The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

Men of Science vs. Women of Stilettos January 29, 2012

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:14 am
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Who needs science when you have stilettos? Photo by Jean Thornton

Sometimes I think men are just jealous of how strong women really are.  How else can you explain some men’s constant attacks on women’s footwear?  The most recent of these attacks came from two scientists whose recent research findings were published in the Journal of Applied Physiology.  These men of science say their research shows that women who wear heels for 40 hours or more a week moved with shorter, more forceful strides, and that stiletto strutting ladies’ feet were perpetually flexed in a toes pointed position.  These movements continue even when barefoot (okay, here is the first issue I have with this study—why are they taking off their shoes?) because the fibers in the calf muscles of shoe girls had shortened, thus putting much greater mechanical strain on their calf muscles than those women who had the poor taste to wear flat shoes. 

Men of Science, such as these researchers, might have a few x-rays, statistics, and charts on their side and perhaps some proven facts.  But as a Woman of Stiletto I cannot help but find fault with this study.  First of all, the designers did not study each woman in heels of varying heights.  I think it’s perfectly logical to assume that any woman who wears heels for 40 hours or more a week likely has a vast variety of shoes in many types of styles, heel heights, and support.  A Mary Jane pump might provide greater support than a strappy sandal.  A good shoe girl would recognize this and consider this when selecting shoes for the day.  Yes, many of us shoe girls will push ourselves to extreme for a cocktail party or evening out, but we generally have better sense when preparing for a busy day at the office.  It is logical to wear those more sensible Mary Jane Pumps when strutting up the street. 

Another problem I see with this study is that is was not done in a natural environment, but inside a laboratory instead.  Here the women were put through controlled tests, walking certain distances while having their every move (or lack their of) recorded with electrodes.  But Women of Stilettos do not simply walk back and forth in a laboratory!  We strut down the street with confidence and grace to a sound track in our mind.  Show me a girl wobbling in her heels, and I will show you a girl with no personal theme song playing.  This study also gave the Women of Stilettos a lack of purpose in their walk.  A woman with a destination and drive behind her walk is a woman on a clear mission.  She is moving not to go solely from one side of a room to another, but to go somewhere, to do something with her actions. 

But beyond these issues I see with how the research was conducted, and I offer another theory, which is this: Women of Stilettos are women of faith.  We climbed on top of something that should scientifically and logically not hold our weight.  No one would design a building with the logic of putting all the weight onto two tiny spokes.  Yet, women do it and have faith that we can hold ourselves up.  Women of Stilettos are women who believe that we will not fall down; even when we wobble a little we can self correct.  We see the world of cobble stone roads, loose gravel walkways, or grassy fields not as hindrances but just other challenges to overcome.  They are just another step that must be taken to move forward. That step might be shorter but they are forceful steps as the research of Men of Science shows. 

Men of Science might be able to measure how my toes point even when resting or that my calf muscles have been altered by my choice of shoes.  But as a Women of Stiletto I kind of have to shrug my shoulders and say, “so what” and simply keep on walking.  Because a Women of Stiletto does not stop long enough to hear what Men of Science have researched; we are too busy moving ahead.

 

No Reality January 15, 2012

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:10 am
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A shoe girl lost in reality. Photo by Jean Thornton

Over drinks with a friend, the conversation somehow wandered to the topic of the reality TV show The Amazing Race.  My friend commented that she thought it would be so fun for her and I to be on the show together.  I was about to counter that that my idea of a trip around the world involved several luxury hotels and far more luggage than one backpack’s worth.  Before I could speak, my friend stated the obvious, “you couldn’t do that; they wouldn’t let you wear heels.”   For a brief moment I did think of scaling the pyramids in a pair of Michael Kors’ wedges….before thinking I would much rather scale the escalator at Bergdorf Goodman’s. 

My friend was speaking the truth of course.  I am not a girl who easily gives up her heels; just ask my poor foot doctor who has had to twice force my broken foot into an orthopedic boot.  So thoughts of seeing the Seven Wonders of the World without my standard six-inch stilettos just might the eighth wonder.  Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized The Amazing Race is not the only reality show I am disqualified from.  In fact, I cannot find one that would welcome a shoe girl like me.

