Manolo for the Big Girl

Oh Dawn French, you are my everything. I love you with a love that is more than a love. You are SO funny and SO talented and your Catherine Zeta Sparticus Douglas Jones, Queen of Wales sketches (including an incredible Welsh accent and the greatest line ever written which is almost unrepeatable but ends in the phrase “cockle-tidy, snuggle-bosoms, drop-drawers gorgeous”) kill me every. single. time.

Therefore, I cannot bring myself to snark on you.

HOWEVER, and I’m saying this APROPOS OF NOTHING, that perhaps if you are blessed with great expanses of rack but not of leg or neck that a long, relatively shapeless mac in a Big! Floral! might not do THE most glorious things for you. Perhaps if you had a shorter, say, just bum-covering belted flared trench with a lapel you might not look so much like you are one stiff breeze away from requiring the immediate medical assistance of all the king’s horses and –somewhat more temptingly– all the king’s men.

Francesca is back!

Oh, kissie kissie, it is so good to be here! Kissies on both cheeks! xoxo!

Where has Francesca been, you ask?

Francesca has been sick.

Francesca was so sick, my friends, that she did not even have the energy to crawl to her shoe closet in order to admire and caress her new Vaneli boots.

Can you imagine?

And all this time, Francesca has been thinking of her dear readers. In the depth of her feverish haze, she cried out repeatedly “I did not mean that one should say it out loud!” Because, you see, in my last post, oh so many days ago, when I suggested that the “question,” when a friend loses weight, should be

“did you lose the weight in a healthy way? Are you actually healthier now than you were before? If so, congratulations! If not, is worrying about your (subjective) beauty more important than worrying about your mental, emotional, and physical health? How can I support you in what you really need?”

Francesca did not mean that you should necessarily say these thing aloud! No, no, she meant that this would be the best attitude to take, and she wishes that our society in general took this approach. As to what to actually say to a good friend or a mere acquaintance who has lost weight . . . well, perhaps we can open that up for a discussion in a future post!

And the second thing I wish to say, in response to Plumcake’s last post, is that it is no secret that Francesca is a fan of the fantasy literature, and of the Rennaissance Faire clothing, and of the flowy, wispy, feminine clothing in general. But as many readers stated, there is good wispy clothing and bad wispy clothing; flowy clothing that shows off one’s style and coloring and shape to advantage, and flowy clothing that only serves to make one look like a cow; there are times to wear the Renaissance clothes and times to wear the Renaissance-inspired clothes and times to wear neither. And in general, a good rule of thumb is to aspire to look like the Renaissance Lady of Good Breeding, and not the Renaissance Lady of Ill Repute.

Francesca has noticed that a disproportionate percentage of the sci-fi/fantasy female fandom world is made up of our Big Sisters, and wonders why that is . . . it is an interesting social question. But do not mock the clothing out of hand! You would never believe how many compliments Francesca receives on her LOTR cape, which was only $12.99 on sale at Size Appeal but is coveted by most of her skinny, non-fanfic friends. Random people on the street stop to tell her how much they love her cape.

But she would not wear it to a red-carpet event.

Oh Chaka. I was hesitant about bringing you to the Big Girl blog after I snarked on you at Ayyyy! because I figured, how much can one clearly frazzled woman endure? Then I realized a) this could be a learning experience for my fellow big girls and b) my soul is made of eels.

We’re gonna leave the hair alone, that’s her signature and if she wants to look like she’s spent the past five presidential administrations combing her hair with a dead seagull let her.

What we’re not going to leave alone is this tragifying pre-Raphaelite Swamp Thing disaster. I don’t know what it is about Big Girls, but have you noticed we tend to favor the flowy, Stevie Nicks, ren-fest stuff? And yet the vast majority of it looks TERRIBLE.

Plus it sends a social message. That message is “Hello, I spent my formative years smoking pot/rolling 12-sided dice/writing LOTR fanfic/reading historical romance/writing bad poetry because Emily Dickinson is SO DEEP and as such cannot deal with being a grown up. Would you like to meet my cat/see my roomful of stuffed unicorns/marry me/ have awkward fishbelly group sex?”

This is not the message we want to send, Chaka, so leave the crocheted sleeves, the random ejaculations of chiffon and the jagged mermaid hems at home, grow the heck up and put on a freakin’ ball gown.

 Damn.

Friends, I am concerned. There has been a rash –and I’m not sure I don’t mean that literally– of inappropriate legging abuse. I believe in the early days of this blog I went on record as being a bit of a legging apologist, with the caveat that leggings are sui generis and not to be confused with tights or, even worse, pants.

