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

July 11, 2010

Suck it, Dove.

Filed under: Abominations,TELLING YOU THINGS — Miss Plumcake @ 1:08 am

You know, I’ve gotta say, I’ve just never been all that crazy about the whole DoveReal Beauty” campaign. I remember back in college –this was way back in 1999 when the earth was still cooling– seeing some Dove ad and going…”Wait, so I’m supposed to be good with my body but also buy their anti-cellulite cream? Huh?”

See I was perusing Zelda Lily the other day and saw their story about how Dove ran this little ad in Craigslist (the emphasis is mine):



RATE: $500 for Shoot date & if selected for Ad Campaign (running 2011) you will be paid $4000!
USAGE: 3 years unlimited print & web usage in N. America Only


Well groomed and clean…Nice Bodies..NATURALLY, FIT Not too
Not too Athletic.

Great Sparkling Personalities. Beautiful Smiles! A DOVE GIRL!!!
Beautiful HAIR & SKIN is a MUST!!!


And you know, all those things are totally fine…for a model casting call. What grates my cheese is this whole tiresome anti-model thing. Really? So you don’t want models, you just want someone who looks like a model?

Oh, and please note you have to have a “Flawless Skin” and a “Nice Body…NATURALLY” because none of us have stretchmarks or scars naturally. Not from doing things like, oh I don’t know, having a baby.
Hitting puberty. Punching yourself in the face repeatedly in an effort to unread stupid casting calls from delusional companies? You know, natural stuff. Oh and you must be well-groomed, because I’m naturally follicle-free anyplace south of my eyelashes, aren’t you?

Also, you can’t be “too curvy” because Curvy = Fat and remember it is still not okay to be capital F Fat. You can be model fat –a size 10– or you can be Self-Congratulatory Token Fat –up to a size 14, maybe 16 if you’re quirky– but you can’t be a pretty size 18, 20, 22, 24 girl. Nope. Because that’s not natural. Oh, and you can’t be naturally thin either, so all you girls who got made fun of and called beanpole, or have people make snide comments about you “needing a sandwich” can just forget about it too, because your beauty isn’t “real.” It’s not natural. And if you’re not one of those previously-mentioned races?

Don’t even bother.

I think this sort of undercover discrimination is way more insidious than any high fashion over-photoshopped editorial spread featuring some 15 year-old Ukrainian girl in a $20,000 gown and a
glitter-crusted bear trap sitting on on a diving board in the middle of a pool of tapioca, because that is clearly an editorial thing. I’ve never been to Ukraine, but I am fairly secure in saying there is probably a relative paucity of haute couture gowns and athletic centers willing to be overrun by delicious manioc-based desserts.

I really wouldn’t care at all if Dove had shown a little intellectual honesty and just posted a model casting call for women between sizes 6 and 12 with flawless skin and beautiful hair and whatever else they wanted. It’s this “oh we’re so above models” nonsense that drives me up the wall. You want a specific look, and you’re defining that look –and very pointedly excluding others– and calling it “Real Beauty.”

Whatever, Dove. You can keep your trademarked Real Beauty. I’ll keep my natural scars, my natural stretch marks and my natural good sense. Now all I need is a flight to Ukraine. I want tapioca.

June 17, 2010

Shoe Month! The 2010 Ferby Gallini Uggo Shooz Award Winner

Filed under: Abominations,Ferby Gallini Uggo Shooz Award — Miss Plumcake @ 12:15 pm

Friends, I see a lot of bad shoes.

Some are just ugly by virtue of production and design, some are ugly merely because looks aren’t job #1 (or even job #200) and those? Those are fine. I have no beef with shoes that are ugly as a byproduct of comfort, because they don’t pretend to be anything but comfort shoes.

However, once in a great while, a truly spectacularly bad shoe will separate itself from the pack of the tacky and cheap and soar like a bedazzled eagle to the absolute heights of spectacularly made, terrifically ill-conceived fug that makes my very soul tremble.

That shoe is then awarded the highly-coveted Ferby Gallini Ugly Shoe Award, affectionately known as The Golden Uggo, so named after two of my very favorite people whose particular footwear aesthetic happens to be somewhere between “clown with a head injury” and “mmm, that’s some good toad lickin’!”

Ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu, I give you the 2010 winner of the Ferby Gallini Ugly Shoe award for excellence in wretched bad taste:

Guiseppe Zanotti Screaming Eagle sandals

No. Don’t speak. Just bask in its glory.