If The Amazing Race is out, then Survivor is most definitely a pipe dream.   Each season generally starts with the contestants jumping off a boat or being dropped randomly in the wild.  Then trudging through jungle or swimming for dear life to make what they call “camp,” I am not sure what “camp” is or why I would want to “make” it, but I hear it lacks a walk-in closet.  Besides, I don’t like to take my shoes anywhere a GPS system cannot find. Sorry—if Tom-Tom doesn’t go there, neither do I.

A few of my married friends might hope to marry me off and perhaps The Bachelor just might be the reality show for that.  Yet, the thought sharing a house with 30 women just plain terrifies me.  No, it’s not the thought of sharing a bathroom or failing to land a “solo date”…FYI ladies, ALL dates should be “solo dates!”  But the worry that the band of skanks that regularly appear on this show might pilfer my shoes?  Sorry, no rose, ring or slightly damaged bachelor is worth the risk of another contestant stretching out my Jimmy Choos.

Fortunately, I do not qualify for such MTV reality shows like The Real World because I actually live in THE real world where people actually pay rent.  And because my parents were smart enough to let me take sex education in high school and I was smart enough to take notes, I have missed my chance to be on Teen Mom.   As a side note to the Teen Mom stars, if you are too embarrassed to buy a condom, you should be too embarrassed to have the consequences on TV.  Of course, since my skin tone is a normal color and not baked by UV rays, Jersey Shore is out.  And because I can spell both Jersey and Shore I am also eliminated from casting. 

I would keep my fingers crossed for a spot on The Real Housewives, if the franchise ever moved to Key West as perhaps my shoes would be safe on that show.  Due to my ability to drink extreme amounts of wine and live beyond my means, I would think this would be the perfect place for my shoes and me on Reality TV.  However, since I have a real job that would not allow for 3 hour long lunches to keep up with the busy Botox schedule and wine drinking in the middle of the day, once again I am out.   It’s such a shame because I would be a really great guest on Andy Cohen’s Clubhouse—Mazel, Andy!

So alas, out of reality I must stay…at least out of Reality TV.  There might be people out there who would be interested in seeing an everyday girl in extraordinary shoes face real realities like trying to finish the monthly reports on time, pumping her own gas, cleaning her own toilet and walking the dog.  They might be fascinated at all the amazing things I do like pay my bills and not be followed around by cameras and boom microphones.  These people, however, are most likely busy being “Reality” TV and thus have no time for reality.

Until the day when the tables turn and true reality becomes the NEW reality, I will just keep dreaming up my show.  Hey, what about a reality where a shoe girl spend hours organizing her shoe closet and trying on designer heels?  Sounds fascinating to me!

 

Skip This Ad December 4, 2011

Who would skip an ad for these fabulous heels? Photo by Jean Thornton

As a die-hard fashion lover, I digest my fair share of fashionable reading.  It ranges from glossy-paged magazines, to biographies on designers, to blogs, to online magazines and newspapers that proclaim to be the end all guide for all of my fashion needs.  All of these fashion sources have a cost and some have a significant amount of advertisement.  Now I love a shoe advertisement probably far more than the next girl, but some of these ads are simply out of control.

I understand completely that nothing comes for free.   There is no free ride on the catwalk of life and delivering fashion insight and news is certainly no exception.  But at times I feel that these ads have spiraled out of control.  No matter if I am reading—the Fashion section of the New York Times or skimming a website—it seems that I cannot avoid an advertiser intruding on my pleasure time. 

When it comes to magazines I will gladly pay a price to have fashion at my finger tips, ready whenever I need it whether that be on a plane, on a train, or while waiting for a doctor’s appointment.  Tell me as many times as you want about the convenience of an electronic book, you will not win over this lover of pages.  It’s like telling me to wear a ballet flat; sorry, I am a stiletto girl and there’s no way around it.  Just the same, I am a real live paper-between-my-fingers girl.  (Plus, I think one of the most stylish accessories is a book cover that reveals a little bit about its reader.)

