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Just a little more, please

7 Apr

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Dear Fashion Industry,

 

We need to have a chat…Pull up a chair and settle in.….

 

With summer on the way, I’m slowing emerging from my cocoon of sweaters and boots. Looking for a few new  items to add to my wardrobe is becoming more difficult than I remember it from previous years.

 

Let’s start with tops….Can I make a request?  Please do not  use see-through material to make my shirts.  Every SINGLE shirt I try on is see through….I don’t live in the Midwest and I don’t like to layer.  I want to wear ONE shirt….not six.  When I put my ONE shirt on, I don’t want others to be traumatized by seeing my bellybutton, moles, or random hairs that may or may not be present. Shirts are MADE to cover those suckers up.  Don’t believe me? Just ask, I’ll tell you the truth.

 

While you are at it, can you use a zipper longer than 1.5 inches on my jeans, please? I mean, really. It can’t be THAT much more expensive to throw a girl a couple of inches. I’m thinking 4 should do the trick….Don’t get carried away and use those long suckers you put in “mom jeans” but you know, just a little more zipper would be nice…Know why? Because it means you’ll also need to use a little more material to fully cover my hips. Muffin tops are not cute.  They.are.NOT.  You force me to show my muffin top and I’m not happy about it.

 

While we are talking “mom jeans”, let’s talk about shorts. Of the styles available,  I have to choose from a 1-inch, 3-inch or 24-inch inseam….can we not get something in the middle? I’m freaking serious here.  I’m 40 years old…no one wants to see me in a 1-inch inseam shorts…In fact, I’m pretty sure I own underwear with a longer inseam .……I also don’t want shorts that cover my knees…those are called capris…I just want mid-thigh length shorts.  Why do I have to beg for something that seems so reasonable to me? It is exhausting….

 

Now let’s talk bathing suits….WHY, WHY can you not give me enough material to both cover my crack and my hips simultaneously?  I know it’s possible. I have underwear that can do the job….so….

 

As I’m typing I’m thinking, my underwear kicks ass….maybe I should just wear that and be done with it…I mean if leggings qualify as pants, couldn’t my underwear qualify as shorts??

 

Frustrated and damn near naked,

Lady Chatsalot

 

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Downward DOG?

14 Feb

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So….I’ve heard the Yoga pant debate more times than I think necessary….

On the evening news…and in my social media feed.

Each and every time, I feel my blood pressure rising. The internal heat searching for a release….rising to my cheeks and spewing words in rapid fire… I want to scream at the insanity!

Women around the country are vowing to never wear yoga pants or leggings in public…because it may cause a man to lust…. Some idiot in Montana wants to outlaw them….

Seriously…

Yes…I’m SERIOUS….

Let’s stop selling heels and skirts that show our knees…oh, and make-up, and push-up bras….Perfume, maybe?

Feel pretty? Certainly someone finds THAT attractive…

Cue the mob to burn you at the stake! Potato sacks for EVERYONE!

Lord have mercy…a man is turned on by a women…stop the freakin’ presses….This is NOTHING new folks…and it has NOTHING to do with YOGA pants.

I’m from the opinion that straight men love women, because we are women…not particularly because of the way we dress, or the shoes we wear…but because of the way we move in those garments. The way our hips sway, the softness of our skin, the way our hands move through our hair. The way we smell…..Women are sensual. Frankly, I think they should be….It separates us from men….

Oh and men, if you think women don’t fantasize, lust after a man’s-man…Well, I laugh out loud at your arrogance… To think we are incapable of  having those same thoughts….

I’ve had more conversations than I can count of us “lady-folk” tantalized by your confidence in a suit, your jeans and simple white t-shirt, your swagger when you walk in a room…and own it…, by your smile, and the way you bite your lip when you are concentrating…Yes, women are not immune to lust….SURPRISE….

However, to think that any of those things listed above would cause you to behave out of character or cause you to cheat on your spouse….well, I beg to differ.

The world is round…and filled with busty women, large perky butts, legs that go for miles….men with muscles, perfect hair, tanned skin….and tight jeans….

If you have a problem with lust, with controlling yourself, well it is simply YOUR problem. Work on it. Talk to God…make an appointment with your therapist…whatever you need to do…but change YOU….

Don’t for a second think that your lack of control should spill over and  into my life…limiting my choices of attire.

Somehow, somewhere, we have lost the very definition of accountability….

Let’s make that a LAW… YOU are RESPONSIBLE for YOU.

Period. End of Story.

