and rubbing his lovely ginger chest on almost-continual loop which is normal and not at all a sign that she needs to get out more and maybe you stop being so judgy because you don’t know my her life.

Anyway.

Lappy will be replaced on my couch –though never in my heart– by Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Laptoppe who is hurtling his way through time and space and is scheduled to arrive at stately Château Gâteau tomorrow, when –assuming I’m ever able to figure out how to set the damn thing up– hijinx will once again ensue.

Until then, let me point you in the direction of Twistie’s thought-provoking post, Talking About Eating Disorders, where I invite your comments.

Finally, Lappy or no Lappy, I cannot leave you without at least a brief Moment of Glamor courtesy of two of my very favorite “celebrated sodomites” Stephen Fry and Oscar Wilde.

Ah, the importance of being fabulous.

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