The advantage of advertisements in print is the ease with which one can choose to stop and observe or move along.  Some fashion advertisements are as informative, thought provoking, and attractive as some articles and photo spreads in those same magazines.  There is also the added bonus of being able to fold down a corner on the ad for those new Prada pumps with a casually scribbled shoe size for subtle birthday shopping hints. 

As a little girl I loved newspaper ads.  I would sprawl on the family room floor each Sunday and look through all the shopping flyers that were stuffed inside our Sunday paper, planning an imaginary shopping trip to my favorite stores.  Of course as an adult many times these are still imaginary trips since living on a mall-less island prevents such weekend shopping sprees.  Yet, these advertisements fuel my luxury-filled dreams. 

But in today’s online world, the happy web surfer is bombarded with advertisements.  Try to read a story online about Elizabeth Taylor’s Estate Auction and you’ll find yourself bidding on ways to avoid pop-up ads.  Some of the pop-ups even have pop-ups!  One advertisement blocking my view had the nerve to say “your requested video will play in 5 seconds” as it download an unwanted image onto my screen.  My requested video!  When did I click the “annoy me with advertisements” box?

Not only do these advertisements insert themselves into my online life, they almost stalk me across the World Wide Web.  Look at a Kate Spade bag online this morning but don’t be shocked if an ad for it lingers along the side of your inbox while you check your email.  And that cute little clutch just might follow you to your favorite gossip site as well.  Next thing you know that bag is stalking you when you Google driving directions. 

Perhaps these advertisements wouldn’t be so frustrating if some sites did not limit your time without a subscription.  So after clicking “skip this ad” twenty times while trying to read up on this winter’s scarf trends, you get a notice that says, “Your free views have been exceeded for the month, click here to subscribe for unlimited access.”  And thus another advertisement has blocked me from my supposedly free reading.  Of course if you add up all the time I spent clicking ‘close’, ‘skip this ad’, or suffering through an annoying advertisement for something I don’t really want, I have more than paid for the pleasure of reading that article. 

Thus a shoe girl like me resorts back to good old-fashioned….fashion magazines.  Sure there are still advertisements and I run the risk of paper cuts, but at least I can drool over Chanel mules without a pop-up advertisement offering to tell me the meaning of my name.  The only name I want to know the meaning of is the one stamped on the soles of my stilettos.  And that you can advertise!

 

Life Lessons with The Island Shoe Girl November 20, 2011

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:59 am
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An important life lesson...a Manolo can go a long way. Photo by Jean Thornton.

The other day an acquaintance at a meeting casually mentioned that she would be catching up on some shows on her DVR.  When I asked what shows she had on stand by (expecting something of quality viewing like some of the Real Housewives franchise), she told that she was watching Oprah’s Life Lessons.   This caught my interest because I had thought the competition between Oprah and I for who would be America’s most influential woman was at a standstill with the end of her show. 

But Oprah has restarted the race with her new show, which just so happens to be on her own television station, OWN.  If you ask me, this comes across as a little “me-ish”.  Apparently, one of the OWN’s shows is Oprah sitting around talking about her talk show and what she learned from each episode…a little life lesson!  Get it?  If not, I am sure Oprah will sit down and talk you through it.  Similarly, if you didn’t get the extremely high level of thought Oprah used in her afternoon talk show, she will break it down for you to a level even easier for you to comprehend. 

I must admit I have never watched one of Oprah’s Life Lessons.  I somehow have a feeling that these lessons would not be very helpful in my own life, seeing as how Oprah and I have a vast differences in our lifestyles, our economic standing, and more than likely, Oprah’s closet is the size of my entire apartment…in her weekend house.  I am guessing that the overall lesson of Life Lessons is that Oprah can get people to watch reruns of her talk show, sell advertisements for it like it’s a new show, and make even more money without very high production costs. 

I figure if Oprah can do it then why not me?  Okay, not me because first of all, I don’t have my own television show, let alone television network.  Secondly because I don’t think I have the same following. I am basing this on the fact that when I recommend a book, I generally lend it to a friend, not make it a best seller.   However, I do have this blog; so I figure this can be the starting point of my own set of life lessons…take that Oprah!

