Manolo for the Big Girl

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.

Sigh.

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:

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.

Is that what you want America? Is it?

Sigh.

Francesca sometimes reads the blog “Single Dad/Disabled Daughter,” which is pretty much what it sounds like: it is written by a 40-something New England man whose teenage daughter is non-mobile, non-verbal, and cannot communicate in any way. (She laughs and cries, but cannot perform a repeatable action at will to represent “yes” or “no.”)

As “Pearlsky” gets older, Single Dad wants to know from his female readers how he can make his daughter look pretty and well-cared-for, without sexualizing her or crossing into creepy territory:

Should her ears be pierced? Her navel? And if so, should she wear those shirts that show her midriff?

I have always wanted, and still want, Pearlsky to blend in as much as possible . . .  . Yes, I know Pearlsky will never really blend in, so maybe it is so she stands out less?

She is dark haired … do I shave her legs in the summertime when she is in shorts and swimming? Should she wear nail polish? Lipstick? (Those two are probably impractical, but still). How about mascara? If not, why do you? Being a teenager, her skin occasionally breaks out, especially in rhythm with her cycle. Should I try to minimize any acne-like activity? If so, how does that reasoning differ from mascara which would only highlight her beautiful eyes. But then, do I want to highlight anything beautiful about her? If so, why? Why not?

Francesca knows that the intelligent, stylish and friendly women here will have good pointers for this poor stymied man! Read the whole post and share your wisdom here.

P.S. Word to the wise: Single Dad really does not like it when people compliment him for being strong or doing things that they don’t think they could do in his shoes. He is also tired of “Lord bless you and Pearlsky” sentiments. FYI.

So you know how sometimes when life gets rilly rilly hard you sometimes secretly have to pull over on the side of the road in the middle of rush hour traffic and cryandcryandcry and wish that JUST ONCE you could go back to the days where the hardest decision you ever had to make was what color carpet square you wanted to use for nap time and whether  your new scissors REALLY “won’t cut hair” BECAUSE NO ONE BREAKS YOUR BURNT SIENNA CRAYON AND LIVES TO TELL THE TALE, HEATHER WEINSTEIN-TAMAGUCHI!

And then you go buy yourself a $200 bottle of Scotch and a $300 pair of shoes and then realize being a grown-up isn’t so bad?

Basically the flipside to having freedom and being taken seriously is the opportunity for a lot of stuff to go wrong, which is why, from a purely political point of view, I am extremely glad Monif C’s new collection exists. They are NOT muu-muus made out of the curtains of some tragic mid-western housewife who has sublimated her Unmet Womanly Needs into a penchant for gingham, kitties and “Country Cute” décor. Because not that very long ago, those were our options.

Now, thanks to independent designers like Monif C –who is a Very Nice Person– that’s no longer the case, and no matter what we feel about individual collections; we should be grateful not to be held under the tyranny of the shapeless corduroy jumper any more.

That being said:

HOLY HAIR HOPPING MOTHER OF GOD THIS IS A MESS.

This isn’t just a hot tranny mess, this is a super-heated tranny mess. This is a tranny mess only reproducible in a controlled scientific environment, after years and years of government funding and Swiss guys in lab coats running around trying to promise everyone that they’re PRETTY SURE they won’t create a black hole and end existence as we know it.

and I’m just going to say it…that is Too Much Weave.

I love big hair as much as the next gal but I’m pretty sure Chaka Khan, Miss Diana Ross and the Mesdames Knowles (Tina, Beyoncé and That Other one), upon being presented with this look would arch their collective eyebrows and say “uh…that’s a little much.”

Now, I am all sorts of down with editorial fashion choices, more so than most of my colleagues in the fatosphere, so I take the broad view of “wearable” and I actually really like the “Lolita” zebra kimono because it’s totally something I would wear when I was 70, lounging by the veranda while some Sweet Young Thing cleaned my pool and I polished my jewelry (those last two may or may not be euphemisms. Hint: they are.)

But the thing about this collection is yes, it’s a mess, but it’s a purposeful mess. It’s tragic in a thoroughly thought-out, committed way and I applaud that. I’m not even sure there aren’t a couple of pieces that couldn’t be de-skanked into something that doesn’t scream “I write off my IUD as a business expense”.

