That being said, Tadashi consistently offers evening wear with the same distinctive house DNA in plus sizes and later in the week I’ll feature a handful of dresses that, like Mo’nique’s Oscar dress from last year, are available off-the-rack and in big girl sizes, so never fear.

I haven’t seen The Help because I find the whole Benevolent White Person genre tiresome and at least borderline offensive. Also I hate the smell of popcorn, so I almost never go to the movies.

Still, I am thrilled any time a comic actress actually wins an Oscar and I’m doubly thrilled that this plus-sized Southern jewel has taken a play from the Audrey Hepburn playbook and aligned herself with one designer for almost all her red carpet events.

For Hepburn it was Givenchy and for Spencer it’s Tadashi Shoji.

I’ve always thought Tadashi Shoji is doing now what Valentino did back when Mr Garavani was still the big boss; making beautiful clothes that looked beautiful on the female form. Neither Tadashi nor Valentino reinvented the wheel, but why bother? Let Gareth Pugh make a cocktail gown out of machine gun parts and walrus hair. Not all designers have to be directional, there’s nothing wrong with pretty and elegant.

There’s also nothing wrong with wearing a dress that isn’t strapless, especially because I can barely utter the phrase “strapless skin-tight mermaid gown” without putting myself in a fashion coma.

Ms Spencer is 5’2″ (which means she’s probably really about five foot nothin’) and yet keeping the color simple and the hair and makeup clean, her stylist does an admirable job making sure she doesn’t drown in a sea of evening gown. Usually.

(a rare misstep, but barely. It’s just a bit too much dress and hair for the petite Alabaman, though I love the color)

I also love that she’s wearing sleeves so stylishly.

Too often you see a shrug or a wrap plopped on top of an outfit and it just screams “Hi, I don’t want to show my arm fat” but with Tadashi, the sleeve is proportioned so precisely to the waist (because the right sleeve length can emphasize or minimize your waist/bust/hips in very exciting ways if you bother to pay attention to it) that you don’t even think of the Fat Arm Shame.

What do you think of Octavia Spencer’s outfits? If just one could hang in your closet, what would it be?

I was at Saint Paul’s Episcopal Cathedral in downtown San Diego last night for Ash Wednesday services and I met a wonderful lesbian couple who had been married and whose nuptials fell victim a few days later to Prop 8.

The mind boggles. I plan on getting married at least once and the idea of having my wedded bliss yanked from me is so far off my radar I can’t even find it with GPS and a compass.

It made me think.

I know next to nothing about the lesbian big girl experience, especially not the single lesbian big girl experience. All but one of my lesbian pals are in long-term committed relationships (insert Uhaul joke here) and none of them are particularly big.

The plight of the Chubby Gay Man in the non-bear community is one I’ve heard all about (over and over and over, often while sitting next to me on the couch drinking chocolate bourbon milkshakes and watching Girls Will Be Girls) but my female friends of Dorothy are usually too busy living satisfying, productive lives in healthy, normal relationships to pour their hearts and livers out to me. Hmph.

So consider this a call for submissions. If you’ve got something to say; I want to hear it.

I usually put a hundred word limit on the comments, but for this post, have at it. Alternately, if you want to email me that’s fine too. I’ll post some of the more thought provoking comments either tomorrow or next week.

Oh, I’ll be monitoring the comments carefully, so visiting trolls might as well give up now.

If you’ve been to New York City lately, you may well have seen these billboards telling us all that if we drink large sodas, we will get diabetes and have to have our legs amputated. It shows a headless fat man with crutches and his right leg amputated below the knee behind a row of growing soda cups, and informs us that eating less is the way to avoid developing diabetes.

Never mind that (a) no direct causal link between drinking soda and developing diabetes has ever been proven, (b) no direct causal link has ever been proven between eating anything in any amount and developing diabetes, (c) no mention is made of the fact that the bar has been lowered for diagnosing diabetes (much like several other ‘fat peoples’ diseases’ such as hypertension) in the past few years, or (d) the vast majority of people with diabetes will never face amputation of anything at all, there’s another aspect that’s even more shameful about this ad: the man in it has all his limbs.

You see, several years ago, California actor Cleo Barry agreed to sit for a professional photographer for $500.00. As part of the contract, Barry signed a release form that allowed the photographer to distribute or sell the images as he saw fit. The photographer sold this image (sans crutches, Photoshop amputation, or scare tactic message) to Image Source, a stock photo company.