Life Lesson #1:  Once you start buying designer shoes, it’s hard to go back.  This can be an expensive lesson to learn.  Let’s face it, once you go Manolo, you can’t go back.  When you become accustomed to nicer and nicer things it’s hard to appreciate the slightly less nice things.  So take your time when acquiring more expensive shoes; like growing up too fast, you can’t go back once you’ve worn a Prada pump.

Life Lesson #2:  There’s always a bigger shoe closet out there.  You might think you might have the biggest or the best shoe closet, but let’s face it—somewhere out there is a bigger, better shoe closet.  You can’t compare your shoe closets to others; it will only frustrate you.  Instead seek to create the shoe closet that makes you happy.

Life Lesson #3:  A good cobbler is a hard to find.  There are some things in life that are plentiful: cheap wine, red nail polish, and Lifetime movies.  But cobblers are like parking spaces—you can’t find a good one when you really need it.  A cobbler should be treated like a good friend…good friends that can save your favorite pair of Stuart Weitzman’s.  And really, if you have a friend that can do that, you are a lucky girl.

My 4th and final Life Lesson: Never give away all your lessons at once!  Hey! A girl’s gotta keep a few tricks up her sleeve or in her knee-high boots.  If I give them all away here and now, why would you keep coming back to this blog?  I am sure Oprah has a whole vault of her life lesson programs tucked away somewhere in case she needs a Christmas Special or something.  Besides aren’t the best lessons in life the ones you learn on your own… notice that’s a little ‘own’ and not Oprah’s OWN.

 

Playgrounds & Simple Things October 2, 2011

 

Sometimes its the simple shoes and things in life that make us happiest. Photo by Jean Thornton

This week I spent a fair amount of time in my high heel sneakers… yes, they do make such a thing, but they are very hard to find.  You see, when I am not being a fabulous shoe girl, I am usually a case manager at a homeless shelter.   When people visualize a homeless person, they might conjure up an image of a man or woman begging on the streets.  During this down economy, the homeless person on the street holding a sign asking for work or pushing a shopping cart has become a more common sight.  Yet, one of the greatest increases in the homeless population has been the growing number of children.

As the numbers of families being affected by joblessness, increasing home prices, and the always-rising costs of living have grown, there has been a shift in who is homeless in America.  Many shelters, like the one I work for, have found the demand for family shelter greatly increasing.  Sadly, the amount of funding to provide for such beds has not increased but instead has declined steadily in recent years. 

For those families that do find shelter, the reality of life in a shelter can be a hard thing to handle.  While I am proud at the quality of the shelter where I work, I know it still isn’t a home in the traditional sense.  Most “homes” don’t have drop-ins from case managers, rules and chore lists posted on the refrigerator, or many of the other institutional touches that come with running a shelter safely and effectively.  Thus as homey as anyone tries to make a shelter, at the end of the day it still is not a permanent place to call home.

But this week a little bit of home was added to our shelter—the reason why I was wearing my high-heeled sneakers.  This week through a generous donation and the volunteer work of the USS Spurance crew, a playground was built for the children staying at the shelter.  Over two days in the HOT Key West sun, crews spent long hours laying out pieces, cutting wood, constructing a fence, and spreading mulch.  At the end of those days all of these activities led to a pretty awesome playground… and a few sore backs and muscles. 

What was constructed might be simply described as a few swings, a couple slides, a tree house and some things to climb on.  But in reality, what was built was a sense of normalcy—a place where kids can come after school and play with one another, be pushed on a swing by their parents, and have a little bit fun at no cost to them or their parents.    Maybe even for a short time, those families can feel like they are just everyday people in normal homes and not in a homeless shelter. 

There has been a lot of news coverage and talk of how the current recession has returned us to appreciating the simpler things.  Maybe that’s true and not just media lip service; maybe we are getting back to simpler things.  The funny thing is that many of those simple things are actually values that perhaps got lost in the glamour of expensive living of years past. 

As a child, a swing set was an amazing source of personal adventure—as opposed to video games and hand-held entertainment devices.  I couldn’t help but remember the fun I had spending my summer days swinging as high as I could and the feeling of happiness that accompanies flying through the air.   The thought of another child having that feeling made the sore muscles and sunburn worth it. 