The problem, of course, is much of this collection seems to subscribe to the Beyoncé School of Fashion Technology: too tight, too short, too low, too loud and just too, too much. Too bad.

So think what you will about Monif’s wares, but be thankful it exists.  It means the fashion community can support a plus size designer who has her own vision and that is a good thing, even if this isn’t:

yikes.

Wear novelty panties unless we want people to see them.

I think we all know I hate this shoe:

Yes. It’s a lug-soled mary jane with a wraparound kitty design.

However, once upon a time in the not too hazy past I actually owned a pair of these, except they were black and the kitties were, you guessed it, pink. To my credit I only wore them once before my better nature (and friends who called me “pussy foot”) took over but there you have it. I owned these shoes.

The question is, are those kitty creepers better or worse than these discosasters from Irregular Choice:

I mean, a lug-soled, top-stitched, “Punk died and all I got were these stupid kitten shoes” creeper is  only going to give you so much. It doesn’t get above its station.

And yet these platforms — even though I really might wear them sans kittens– might be the worse offense despite their cheesecakey goodness.

I am torn.

Which cat shoe is more offensive?

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…and the other one’s a dress.

Just say no to the hankie hem, gang.

The American Independence Day, it approaches, and Francesca knows how much the patriotic Americans love to dress on this day in outfits which evoke their flag! Hooray for the Red, White and Blue, Francesca says. But there is a Right way, and a Wrong way. Rule of thumb: if you are an adult and you would ONLY wear the outfit on the Fourth of July, it is probably a Wrong (little children are exceptions, and it is OK to wear ONE kitschy novelty item IF a Very Cheerful Relative offers you one). If you would wear it on August 10th, it is fine. For example:

Do:

Don’t:

Do (for a very informal family gathering):

Don’t:

Do:

Don’t:

Do:

Don’t:

It’s okay to go up a size.

Seriously.

And while normally I would call that The Rule of Beyoncé, our sadly bereaved friend Janet Jackson is the offender, seen here last year at the opening of one of Alexander “Despite never being attracted to women I secretly am in love with Plumcake and will marry her and spend all my days mixing her toddies and designing exquisite couture for her because she is my everything” McQueen’s boutiques.

I mean granted most of us aren’t Laura Blokhina who wore the look during McQueen’s summer 2008 RTW show which was brilliant from beginning to end. Blokhina was described on one internet resource as 5′11″ and 180 pounds. HAHAHAHAHA. No. When I began modeling I was 5′10″ and180 pounds which put me at about a size 16. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again –although this time I not lying and stifling a giggle– an inch does not make THAT much difference.

Anyhoodle.

Miss Jackson is a thick girl with a kickin’ bod. I can’t say I agree with all her plastic-surgery choices but whatevs. Here Miss J is wearing a kimono. A KIMONO. They’re SUPPOSED to be loose and flowing.  Granted she’s had a bit of an alteration done to close up the neckline because we all know of her well-established nippular modesty and she wisely eschewed the amazing butterfly belt for something more suited to her 5′4″ rack-heavy frame, but this kimono? THIS KIMONO IS TOO TIGHT.

God. Why do I even have to SAY that?! ANSWER ME JANET! WHY?!

I mean the dress was a mistake from the get go, she’s too short for that gesture (and besides, it went out with Mrs Fiske) she would have looked yonks better in this from the same collection:

Because it would have at least given her a little leg.

BUT even if she’d insisted on going with the longer look –and I’m telling you right now I would wear the HELL out of that thing, enormous belt and all, because while you adorable miniature people with the enormous boobs get all the boys, we tall girls with the travel-sized usuals get the best clothes which I think is totally fair– she would have done well to go up a size.

It would have draped better, freed her from what’s known in the South as the dreaded dunlapt disease (as in “my stomach dunlapt over my belt”) and who would’ve known about those extra two inches of fabric?

No one.

Except her stylist

and that’s why God invented “amnesia resultant from blunt force trauma with an American Music Award”.