Fast forward, and the New York City Department of Health chose Barry’s photo to buy for their diabetes awareness campaign. After all, what could be more likely to hammer the message home than a picture of a fat, young, black man… once they did a bit of digital surgery?

And young does enter into the equation. The vast majority of amputations among diabetes patients? Happen to people who have been living with diabetes for literally decades. They aren’t performed on people in their twenties, like Barry, but people in their sixties and upwards, who have had poorly controlled blood sugar for twenty, thirty, forty years. Even then, the rate is very small compared to people living with diabetes. You know, people like Mr. Twistie who was diagnosed nineteen years ago and yet still has all his limbs and his eyesight.

When Barry became aware of the ad, he was horrified. In fact, he stared at his computer screen and cried. He feared what this ad would do to his acting career.

But he has decided to fight back, folks. In a move to both bring attention to how exploitive this ad campaign is and bolster his career at the same time, Barry has made the following offer: he will lower his usual pay rate to any soda company willing to use his unaltered image in their ad campaign. He even says he’ll sing and dance ‘without charging an arm and a leg.’

In other news about fighting back, you may have heard about the Billboard Project. If you haven’t heard the news, Ragen Chastain at Dances with Fat (and if you aren’t reading her blog, I absolutely encourage you to do so last week!) has started a campaign to raise funds for an alternate billboard to put up in Georgia to rebut those appalling billboards telling fat children they are sick and bullied, but they bring it on themselves by being fat. On thursday, the Go Fund Me page opened for business. Ragen and those working with her on the fund were hoping to raise $10,000.00. That goal has been kicked to the curb, folks! It was beaten inside of twenty four hours. The new goal is $15,000.00 to fund not only the original billboard, but a host of other ways of getting out the body love message. There’s just over a thousand dollars left to go to meet the new goal.

But wait! There’s more! And it isn’t an incredible Ginsu steak knife.

More of Me to Love has offered $5,000.00 in matching funds… but there’s a catch. While the monetary goal was reached quite a while back, they stipulated that there must be a minimum of one thousand unique donors to unlock those funds. This is an incredible offer, and I love the fact that the agreement includes building a truly grassroots movement that includes a lot of people, rather than a few donations from people with a lot to spare. But as of Ragen’s last update, the project still needs nearly three hundred donors to unlock the More of Me to Love funds.

So please, if you have anything to spare, go to the Go Fund Me page and make a donation. Anything from five dollars up is accepted at Go Fund Me. If you cannot spare that much, or would rather use PayPal, you can go here to donate Solidarity Dollars, starting at quite literally one dollar donations.

Remember, every dollar is another blow against body shame and publicly funded bullying.

And every dollar, every refusal to buckle under, every act of individual body love is another chip in the wall of hate and prejudice. Let’s take that wall down!

Still having a Fassbinder moment.

I’m dandy and am bringing, as promised, a more detailed post on the successful deployment of costume jewelry, including 10 Plumcake’s Picks (clicky click on the images for links).

So let’s talk about necklaces.

While all women can pull off a serious statement necklace given sufficient attitude and force of personality, big girls have a leg up on our more slender competition because huge gobstopper gems that can overwhelm a delicate swan-like thing look fabulous and proportionate on our bigger frames.

You gotta have a big canvas if you want to paint a masterpiece.

And before I get all you art history majors waggling your invisible fingers at me, I know that’s not technically correct.

But you know the deal: you don’t split hairs with my turns of phrase and I don’t roll my eyes and cough *shouldagonefortheMBA* whenever you complain in genuine surprise at the shocking lack of high-paying jobs requiring an advanced degree in upside down toilets.

Moving on.

Big necklaces can be tricky for the big girl.

We’ve got the bulk to carry it off, but we don’t necessarily have the neck. I know, I know. Just as I’m convinced my church exists solely as a place for me to lose my sunglasses, you might think this blog exists solely as a place for me to bemoan my lack of giraffe-like qualities.

That is a damnable misconception. It’s also a place for me to post pictures of Spanish footballers in compromising and slightly homoerotic positions. Whee.

Generally speaking, the shorter your neck, the longer you want your necklaces to be.

I’m not saying go for all lavaliers all the time, but chokers or extremely busy bibs close to the throat run a higher risk of making you look a little squatter than necessarily desirable, you want the necklace to enhance the beauty of your face. A too-short necklace is like a photograph that’s been too tightly cropped.

