Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body image. Show all posts

Sunday, April 23, 2023

Fashion Fast

Balenciaga. Prada. Dior. Burberry. Alexander McQueen. YSL. Gucci. Chanel. So much money! So many followers. Why?

I have never been able to understand it, though as a theater person, I should. Fashion shows are a theatrical experience, but never quite get there, from my point of view. They offer all the cliches of theater without the substance--nothing you go home with is more than what you came with, and even what you came with can diminish after a fashion show. (Confidence, anyone)?

In a world where women are meant to look like boys, (and I do mean little boys), what is the point?

Okay, backing up a little here and trying to be less incendiary -- I admit to liking Alexander McQueen. Ridiculously expensive, yes, but at least the clothes I see are for women, even those with curves. As someone who grew up in a land where thin was always in, there was nothing I could ever do -- being a women with curves -- that would be remotely fashionable.

And yet, as they say in the movies (or somewhere) - fashion is supposed to be fun, right? Can anything that takes itself so damnably seriously ever be fun? I don't know. I had a few years where I was head-over-heels in love with Norma Kamali, mainly because her clothes actually fit me and I looked good in them. And of course, my (now departed) mother would pay for said clothes, if I asked enough. 

Last week, I read about the Balenciaga shows and looked at the article's pictures, SMH. I just don't get how any women could believe anything in that collection would look good on her. Unless she was a 14 year old boy, and then I suppose some of it would? But would that be worth the price tag?

Why are women expected to buy and wear expensive clothes? I thought the gown I bought for my son and daughter-in-law's wedding was expensive, and it was $350. Imagine two more zeros on there and we're approaching fashion-show style.

My favorite outfit growing up was jeans, a leotard, and big, hoopy earrings - the favorite outfit of my leading character in The Beat on Ruby's Street. Long black dresses or skirts and leotards work too, and I still like them. What I decided lately is that what women really need as they're growing up is to learn how to walk and talk.

By walk I don't mean the struts we see in fashion shows. I mean walking into a room with what actors and directors call presence--signifying you are someone, mainly because you believe you are.

By talking, I mean using your voice in a way that conveys expressiveness and warmth.

Walking and talking this way don't compromise your individuality. They help you own it.

That's
my diatribe this week, even though -- God help me - I still like Alexander McQueen. And though I'm not in love with Balenciaga, I have to admit - it's an extremely cool name.


Photo by  Amanda Vick on Unsplash



Saturday, March 12, 2016

What I Wish For Your Daughter: Girls and Physical Activity

It would be an understatement to say athletics was not important in my family, especially for girls. Beyond watching football games on TV, there was not much going on physically.

My father had been a runner in high school and junior high, bequeathing his medals first to me and then his grandson (and yes, we still have them). I liked running too as a child, but some kind of exercise-related asthma meant I could never go the distance as I would have wanted to do.

My mother moved not at all, unless it was to participate in everyday activities that wouldn’t get your heart pumping, let alone racing. So when it came to games like softball at camp, I was always the last one picked for the team.

Looking back now, I agree I was not what you’d want behind a baseball bat. I absolutely stunk at softball. But I loved games like soccer (which I discovered in junior high) because I had really strong legs. And what twelve-year-old in her right mind wouldn’t welcome the chance to kick something really hard?

What I wish I could have told my parents was that physical activity isn’t just important for both genders—it’s essential. Working in a care community for older adults I see all sorts of problems people are having physically. I can’t help but wonder if some of them could have been mitigated if we'd all known more about exercise.

It wasn’t until I became a mom that I started integrating exercise into my life in a real way. Before that, I was not doing much beyond walking—though I luckily lived in New York for a while and pretty much walked everywhere.

But when our family moved to Minnesota and my son was born, I started taking him on walks along the river and when he got a little older, put him a trailer and pulled him on my bike. I found the time I spent doing this cleared my head in ways nothing else could.

When his dad and I divorced, I found a part-time job at a non-profit called Melpomene Institute for Women’s Health, named for the first woman to run an Olympic marathon. It was founded by a woman named Judy Mahle Lutter, who started running when her kids were small, just to get out of the house when her husband came home from his run.

I don’t want to say working at Melpomene changed my life, but it changed my life. The eight-person office was run entirely by women and everyone was active to some degree—regardless of weight, interests or ability. Some were all-out athletes and others book-loving armchair dwellers, but everyone found some kind of physical activity they enjoyed and was doing it.

About a year or so after I started working at Melpomene, I remarried, moved again, and joined a gym. I had always thought of gyms as places where Rocky Balboa worked out and guys oiled their muscles incessantly. The gym I found was an all-woman fitness facility that offered personal training and was full of women just like me.

What I found there, for the first time in my life, was what it felt like to have a body. I know that sounds weird because everyone has a body, but when you are raised never to think about it (beyond how you might look in a bikini), being IN that body is a pretty amazing thing.