So it is with heavy heart I report to you that I have seen no fewer than four big girls wearing butt-grazing “big shirts” and leggings in professional situations. There is a time and a place for a big sequins shirt and leggings sans pants. That time is 1972 and that place is the soundstage of Liza Minnelli’s groundbreaking musical spectacular “Liza With a Z” choreographed by one Mister Bob Fosse.

See, the thing about leggings as a stand-alone garment is that they reveal a bit more feminine mystery than I (and therefore all sensible people everywhere) think strictly appropriate. There are certain nooks and crannies that –unless you happen to be a Thomas’ English muffin or that weird butt-implant chick married to Ice T– should be, in the name of decency if not medical science, be shrouded in mystery.

Plus there’s the cellulite issue. I’ve got it. Most big girls do. Now, I don’t stare into the mirror above my bed and wail into the lonesome darkness about it, but I’m not especially keen to show the general public exactly how closely the back of my thighs resemble the latest topographical relief map of northern Scotland.

To review: Don’t take fashion advice from a woman whose lasting contribution to society was the spider lash and remember that no matter how ultrafab you truly truly are, none of us want to see your English muffin at the grocery store.

Let me clarify. I am not against knee socks with pants. I am not against knee socks in age-appropriate arenas if you are, in fact, age-appropriate for knee-socks. If your first experience of rock and roll was watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan that is a) awesome b)a perfect excuse to take off the mutton/lamb gear and buy yourself some Prada. However, if all you do is hike up your trouser socks, call it a look and then expect me to let you handle my portfolio let me tell you friend, you have another think coming.

Also, while I’m on the subject, let me talk about gaucho pants. Are you ready? Here we go, the Plumcake Patented Speech on All Things Gaucho Pants.

No.

No. Not at work, not at the gym, not running to Starbucks or the grocery store or to take the dog for a walk. Not even in the privacy of your own home at three in the morning, huddled under the blankets with a flashlight and your illicit dog-eared copy of Unflattering Pants Monthly.

Harsh? Perhaps. But I think about clothes the same way I think about children and just like children, there are just some things too ugly to love.

So I’m a bit concerned.

Yesterday I saw three Full Grown Women –good looking gals in their late 30’s and presumably employed in the financial district where I was meeting a friend for lunch. This in itself is not extraordinary. Seeing three women in the course of an afternoon lunch is not a big deal unless you happen to be a resident of one of this nation’s many splendored jails, incarceration facilities and/or hoosegows.

The reason I’m writing this, and you are no doubt breathlessly reading it, is that these full grown woman, by all accounts women who are Old Enough to Know Better were wearing solid, non-descript sweaters, solid, non-descript knee-length skirts and –get ready for it– KNEE SOCKS.

KNEE SOCKS! I almost died. In fact, since I live in Texas I “liketa” died. And it’s not like these three women were together! No, there were three separate women who all looked into their closet full of boring Talbot-ery (sorry Fran) put on their work-appropriate clothes and instead of tying on a fabulous scarf or wearing a say-something necklace decided “let me just yank these trouser socks allll the way up and pretend they’re boots” put on their loafers and called it an outfit.

The first one I could kinda give a pass. I mean, it’s been really cold here recently and Texans are not notorious for having a lot of winter wear. I thought maybe she didn’t have any tights or tall boots, and all her pants got eaten by a band of marauding trouser badgers. You know, that sort of thing. But when I saw a second and then a THIRD well…I almost broke my rule about not drinking after noon.

Ladies, please. Please do not wear knee socks in a professional setting. Yes they’re cute in a sort-of-tired-because-Reality-Bites-was-a-really-long-time-ago-and-why-don’t-people-just-get-over-it-seriously-I-mean-it-enough-with-the-lunchboxes way if you’re youngish and have an alterna-girl bent but seriously, SERIOUSLY, unless you are women’s field hockey player, bagpiper or a practitioner of the stripperly arts there is no conceivable reason for it.

Except for the badgers, of course.

Francesca remembers well the day she went into a specialty lingerie boutique and asked for control-top pantyhose. The owner of the little shop looked up and down the Apple-shaped body of Francesca and said “I hope you realize that control tops are overrated. It is true they slim the thighs and buttocks, but if you have a tummy, they also enlarge your love handles. I highly recommend that you get regular hose.”

Suddenly, the heavens opened and Francesca knew that this saleswoman was her personal messenger from God. It was so true! The control top pantyhose helped the skirts go on more smoothly, but they also created the unsightly muffin top! Francesca had seen this in her mirror oh so terribly often, but it had never registered. It took a stranger to point out the obvious.