Also there’s the dreaded disappearing necklace, where the front vanishes entirely under my double chin when I talk with any degree of animation.

This is a Very Bad Look for me. It’s like, acid wash and mullet bad.

*shudder*

When you’re tall you can fudge a bit on length, but the sweet spot for short necklaces is juuuust below the hollow of the throat. It’s the prettiest length on almost anyone, and you can still get a lot of drama without the Campbell’s Soup Kid effect.

Now let’s talk about body shape.

Apparently we’re either apples or pears. While I slightly object to being described as any part of Cockney rhyming slang, let’s have a butcher’s at what suits the various fruits among us.

I’m pretty much an hourglass pear, but there’s definitely more time at the bottom than the top.

For me, most necklaces extending longer than the middle of my decollete (I’d say cleavage but my gals have a wide stance so there’s no actual cleave involved unless coaxed via specialty equipment and possibly the Army Corps of Engineers) get lost and are more distracting than anything else.

For apples however, especially short ones (crabapples?), the opposite holds true.

While pears are best served with chunky but clean bib-style ornamentation, those lucky apples can rock the long ropes, pendants and lavaliers like nobody’s business. They make short girls look taller and encourage the eye to travel all the way down the body instead of just hitting the rack or belly and stopping.

Basic styling advice for a statement necklace: Minimize distractions.

Wear your hair up or back if it’s long and you’re wearing a big piece close to the face and keep the neckline clean.

You can have an orgiastic explosion of ruffles OR an orgiastic explosion of jewels, but please, one orgy per outfit.

The last thing you want is to have a visual competition between Big Necklace, Big Hair and Big Neckline.

Go High/Low for day.

It’s really the most chic way for day.

Yesterday I tossed on a dead simple and cheap black t-shirt jersey dress, flat gold sandals and an enormous Bollywood-style necklace.

I added an understated but substantial ring to continue the look of casual glam and it was enormously successful.

For some reason people seem to think every article of clothing has to have the same formality level.

For evening okay, I’ll buy that, but for day and early cocktail, splashy jewelry with understated clothes (jeans, a little cute knit top) is the most fun combination since Ovaltine and compound opiates, and that my friends, is a lot of fun.

Okay ducklings, it’s time for Miss Plumcake to hit the showers. Okay, really it’s time for Miss Plumcake to swim in her pool of costume jewelry like Scrooge McDuck (but in a tiara) but either way, have a fantastic day and tell me all about your favorite necklace in the comments!

Anyhoodle, it’s Monday, my liver is very graciously not pressing charges so I guess I better dance like the immaculately shod primate I am and serve up some steaming hot content for my favorite invisible friends, so with that in mind, I am about to give you some exhaustively-researched, life-changing advice that will change your world forever. Ready? Here goes:

You should probably not treat yourself like crap.

You’re welcome.

I am pretty rotten at a lot of things: I can’t cook rice, I can’t wax my own eyebrows without making it look like I spend large portions of my time chasing Moose and Squirrel with a short dude in a trench coat and although I can get a man from zero to will-you-marry-me in record time, I can’t ever manage to frogmarch myself into Holy Matrimony…even when there was a house in Cannes at stake.

One thing I am good at is treating myself pretty well.

The way I think about it, there are only too many people ready and willing to treat you like garbage, especially if you’re different (and thus wrong/scary/less-than-human) so uh, they don’t really need my help.

And then there’s the majority of people out there who are basically good and decent –they vote and pay taxes and use their turn signals at least 15% of the time (percentage may be slightly lower in Texas)– but don’t really have the time or energy to devote to making me happy. I can only assume this is some sort of divine tribulation or egregious celestial oversight, so one tries to take the broad view and tries to carry on through this mortal veil of tears.

To me, not treating myself like crap means doing my best most of the time to put good things in and on me, and have good things come out of me.

For the rest of the week, I’m going to focus on the importance of self-care, from the type that involves fruits and veggies and doctor’s offices to the type that requires double A batteries and soundproofing (there may be an overlap for some of you, I don’t know your lives.)

So in parting, lest you think I’m about to get all Gwyneth Paltrow your collective lady lumps, I leave you with a photo of Saint Tallulah Bankhead whose last words were “Codeine…bourbon.” The old bird didn’t live long –she died at 66– but she sure as hell lived well.