What I learned, ultimately, was I had muscles that were alive and that could bring me from point A to point Z if I needed them to; that my legs had an elasticity that could be exhilarating; that each one of my arms could actually lift a 12 pound weight and get used to doing that; and that I was alive from head to toe, not just head to neck.

It was like waking up after a long, long nap—if you happen to be Rip Van Winkle.

These days, a full-time job and too many commitments are keeping me from getting to the gym every other day. I do still walk on weekends and use the weights I have at home; but winters are long and I find myself desperately looking forward to spring because an exercycle in my living room just doesn’t cut it.


And from time to time, I think about those twelve-year-old gym days on a soccer field. I fantasize about joining or creating a neighborhood soccer team where we play other teams every couple weeks and practice weekly.

I don’t know if this will ever happen or how I could even make it happen. But I’m thinking about it. I’m also thinking about how it was to be twelve, on the cusp of a world of adolescent angst with no real physical outlet.

Being the mother of a son, I saw him work through a lot of frustrations through sports and I also saw how much joy it gave him. If I ever had a daughter, I would want her to have the same thing.

I’m pleased to see that girls are encouraged to participate in sports and physical activity as much as boys now. But if you have a daughter who hangs back, or is the last person to be picked for her team, what can you do?

If it were my daughter, I would talk to her. Ask what she likes to do and if she doesn’t know, ask if she wants to find out. Because physical activity doesn’t have to be softball or boxing or even soccer. It can be dancing, and I don’t just mean ballet or jazz. It can be something like middle-eastern dance too.

Physical activity can also involve swimming or weight lifting or walking or even juggling. What you’re looking for, mainly, is a way to be in your body instead of just “of” it. And (as you already know) that's not about how you look; it’s about how you feel, how you deal with stress, and about living a healthy life with less illness and downtime.

Because we all deserve that, don’t we? Including you. Including me.

For more on physical activity and girls:



Empowering Girls and Women Through Sport and Physical Activity: Women Win

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Pretty vs. Cool, Parenting and Rickie Lee Jones

“Beats are supposed to be cool, but who knows what that means? I can only tell you what it’s not.” –Ruby Tabeata, The Beat on Ruby’s Street

What does your daughter see when she looks in the mirror? What about your son? The American obsession with looks has been given the seal of approval by an ad nauseum number of studies that tell us appearance matters. (Breaking news! This just in.) 

Sure, it matters. But what kind of appearance and who makes up the rules? When I was twelve I was obsessed with fashion magazines, trying desperately to look like someone I never would or could. Fashion models had tiny hips (if any), the straightest noses imaginable, perfectly flawless faces and tight, fat-free skin that barely covered bone.

Still, somewhere in my consciousness, is the nagging reminder of how much I failed to achieve this ideal. Yet, somehow, I had no shortage of what used to be called “suitors,” and a pretty respectable number of adventurous, romantic relationships (not to mention two marriages, the second of which continues to make me extraordinarily happy).

I don’t know exactly how this happened, but I do know that at some point I began to think differently about appearances. My thinking coincided with seeing a clip of Rickie Lee Jones performing two or three of her most iconic songs. I wanted to listen to her, but at the same time I couldn’t stop watching her. And I didn’t even know why.

Rickie Lee didn’t look like other rock star ladies. She doesn’t glitter or preen. She smiles a lot, and she doesn’t look past her audience; she looks at them and connects. She’s never dressed to show off her body and though her actual features are symmetrically beautiful, that’s not why you’re looking at her.

You’re looking because she’s cool. Somewhere, someone called her the duchess of cool and it stuck like glue, because that’s who she is. A few nights back I had the good luck to catch one of her shows, and she was even better than she always was. And I couldn’t’ help but notice that while lots of rock stars (men included) are getting their faces pulled  tight as drums, Rickie hasn’t gone in for plastic surgery.

Bravo, Rickie, for your beauty and your artistry and for continuing to write the songs you want to write, despite whether anyone decides how “marketable” they are. They are songs that stop us in our tracks and stay in our heads for years, and more importantly, our hearts. They tell us to stop looking in the mirror to judge ourselves. They tell us joy matters, even though life is hard.

They tell us to stop worrying about being pretty, because we are already. They show us how to be cool, but not in some dumb magazine-ish way. They inspired me when I started writing about a twelve year old girl growing up in the middle of the Beat Generation. She tells us what she knows: it’s  not cool to care about how you look. Her mother says pretty fades, but cool is forever. Rickie Lee is a testament to that.

So the next time your son or daughter says she doesn't like what she sees in the mirror, take them over to YouTube and introduce them to Rickie Lee Jones. Talk about the difference between looking cool and looking pretty. And oh, yeah— throw out those fashion magazines.

For some cool articles about tweens and body image, I would check out a ton of articles by Galit Breen, but certainly this one:


What Your Tween Sees in the Mirror” – Scholastic.com