Playgrounds might be seen to be something that brings happiness to children only.  But sometimes they can be just as much fun for adults; especially if you let your happiness be determined by how high you can let someone else swing.

 

Real Women vs. Real Designers September 25, 2011

 

Heels that are both runway and real women worthy. Photo by Jean Thornton

In fashion you are either in or you are out—or at least that’s what Heidi Klum tells us.  And it’s true that fashion moves faster than almost everything else, a point proven by the fact that the Spring 2012 clothing lines have been shown even before the official start of Fall 2011.  So I realize that this blog is already a bit out of style and perhaps more than a day late.  But this issue has bothered me so much over the last week that I felt a need to risk being yesterday’s fashion news.

About a week ago Project Runway gave its designers the challenge to design clothes for an “everyday woman.”  Each designer was paired with a woman’s boyfriend or husband to help plan an outfit that each woman would love.  All of the designers were instantly terrified at the thought of designing for a woman who might actually not be the same size as a dress form and then even more so frightened by the limited knowledge their “helpers” had when it came to determining what types of clothing or styles each woman preferred.  Their only relief was that they were not designing men’s wear… yet.

One designer, Oliver, seemed to have the hardest time accepting the challenge.  Oliver became mortified at the fact that his model had breasts, and not just any boobs but large breasts.   Oliver’s first plan seemed to be to just ignore that his model has breasts all together, but his helper’s persistent referencing to his wife’s breasts blew this whole plan. 

Things were only made worse for Oliver when his real woman/model showed up and not only had breasts but also opinions and the ability to speak.  At no point was his model rude or demanding, but she did express real concerns about Oliver’s design and how it would look and function on her body.  This is where Oliver stopped being a troublesome reality show contestant and started being…well, an asshole…and Oliver explains to the camera that he would really just like to design for women with no breasts, opinions, or voices. 

That might seem like the ranting of a frustrated designer unable to create the perfect outfit for a client, but the more I thought about it the more disturbing his words became.  Oliver wasn’t frustrated that he couldn’t find a common vision or make his client feel good in the clothes he was designing.  Instead he was complaining about the very things that make women, women.

What’s sad about this for me is that Oliver skated by the judges; they didn’t hear how horrifically he treated the very concept of designing for women.  Here on a show where the whole concept is creating beautiful garments for women to be bought by women, Oliver, who presumably hopes to one day be a successful women’s designer (he is after all on Project Runway!) was able to degrade women in such a deadpan display to the camera. 

At the end of this episode, Oliver made it safely to the next round.  The judges never questioned Oliver’s real-life model and husband about their experience working with him.  And when the other contestants commented he was lucky to have made it through this week, Oliver was both without emotion and appeared unaware that he had not truly fulfilled the spirit of the challenge or the show.  Thus, in some small way, real women everywhere took a step back off the runways of life and were put back on the sidelines to watch. 

I wonder if the judges who were not privy to Oliver’s comments at the time of taping saw them later and felt just a little twinge of worry.  Did they as people who have successfully launched careers based on selling beautiful fashions to women (of all shapes and sizes as Michael Kors does design beyond a size 2) take any pause at what Oliver said?  Did they worry that maybe a designer like that could hold back women’s fashions?  Or did they not find Oliver’s comments or challenge designing for a real women concerning at all? 

Let’s be honest, most models who strut the Fashion Weeks’ runways are not the same size as the majority of women in the world.  For many ‘real’ women, the sidewalks, offices, and little places where we spend our days are the only runways we get to grace.  It would be sad to think that someday a designer could take those runways away too.

 

Family Tradition August 21, 2011

A perfect pair of Dolce and Gabana heels for a girl who loves stilettos, island life and and little drink now and then! Photo by Jean Thornton

Hank Williams Jr. sums up his tendency to drink, smoke, and sing all night long by claiming it is a family tradition.  I now can make the same claim about my own habits of wearing stilettos and drinking wine.  It seems that my love of shoes and appreciation for cocktails have deep-seated roots in my family history. 