Best of all, while it comes in standard sizes, from 0 to 26, it can also be made (like all eShakti clothes) to your custom measurements. Even if you don’t use custom measurements, they ask your bra cup size and height so that your dress will fit you properly. With many pieces you can choose the length you want it to be, the neckline you prefer, and/or the sleeve length and style.

So what else from the current line is making me happy? Take a look and see.

How about this fabulous dress? Simple, elegant lines, great colors (this spectacular crimson appeals to me, but it’s also available in sea green, navy blue, black, violet blue, and deep raspberry), with plenty of options. Oh, and the price is definitely right at just $52.95.

But don’t forget to look at some of their older designs, too! There are plenty of wonderful pieces that you’ll wear again and again.

Things like this awesome sunset gold scalloped shift dress. It’s a steal at $69.95.

Or this delicious mauve cotton/silk blend blouse for $59.95.

Pretty clothes, fair prices, and amazing customizing all in one place? Count me in!

Over the last few years, I heard a lot about the show Criminal Minds. What I kept hearing the most was ‘it’s a great show, but you couldn’t handle it, Twistie.’ I listened. Silly me.

Then over the Thanksgiving weekend, a good friend sat me down for a three-day marathon of Criminal Minds. I’ve been hooked ever since. My friend even knew precisely the door to open first: Garcia.

Look, I found a lot to love about the show in general… as well as a few things to keep me awake late at night, brrr! But I have fallen hook, line, sinker, and the day’s catch for Garcia.

She’s fabulous. She lets her freak flag fly as high as it will go. She’s intelligent and capable and funny and flirty and completely herself, no matter what. She also happens to be fat. No, really, that’s just how it is. It isn’t a Major Plot Point. I haven’t yet seen or heard about a Very Special Episode in which Garcia bemoans her weight or is forced to choose between donuts and a dude. She just happens to be fat.

And so I say I love you, Penelope Garcia. I also have a deep love now for Kirsten Vangsness, the fabulous lady who plays Garcia.

Reading: Life of Pi by Yann Martel. Straight out and without qualifications the best contemporary novel I’ve ever read. Usually when I read a so-called great contemporary novel, I’m less than impressed because I think “eh, I can write as well as this shmuck.” It’s not that I’m the best ink-slinger on the block, but it amazes me what gets passed off as great writing these days. With Life of Pi? I was in a slump for a week because I’ll NEVER write anything so beautiful. The plot? Piscine Molitor Patel, a young Indian boy is stranded 227 days in a lifeboat alone with a Bengal tiger. Part adventure, part character study, part spiritual exploration and part magical realism, it’s completely brilliant. Read it now.

Watching: RuPaul’s Drag U. Okay, I’m not actually watching this now, but a few weeks ago when I had access to a television but before I discovered an entire channel devoted to Proper Football I watched a few hours of a marathon of this show. Now we all know I love Miss Ru –who doesn’t do the show in drag– but what I love more is the premise: women learning how to embrace their femininity through the art of drag. Because honestly, makeovers should be fun. They shouldn’t be about feeling bad about “flaws” or fitting into some humorless mold. I spent many formative years with drag queens as mentors (THE HELL YOU SAY!) and I’m a better broad for it.

Hearing: Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem. I have a really inappropriate story about this piece and a scorching hot Dutch cellist who was one of my better Very Bad Ideas that I’m not going to tell you because I’m pretty sure my little brother reads this blog and I don’t want to traumatize him. Still, even if you don’t have a story that puts the damn in Amsterdam this is an incredible piece, especially if you love Gregorian chants and a good contemporary organ. Lord knows I do.

Smelling: Un Lys by Christopher Sheldrake for Serge Lutens. Un Lys means “A lily” and that’s exactly what you get. I can’t remember whether Andre bought it for me or if I plucked it myself but I’m always surprised by this perfume and have been wearing it layered with some dirtier juices (Cumming, Bulgari Black) recently. It’s hard to find a lily that’s pure but not cloying and for my money this is tied with Lys Méditerranée as Best Lily Ever. It’s one of the few fragrances that I’ve had someone follow me down the street to smell. Available at Barney’s or Lucky Scent or get a decant at The Perfumed Court.

Loving: Any Soldier. We all know I’m a sucker, right? Right. So when someone very special to mine heart (who is still going to get a kick in the head for pulling this on me, and don’t think I won’t do it, kiddo) volunteered me to make cookies for pretty much the ENTIRE 10th Mountain Division (okay ten people), currently stationed in Afghanistan I couldn’t really say no. I said a lot of other things, most of which aren’t suitable for print –I mean that’s a LOT of cookies– but not no. Regardless of how you feel about the war, I invite you to consider sending a soldier a little love.