Dear Mrs. Victoria Secret,

3 Jan

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Dear Mrs. Victoria Secret,

I’ve tried on two of your garments in the last two days. One came in the mail, the other in my local shop…..Mrs. Secret, we need to chat….A little heart to heart…girl talk…

First, let’s start with the bathing suit I ordered (on sale) which was received this week. Since I’m now a grandma and all, I thought I may need something to cover my tummy on future boating outings….I mean, I certainly don’t remember my grandma sporting a bikini….

The price was right, the color hot! A bright peachy / pinky coral number, which looks fantastic on my olive skin. I read the dimensions more than once, carefully selecting the correct size. When the tankini (a tank top swim top) arrived, I was eager to try it on.

I ran over two miles that day and walked my dogs…I guess I could have been a little worn out, my muscles a little tired….

After the first 5 seconds of attempting to slip the tankini over my head, I knew this would not end well….

My arms splayed over my head, elbows touching, my eyes blinded by the fabric which is simultaneously gripping  my upper rib cage, it is now cutting off the circulation….my breath is becoming shallow…I sit on the toilet, arms still lifted, trying to fill my lungs…I feel like I’m caught in a bad game of Chinese handcuffs…the more I pull, the tighter it is…

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Breathe in, then out completely, like they taught me in yoga…now try to pull that damn thing down to my hips….it only took a couple of tries…maybe three…or four….I rest on the side of the bathtub before examining in the mirror.

Whewww… It looks fine, I think……smoothing it down, turning side to side…but it feels…It feels a bit like a sausage casing…and I can only imagine how I will get this damn thing off when it is wet…Scissors may be required…

We actually wear these things to swim in right??? Or am I the only one?

Fast forward to yesterday. Imagine my surprise when I land smack dab in the middle of your semi-annual sale. Yippeee…happy dance….My husband and I are just returning from a getaway, I think – ooohhh, I’ll try this little number on…Strappy and black… the bra connected to the skirt. As I walk into the fitting room, I wonder, how exactly does this thing work?

I try stepping into it…nope….

I try pulling it on over my head

….and I’m repeating the day before… Chinese handcuffs….

Now, I’m cussing…and my mood is foul….

Wholly shit…I don’t think I can get this damn thing off…and I’m certain I’m not ‘IN’ it to begin with….

I contemplate calling in the sales staff…I’ve seen three working the floor…flipping through the list, I wonder who would answer the call? The young 20ish, size 0, who could probably somersault into this get-up? Oh my Lawwddd…I close my eyes….shake my head…no, this is an adventure I must tackle alone….

….breathe in, breath out…pull, step… breathe in, breath out, crouch, push, sit….geezzzee…Who knew yoga could come in so handy?

I had no idea the level of athleticism needed for such a small amount of fabric….I mean, I’ve been working out and all…but COME ON VICTORIA!!

Mrs.Secret, I really like the IDEA of your garments…I’m sure they would look super cute…However, should you require six years of gymnastics experience and ownership of a trampoline to get your “outfits” on, it really should be noted in the description.

Exhausted,
Lady Chatsalot

PS – HIRE MORE WOMEN DESIGNERS!!

These heels were made for walking…..

19 Oct

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A good girl with a rebellious heart.

Comfortable in the sea of black pants and sweater sets, car pool lines and packed lunches. My defiance for the norm tends to show its face in my choice of shoes.

I wear heels. A lot. Great, kick ass shoes.

I don’t wear them for men.  I’ve had the same one of those for more than half my life. I’m certainly not looking to start that process over again. He actually prefers flats…canvas tennis shoes to be exact.  I’ve told him that he may have married the wrong woman… thankfully, he vehemently disputes.

What I’ve learned over the last few decades is that wearing canvas tennis shoes literally kills my spirit with each eyelet. I was born to wear heels. The higher the better.  Add grommets and I’m in shoe heaven.  They make me feel tall….skinny…and put together.

What surprises me are some of the remarks I get from other women. It is as if I was parading around in nothing BUT heels.

Don’t get me wrong, I can decipher the comments. Most are genuine and sincere. “Great shoes!” They smile and I beam in response. We are forever connected by the love of fashion.

Sisters from another mister.

For those who sling digs, hidden under the cloak of a compliment…Keep it to yourself Missy. I can see you. Your raised eyebrow  and tilted head, scoffs stuttering out, over and between your words.

I’m wearing shoes, not a dunce cap.

Simultaneously holding the ability to empower…and crush…with the flick of our tongue. Why choose the latter?

The older I get, the more I realize women need women. Women who support one another in ways men just can’t understand. Women to lift each other up when we are at our wits end trying to balance work, family, laundry, finances, church groups and toilets….

Nothing looks more beautiful on you than love. The good news is the more you share it, the more it comes back to you.

Come on ladies. Let’s rise above. Put on those heels, and rock it.

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