So, Francesca says: beware of slimming “foundation garments” which slim one area and make another area poochie!

Now, onto another, related matter. Speaking of slimming foundation garments, our readers have long been raving about the Spanx brand of “body shapers.” Where can you find Spanx, you ask? Why, Francesca can tell you! They are available, just for example, at Kiyonna here, and at Nordstrom here.

Kiyonna and Nordstrom sell Spanx items at the same or very similar prices, but their selections differ, so check out both sites and see what you like. There is an almost dizzying variety of body-shaping hose, panties, slips, camisoles, body suits, thigh shapers, etc etc. The products go up through size 18. (Francesca does not understand this. Should not they be helping out the sisters whose sizes are in the 20’s? But Francesca helps whomever she can with the information . . . )

(Also remember that both sites have very generous shipping arrangements. At Nordstrom, shipping is $5. At Kiyonna, if you spend $100 and ship within the US, shipping is free. Happy shipping!)

Most pertinent to our discussion, Spanx makes a body slimmer which extends from mid-thigh all the way up past the love handles. It goes all the way up and stops just short of the breasts. This is ingenius and Francesca commends them for creating this.

Here is a similar item, albeit more pricey because it has a cotton lining and stronger slimming powers!

Thanks, Spanx!

xoxo,

Francesca

Francesca does not enjoy speaking ill of plus-size clothing vendors or designers. They are so few in number, Francesca feels that they must be pampered and spoiled, lest they pull an Old Navy on us.

Yet sometimes, a plus-size designer commits a fashion crime so heinous, that Francesca cannot simply stand by and watch. Especially when said crime is committed by a designer who, in her personal manner and bold vision is normally likeable, if not quite exactly superfantastic, we must save her from degenerating hopelessly into fashion Hades.*

For the “Honey. No.” category, I present two selections from Monif C’s new items!

Yes, yes, some of them are fine. Francesca likes the swing coat and this purple chiffon dress, and can live with most of the other dresses, although they are only OK, not great.

But . . . what in the name of all that is good and holy is this?

When did Francesca fall asleep and wake up on a planet where plus-size designers make clothing that is the stereotypical ugly, shapeless clothing that skinny designers think that plus-size women should wear?

or this?

Whose brilliant idea was it to pair that . . . that trippin-with-the-Bradys fabric thing with boots that have fur exploding over the top?

Dear Monif, the words “kaleidoscope of patterns and hues,” “bell sleeves” and “knee-length” should never appear together. Never, ever.

Honey. No. No. Just. No.

* What this sentence was supposed to say is:

“Especially when said crime is committed by a designer who, in her personal manner and bold vision is normally likeable — though Francesca does not find the clothes themselves to be quite exactly superfantastic — we must save her from degenerating hopelessly into fashion Hades.”

Francesca has nothing personal against the Monif. In fact, Francesca would love to take the Monif out for coffee or lunch. And Francesca appreciates the boldness of her approach. I simply do not think that, in practice, her designs are usually flattering for most Big Girls (though as I said, some of them are great) — and I stand by my opinion that the fabrics above, in those styles, are not attractive. If you are a fan, or have enough boldness yourself to carry off these designs, then Francesca says: more power to you.

Francesca says: Forming your own opinion is superfantastic.

Okay, once, JUST ONCE I would like a guy to meet me, think I’m smart, funny and gorgeous and then NOT ask me to punish him in some bizarre way.

I mean, is it me? Okay, I’m tall and maybe a little intimidating and yes, technically the last long-term relationship I was in started with me threatening to drown him by the ankles in a hotel swimming pool, but as Herodotus wrote as he described the battle of Thermopylae in “Histories” book seven: “Damn, yo.”

Saturday night I had a guy in the middle of our FIRST DATE just sort of matter-o-factly ask me if I would step on a part of his personage that, in my limited understanding of human anatomy, should not ever, ever be stepped upon…and he wanted me to do it wearing my pink whipsnake shoes!!!

Honey no! I had those made in London. I am not trying to go around puncturing dudes with my $600 bespoke shoes (well, except that one time at the invitation-only 90% off sale at Saint Thomas, but it’s okay because he turned out to be a sales associate and thus probably used to death threats). Aside from the overall squookyness (that being a heavily-researched psychological term) of the whole thing, how would I even begin to explain the story to my cobbler?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about an adorable tweed jacket at Zaftique. I’m still in love with that jacket. It’s a great cut, a great color, and reasonably priced.

On the other hand, I did note at the time that the goods at Zaftique are a touch…well…inconsistant in quality of design. After taking a stroll through some of their latest offerings, I’m here to show you just why it’s a good idea to tread carefully on this site.

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