For years I figured I got my love of shoes from my grandmothers, as both were true shoe girls in their day.  But now I have learned that the double shoe gene I posses actually comes from my great-great paternal grandfather.  No, this is not a major confession or deeply held family secret about a secret cross-dressing past… it was simply a well-laid business plan.

This past week my father was helping my grandmother go through some family paperwork.  At one point during this process, he learned that my great-great grandfather had been a cobbler that owned his own shop.  Next door to the shop was a little tavern that he owned as well.  When business at the shoe store was slow and the town seemed empty, my enterprising ancestor decided to open a tavern that would draw in the residents from the more distant areas near the town.  Being a genius of a man, he realized that while the men drank, the women could shop; thus creating a bloodline fueled (nourished) by shoes and booze.  

Clearly, my great-great father was an innovator and businessman far before his time—today, people would call him an entrepreneur. You have to wonder if today he would run a high-end cocktail lounge with a shoe salon attached.  Forget, Skinny Girl Margaritas and get ready for “Stiletto Shots”—the drink that fits in your high heel.   

Fast forward a few generations and he can find his great-great granddaughter most nights in her favorite heels sipping a cocktail aroundKey West.  Having the sudden knowledge of this part of my family’s past has given me a better understanding of myself.  It has often been asked how a girl who likes fashion and shoes so much could find herself in a town where bars, beaches, and boat docks provide some major shoe hazards.  Wouldn’t I prefer to live somewhere with unending shoe stores and where the art of walking in a six-inch stiletto is appreciated? 

Yet, I stay on my little island where my heels can garner strange looks from flip-flopped observers as I am biking to my favorite bar.  And now I know that my love for both shoes and a good drink come from something greater than the logical explanation of drinking to dull the expected foot pain that comes with many of my shoes.  My love of shoes comes from a long family line of shoe lovers who also happen to value a strong drink at the end of the day. 

As Hank Jr. would say; “They all ask me, shoe girl why do you drink, why do you wear heels, why must you live out the blogs that you wrote?  Stop and think it over; try to put yourself in my unique position.  If I get drunk and wear stilettos all over town, I’m just carrying on an old family tradition.”

 

One Woman’s Fashion… July 31, 2011

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:01 am
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A chic YSL heel is always in good taste. Photo by Jean Thornton

A new boutique opened on the island recently.  Because shopping opportunities are limited in Key West, a new boutique is very exciting news.  As soon as the signs announcing the new store’s arrival went up, I started receiving text messages, phone calls, and comments from my friends who know how much I enjoy the shopping experience.  There was also a rumor that the name included the word “chic!”  My little fashion heart was racing.

On the day the window displays were revealed, however, my heart slowed to a dull thud.  In my opinion, there was clearly a serious misuse of the word “chic” to say the least.  There were no simple black sheaths with large over-sized necklaces, no carefully paired tailored skirts and fitted tops, and certainly no use of editing to emphasize sophistication.  Yet some women had referred me to this new boutique, claiming it had the cutest things, which made me wonder if perhaps there was some type of eye disease breaking out on the island causing tacky clothing to look chic to those afflicted. 

I will be the first to admit I have my prejudices against some fashion elements.  I have a distaste for leggings worn as pants and have taken a firm stance with my support of the “Leggings Are Not Pants” movement.  It is true I do not support the use of Uggs in any temperature or climate.  I cannot tolerate Crocs, a well-known fact.  And seersucker suits!  Forget about it!  I understand that there are certain types of shoes and clothing that I will never consider fashionable.  All this leads me to develop the fashion philosophy that one woman’s chic is another woman’s hot pink tube top, making me question how good and bad fashion can vary so much amongst women.

The perfect example of fashion worlds colliding is watching TLC’s newest spinoff to Say Yes to the Dress: Bridesmaids.  As if watching a bride sweat out one of the most important fashion decisions of her life while her mother, sister, future in-laws, and obviously jealous friend rip apart her dream wedding dress was not enough?  Now TLC gives the bride a chance to put her wedding party in the same hot seat, except now five women are pitted against each other in an attempt to look their best in taffeta.  Despite that these women all share, at a minimum, a common friend and perhaps are friends with each other as individuals, they all have different ideas of which one is the best dress.  Generally, the bickering pushes the bride to the point where she just picks something that will make her look better by making each bridesmaid look their worst. 