Oh, and check out the other pictures. It’ll answer your burning question “Is the mighty eagle’s beak covered in rhinestones like the world’s angriest discoball?” but then again, I think you know the answer to that.

June 1, 2010

Shoe Month! A Truly Bad Idea

Filed under: Abominations,Shoes,The Daily Kick — Miss Plumcake @ 11:51 am

I know what you all are thinking: It’s the beginning of Shoe Month, so obviously Miss Plumcake (who is looking even more radiant –almost luminous– than usual, if you do say so yourself) is going to start us out with a truly fabulous kick.

And that, my gorgeous little howler monkeys, is where you’d be wrong.

Today we’re going to start Shoe Month with THIS (imagine a great unveiling, possibly with doves and smoke):

Dolce Vita Kade

This, my friends, is some seriously bad shoe.

Let me tell you a little story about when I was but a wee bairn. There were two things I truly loved: milk and pickles.  So one day, with the infinite wisdom of a six year old, I poured the entire jar of pickle brine into a half gallon of milk. For some reason I didn’t try it myself, and when my father poured it on his cereal well…I don’t think I need to finish this story, do I?

The Dolce Vita “Kade” sandal is available at Zappos and is available for purchase (possibly as a trick to play on your enemies) for $127. Pickle juice and milk not included

April 9, 2010

WAG the Togs PART II

Filed under: Abominations,Accessories,Events,Honey. No. — Miss Plumcake @ 5:09 pm

Did someone ask for more Grand National photos?

First of all I think we need to applaud this girl.  Yes, it’s a bad dress without the benefit of being interesting BUT look at her bust.

Well wrangled, madam.

That is one masterfully wrangled rack.

As opposed to this:

the Grand National her knees

MUCH better dress, totally ruined by the lack of a bra.  Here’s the deal:  I am not overly endowed in the chest department –I’m a respectable but not over-enthusiastic C– and what I do have doesn’t move much courtesy of  Plumcake family genetics. While standing up I don’t even pass the pencil test, so I totally understand the temptation to go sans boulderholder.

BUT I DON’T because I know nothing can ruin an outfit as fast as the wrong undergarments. Also, unless otherwise directed, hats should be worn down low over the eyebrow.


Okay, time for a little trip to truthville:  if you do this, you look like trash.  I know that’s an ugly thing to say and normally I’d try to beat around the bust (I meant to say bush, but it’s a funny slip so I’ll keep it) and be a little more subtle but seriously, nothing riles me more than big girls in ridiculous platter-o-boob corsets (this dovetails nicely with one of the many reasons I hate Renaissance festivals too, which in my experience might as well be called Uglye Girls Gettynge Their Tits Out Faire).  I mean couldn’t you just wear a t-shirt saying “Please value me for the one part of my body that’s socially acceptable?” it’d certainly be more comfortable, and not any less blatant.


nice bow

Not that it’s any better on slimmer girls, although with this one at least they’re well-contained. Also,  I don’t know who this woman is but I know where to find her.  I DO like her hat though.

Butterfly ring

Pasty women of England:  I have been from El Paso to Texarkana and places that aren’t even IN Texas and I can tell you after this exhaustive research: Orange is not a person color, and while I love hot pink and orange together IN THEORY, I’m not sure it really works when the orange in question is your skin.  On the other hand (see what I did there), I LOVE that awful butterfly ring, and would wear it in a heartbeat.

This? Not so much:

Ladies 4

A maribou shrug? Really? It’s like what the secretly gay quarterback (and they’re ALL secretly gay) would wear under his jersey for the big home game. And can we FINALLY get on board with the idea that most fascinators look stupid on women? Because they do. They’re like the square-tipped French manicures of hair.

Ruffled floozy

Oh. Oh honey. I…that’s…wow…ruffles.  And bleach.  And Orange. And…I don’t even have the strength. It’s like the coral reef died of peroxide poisoning and took up residence on your top.

could technically be worse

And finally I will leave you with an outfit I know some of you would love and wear (probably the same people who are going to yell at me about renn fests being full of ugly girls) and I’ll admit it: This could be a lot worse. Oh, I still think it’s bad, and her hair is tragiculous, but I don’t HATE the fascinator on her, and at least she’s mostly covered and not BRIGHT orange.

March 4, 2010

Communism fell and all I got was this stupid blister

Filed under: Abominations — Miss Plumcake @ 9:16 am

Oh hell no. I may be drunk, but I’m not THAT drunk.

There is no way in harlequined hell I’m wearing stirrup pants again.
Hells to the naw

I mean, I get stirrups as a practical matter.