Hating: Aromatics Elixir. WHY? WHY are people STILL WEARING THIS? It’s so hissy and vile. In the history of my life I have only met ONE person who doesn’t wear this but still likes it. And also, is it a RULE that you need to douse yourself with it? It smells like Burt Reynolds’ chest wig deodorizer. Urgh.

Wanting: Juniper Boots from Duo. Where were these calf-fit boots last year when I thought I would DIE if I couldn’t find a pair of jumping boots to fit my fatted calves? I bought a pair of proper riding boots that juuuust about do the trick, but I wish I’d waited and picked these up instead. They’re not cheap but I don’t even want to tell you how much custom-fit riding boots normally cost. Treat yourself. I promise, your legs will go out of fashion before these boots do.

Buying: Pre-owned Hermés scarves from Portero Luxury. It’s been a while since I’ve treated myself to a new foulard, but after giving an impromptu scarf-tying class the other night for a lady who was at a loss as to how to wear a beautiful scarf once belonging to the unforgettable Molly Ivins I’ve got the bug again. My favorite? This Hemisphaerium Coeli Boreale constellation scarf in a buttery coral. At Portero I can get a like-new scarf for well under retail and not have to worry about its authenticity.

No, this will not be an ode to The Sound of Music. It won’t even be an ode to Julie Andrews, despite the fact that I find her a lot more inspirational overall than any Rogers and Hammerstein musical. This is more about looking around and opening up my own private box of awesome and encouraging all of you to do the same.

There’s a lot in the world to be angry about, or depressed about. Heck, I’ve merrily pointed some of them out to you. I will again. There’s a lot to be done before the world can accept a bunch of fat, happy women out being amazing without spontaneously combusting.

But if we wait for all of them to be ready, not one of us will enjoy our fat happitude, and that would be just plain stupid and wasteful of us. We are not stupid. We are not… well, not all of us are wasteful. We certainly aren’t going to waste our own fabulous just because there are some deeply confused people out there who wring their hands in anguish at the thought of our existence, let alone our refusal to wallow in the shame they try to heap on us.

So every once in a while I like to get all Little Mary Sunshine on their cabooses and celebrate cool stuff that I enjoy. In public. With a big ol’ grin on my face. What things might these be? I’m so glad you asked.

1: I wear bright colors. No, I will not resign myself to the darker end of neutral for the comfort of others. I will damn well wear all the orange and purple and red and turquoise I like. Why? Because I love them and look fabulous in them.

2: I wear hats and extravagant jewelry. See above for a reason. I will not make myself invisible so that some folks lacking in all ability to appreciate fabulous when they see it won’t be offended. Besides, my hats seem to bring smiles to a lot of faces, especially on small children who haven’t yet learned to be afraid of sartorial splendor.

3: I speak up when I have something to say. And because I do that, a lot of people seem to look forward to seeing me. What? Most of what I have to say is either helpful or funny, and it’s often both. When it’s angry, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’m not doing it for my own pleasure, or that of the person I’m angry with. But I will be fair. And I will not back down.

4: I eat in public. Whether what I’m in the mood for is salad or ice cream, I refuse to concern myself with what others think of what I’ve ordered or added to my shopping cart. I pick according to my appetite, my mood, and my personal tastes. I am not responsible for what someone else thinks of what I’m eating, and nobody can make me accept that responsibility.

5: I dance when the opportunity presents itself and my knees will cooperate. Sometimes my knees aren’t that happy to dance. Bad knees run in my mother’s side of the family and seem to have finally caught up with me, alas. Then again, one of my brothers got stuck with the knee thing in his teens when he was a fairly skinny thing. But if there’s music and my knees are having a good day, I don’t care if someone else doesn’t want to see me wiggle my fat butt on the dance floor. I don’t have time to watch them with a critical eye, and if they have time to worry about my aesthetic appearance while dancing, I feel kind of sorry for them. Scratch that, I feel all kinds of sorry for them.

6: I sing out loud. They may say it ain’t over until the fat lady sings, but baby when I pour out those chest notes, it’s just gettin’ started.

There’s crap everywhere. There’s hate in the world. There’s even violence. We need to be aware of it all.

But don’t ever let it stop you from living your life. It’s the only one you’ve got, and there’s no victory in failing to use it for anything.