Maybe it is the vocabulary of fashion that confuses people.  As Bravo’s Real Housewives of Orange County showed us, just because you claim to be a designer doesn’t mean you actually know how to design, sew or use basic fashion definitions.  The blonde one with fake breasts…wait that doesn’t narrow it down very… well, one of them claimed to have created a couture clothing line.  Then she could not explain what couture meant; instead, she babbled a little and then was distracted by a shiny object.

Perhaps the mistake of bad fashion being mistaken as good fashion is generational.  In high school and college it seems like such a good idea to have a words printed on the butt of our pants.  Some people as adults wear playful kittens on their shirts or a concert shirt boasting the image of country singer.  Hey! I like Kenny Chesney too but I don’t wear his picture on my chest.   And let’s not forget the “yoga pants when you are not going to yoga look” that seems to plague women in their 30’s.  Men are not immune from bad fashion either, far from it, Mr. Inappropriate souvenir t-shirt wearer. 

But all these thoughts and attempts to understand how bad fashion happens are lost while staring a glaringly neon green halter top paired with hot pants that even made that poor mannequin look fat.  As I abandon the hope I had for a great new shopping destination, I had two thoughts: the first being that chic is in the eye of the beholder—or at least the wearer.  And second, thank God there is a liquor right next to this chic mess.

 

An Accidental Beauty Queen July 24, 2011

 

tiara, sash and stilettos... the makings of an accidental beauty queen.

For most women, there are certain things in life that, if they do not occur by a certain age, you accept that they will not happen at all.  Let’s face it—if you are not a cheerleader by the end of high school, it probably isn’t happening.  If you have not mastered dancing in toe shoes by the time you are 21 years old, you most likely can put your prima ballerina career on the shelf.  And if you are not a beauty queen by age 23 you should stop practicing your “surprised” face for when you are crowned Miss America.  Or so I used to think…

I am an accidental beauty queen.  And at an age that is not really old (I am still in my 20s), but it IS well past that of every contestant in the Miss America pageant in recent years. It was years ago when I last watched any part of that pageant, and, like most women, I have other things to do with my evening than watch model-perfect bodies glide across a shiny stage.  But the last time I did watch, I distinctly remember realizing that at age 25, I was out of the running.  (According to the Miss America website you must be between the ages of 17 and 24 to compete.)  Yet, over the last year I have been on the strange path that has led to a sash, a tiara, and of course—a title. 

It all started a little over a year ago when a friend called late one afternoon and encouraged me to enter a local bikini contest for Miss Atocha, happening that evening.  The Miss Atocha contest is the kickoff for Mel Fisher Days, a yearly celebration of the well-known and loved treasure hunter in Key West, Florida.  Despite the fabulous prizes that included a large emerald and some prize money, I was hesitant for many reasons.  The first is that I generally don’t walk around public in a bikini, and the second is that my diet pretty much consists of cheese, cheese, and more cheese.  I graciously declined the offer…and then was continuously teased by my friends for refusing to enter.  In an effort to put them off, I agreed to enter “next year.”

Wouldn’t you know it—next year showed up 12 months later.   Unfortunately, my friends have good memories and did not forget my hastily made promise.  Since I knew I was trapped, I decided to be proactive and began a strict no cheese, no hot dogs, no subs, no greasy burgers—basically anything I loved to eat was off the menu.  Protein shakes can be a potential bikini contestant’s best friend.  Luckily, Miss Atocha is also based on how much money the contestants raise.  Now I could force my same friends who held me to my word to open their wallets.  Raising money for a good cause I am not afraid of; standing on a stage in a packed bar in bikini I am terrified of!

On the evening of the contest I stood nervously backstage in my embellished bikini with two thoughts and two shots of liquor running through my head.  First, how at 29 was I doing something I would have never done at 21?  And second, I really wanted a cheesesteak from Mister Z’s.  As I took the stage for the question and answer portion (just like the real Miss America!) an older woman grabbed me and shoved a $20 bill in my bikini top and told me I looked awesome.   Suddenly I realized we are always younger and braver in someone else’s eyes and maybe I should try to see myself through those eyes. 