If you’re horseback riding they’re invaluable but I haven’t ridden in years. At this point in my life, if my feet are going in stirrups there will either be a medical professional or a US Senator bearing Scotch involved, and since I don’t live in DC anymore (and don’t have the morals of an alley cat) it’s far more likely to be the former, and while there are a lot of non-fashion references I’m glad to make in my daily ensemble, being prodded by the Frozen Escargot Tongs of The Damned is not one of them.

Plus, I have a grudge against stirrup pants on a personal level.

Let me take you on a little word journey back through the hazy mists of time to November 1989, where a young Miss Plumcake was sitting semi-attentively in Mister Kapusnik’s fifth-grade class.  I was semi-attentive because the stirrups of my brand new cow-print stirrup pants ( the ones that precisely matched my equally be-Holsteined mock-turtle halter trapeze top) were bothering my feet.  And do you know what happened while I was fiddling about?

The Berlin Wall fell.

Everyone else has great stories to tell about where they were when the Berlin Wall fell and I don’t because MY STUPID STIRRUP PANTS RUINED THE FALL OF COMMUNISM. Now instead of sitting around being wistful about what a special time it was, I can only try to explain to a stunned audience that yes, my grandmother who purportedly loved me decided the best thing to do with a mouthy, chubby girl already a half a foot taller than everyone else in her class would be TO DRESS HER UP AS A COW.

March 3, 2010

Your Secret Garden Does Not Need Disco Lights

Filed under: Abominations,Honey. No.,TELLING YOU THINGS — Miss Plumcake @ 12:14 am

So this is what it’s come to, huh? This is my life. I’m a thirty year-old woman and I am talking about vajazzling.


My life wasn’t always like this you know. I’m a scholar.

I speak three languages and that’s not even including Latin! I know STUFF.

Like you know whose wang is on the cover of the (uh) seminal Rolling Stones album “Sticky Fingers”with cover art done by Andy Warhol? I DO.

Can you identify all the maple trees found in North America by binomial nomenclature? I CAN.

I know all SORTS of stuff, but NO. I’m here writing about VAJAZZLING because APPARENTLY whatshername, with the orphans and the boobs, got her squirrel all sparkled up and thinks you should do the same.

Ladies.  Seriously.  Why do I even have to SAY super-gluing rhinestones on your shaven haven is a bad idea?

First of all, some things just don’t need decorating.  Like you know how your grandma crocheted toilet paper cozies so instead of having the INDIGNITY of an unadorned roll of Charmin, you had something like this:

crochet dolls

HOW? How is that an improvement? Even being a flower of the South, which means I take the exceedingly broad view of hoop skirts and bonnets, this is just infinitely INFINITELY worse!

SECONDLY, unless you’ve got laser hair removal or are on a merciless wax schedule, you’re going to get some  follicular activity happening down there. I personally don’t care how you attend to your lady garden, but that cute little crystal Playboy Bunny is going to turn into “Easter egg hunt at Oilcan Harry’s” in about five to seven days and while a LITERAL Easter egg hunt at Oilcan Harry’s sounds like more fun than a wagon of puppies, a metaphorical one does not.

Also, glue does NOT last forever.

You think it might but I have eyelash extensions and I know the adhesive they use for that. That’s some hard core medical-grade stickum and even then, something occasionally gets loose.  A particularly hot shower and the next thing you know it would be like the The Last Days of Disco all up in your  lady lounge.

It’d be bad enough on your own but what if it your stray sparklies was discovered by a visitor to the area? And those things have edges! Do you REALLY want to be in the emergency room explaining to the admitting nurse that your gentleman’s personal gentleman is all scratched up because of a rogue crotch-crystal? Really? Because if you think you won’t be the talk of the emergency room you have another think coming.

And what if you got pregnant? It’s all fun and games and then nine months later instead of having a normal delivery which is pretty gross anyway, your kid, the fruit of your highly sparkling loins, makes his arrival into this world in a shower of cooch-confetti  like RIP FREAKIN’ TAYLOR.

rip taylor

Is that what you want America? Is it?


February 3, 2010

In Response to Plumcake’s Question of Yesterday…

Filed under: Abominations,The Fat's in the Fire — Francesca @ 4:34 am

…comes the cover of the March issue of Vanity Fair, according to which everyone in “New Hollywood” is a thin white woman:

Fat Black Males need not apply

Whether the problem lies with Hollywood, or with Vanity Fair, or both is up for discussion.




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