I survived my trip on stage; I shook what my mama gave me and began collecting my donations.  I would like to say the 90 minute collection period flew by but I was more than relieved when it was time to hand over my collection bag.  My humiliation was not wasted, as I not only collected a tidy sum, but I also actually won first place.  It didn’t even take another shot to get me back on stage to claim my tiara, sash, armful of roses and yes—the large emerald too. 

Even though this was a barroom beauty pageant, I have to say the win was overwhelming.  Credit should be given to Miss America because the number of pictures I posed in for our one local paper was pretty intense.  At the end of the night I was happy to cover up the bikini and finally dive into that huge, cheesy sandwich.  I won’t lie, I wore the crown to get that sandwich and to several others places afterward. 

At the end of the day, little girls everywhere still dream of being a beauty queen, of wearing a glistening crown, and feeling like the prettiest woman in the country.  And I would guess that there are many grown-up women, long past the age acceptable for beauty pageants, that have the same dream too.   Whether 8 years old or 48 years old, it feels really good to wear a tiara and if for only a moment be the prettiest girl in the room. 

Now excuse me—I have to cut a ribbon at a local bank opening… royal duties call.

 

A Little Future to Go July 17, 2011

With a good pair of heels, my future is wide open. Photo by Jean Thornton

Regular readers, friends, and family will know that the last three weeks have been very challenging.  A strange series of events led to my condo building being set on fire.  While the damage to my own home was significant, I was able to save the majority of my personal belongings.  The first time I was permitted to go back into my home, I was advised by the fire marshal to grab only the necessary items.  Little did he know that I considered 161 pairs of shoes essential.

Thinking I would be back the next day to retrieve more items, I focused mainly on clothes and shoes, due to concern that they would be damaged or permanently soiled from the water and smoke.  The next day I learned I could not go back into the unit since there was a great concern that the structural damage could be much worse.  Thus I found myself without many things that were normally part of my daily routine. 

One such thing was perfume.  And while I know one can live without perfume…soap not so much….it did not make the gap in my morning routine any less noticeable for me. 

While I have never considered myself a perfume expert or fanatic, I have always considered it an important accessory—especially when spending time standing outside in the hotKey Westsun talking to insurance adjusters.  But more so than just keeping me smelling sweet, perfume was yet another normalcy suddenly missing in my life. 

Coco Chanel once said, “A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future.”  And let’s face it,Cocoknew perfume and she also knew how to create a good future for herself.   If there is one thing that I know now, it is that dealing with a fire in your home can also make you question your future.  Suddenly, something that you worked and saved for, that you searched and prayed for, is taken from you with out any notice.  The reality is that for many of us our home is our future and the largest financial investment we make in ourselves. 

As the days after the fire seemed to only begat more days of frustration, sadness, and fear, my future seemed lost in a shuffle of insurance inspections, policies reviews, and what seemed like always-worsening news.  This is not to say that I was on a ledge of despair ready to jump into an abyss of self-pity.   I had many great friends continuously offering their support and help in many ways.  Yet, at the end of the day I was not going home.  And the truth is I am not sure that the condo that once was home can ever feel that way again.

With so much changing every day from where I walk my dog to the pillows I sleep on, the comforts of “home” began to seem lost.  It was one day that first week as I was digging for a lost set of keys that my fingers found a hidden treasure in the depths of my Coach bag… a travel size bottle of my perfume!  It may have only been a few ounces, but the scent reminded me that each day I could put myself together and face the world.  Sure, that world may be completely different from anything I have known in the past, but my future was still mine to determine.  Yes, there might be some hurdles I didn’t expect, but there was still a future. 

I think Coco Chanel was right, “A woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future,” but if I could accessorize Chanel a little, I would add, “but much like perfume, our future can go wherever we take it.”  My future still has many challenges…insurance paperwork and probably much more packing and unpacking.  But the future—much like my perfume—will be with me every step of the way.

 

 
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