We are delighted to have a guest post from one of the most insightful, ambitious, and effervescent writers on the ‘net. Ellie Di is a headologist, spiritual nomad, compulsive scribbler, literary midwife, professional pompom shaker, and master of the delicious mess.  She spends her days writing like a motherfucker and plotting the next Big Thing.  You can stalk her on her site, The Headologist, Twitter, Facebook, Google+, or Pinterest.

Source.

Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.

Wait, so I have to guess whether or not this woman naturally has stunning eyes, perfect eyebrows, shiny lips, and flawless skin? And if she wasn’t born with it, clearly she needs cosmetics to make her that way? Who told her in the first place that she needed these just-so immaculate features in order to be beautiful?

Oh, right. The media. Maybelline. Interesting how that works out, isn’t it?

It’s a vicious goddamn cycle. We feel perfectly fine in your skin until someone or something tells us we’re not. The influence we let in to devour our self-esteem could be our mom, our worst enemy, a teacher, or a random asshole on the street – it could even be ourselves; they’re all informed and fuelled by the media that this is what’s beautiful and nothing else. For some unfathomable reason, we acquiesce to the pressure, permit the lie to sink in, and then we turn to the same fucking source to “fix” us.

We let the media and all its willing minions, including ourselves, tell us that we’re worthless unless we have this body or that face. We actually start to believe and, unwittingly or not, even evangelize it. Buy Alli and TrimSpa! Buy Bare Minerals and Rimmel! Then you’ll have value, then you’ll be worthy.

How fucked up is that?

Source

And now I’m about to make an incredibly complex problem into a painfully simple one. It’ll probably piss you off, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s good – you should be pissed off about this.

You let it happen. You did it to yourself.

Probably unbeknownst to you, the gatekeeper of your Self ushered those “you’re ugly unless you buy (fill in the blank)” thoughts right into your core. There was a vulnerable moment, a flicker of comparison and doubt in the midst of your I’m Awesome-ness, and your Evil Auctioneer pounced on it to sell you every product you never needed to make you into a person you were never meant to be.

The idea sat there and festered, growing like a cancer every time you gave in to the media’s insistence that you’re not good enough without XYZ. You let yourself believe the lies because they’re so pervasive, so ingrained in our society, that it seemed impossible that you weren’t hideous and worthless without shelling out big bucks to cover up the blemish you hadn’t realized you were.

But! There’s always a “but”.

Source.

No matter what you let the media and the Evil Auctioneer sell you in the past, today is a new day. Every day, you have the ability to choose what you’ll believe. In the same way you allowed this invasion and destruction of your self-image, you have the power to heal it.

That’s right! Your own brain, your own heart, your own Self – you get to choose what you accept as true and right and good in the world. Not TV, not your parents, not those hotties who made fun of you. You. You let the monster in, and you can kick it out.

It doesn’t matter how or why you came to the conclusion that consumerism and altering your appearance will make you magically better – you put your fucking foot down, hard.

You say NO.

No, I won’t let the media tell me I’m not beautiful.
No, I won’t let myself tell me I’m not beautiful.
No, I won’t buy any more goddamn weight loss products.
No, I won’t buy any more “age defying” makeup.
No, no, fucking no!

And then you say YES.

Yes, I’m able to discern between fun makeup and guilt makeup.
Yes, I’m happy to buy the right size of clothes.
Yes, I’m valuable to the world just as I am.
Yes, I’m worthy of love without having to alter myself.
Yes, yes, fucking yes!

Remember that the media’s job is to sell you shit. Even the nightly news sells you a perfect image. It’s about money, moolah, cash, Gs. They’re literally tearing you down so you’ll give them your hard-earned money. Don’t fall for that shit.

Source.

And just for the record, it’s okay to slip up every once in a while. Shit, I still have moments where I wish I looked like Angelina Jolie (but that’s our secret, okay?). But I’m not some pouty perfect princess, and I never will be. I’m me, with all my beautiful strangeness, all my not-media-friendly qualities. And that difference, that uniquity, is precious, never to be wished away.

Let’s end with a little bit of empowerment music, shall we? Listen. Be inspired. Take charge of your thoughts and refuse to eat the bullshit anymore. You were born this way, and that makes you beautiful.

This is a guest post by Leanne at “A Touch of Bedlam,” a smorgasbord of personal experience and critical analysis, covering topics from gender and culture, to fashion and body image, to writing and productivity. Leanne is a mixed-race, twentysomething, culturequeer girl who divides her time between the States and Hong Kong.

I am short, not-thin (chubby? plump?), and I grew up in Hong Kong where, as with many other places, thinness plays an important part in the culture’s beauty ideal. Think being bombarded with ads for weight-loss elixirs whenever you turned on the TV; think it being common, unspoken knowledge that when your high school classmate said she was “dieting” what she really meant was “skipping meals”; think any curves whatsoever being considered fat and therefore undesirable – so much so that your friends talk about how “fat” Sandra Bullock is when you’re watching Miss Congeniality.

This is a collection of brilliant posts collected by The Demoiselles over the week. Some may have been featured on our Twitter, some may have been sent to use through email, or by our friends on Facebook. Please check out, and send love to the blogs featured here – they’re all worth a look!

We are really enjoying watching Analogue Chic endure her Month of No Pants. /naughty

This Planned Parenthood BS is really starting to get irritating. Be sure you help save the sexual health of millions by visiting PPAction.org and signing the petitions! Also, check out Scarlett Johansson’s excellent I Stand With Planned Parenthood video:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UfJtOv8DjM

The F Bomb wrote some really beautiful words about the strength and ownership of her body in My Body Is…

On January 24th, 2011, a representative of the Toronto Police gave shocking insight into the Force’s view of sexual assault by stating: ‘women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized’.

We LOVE this video from Mara (from Medicinal Marzipan) and her journey to loving her body.

Sui from cynosure. lists each and every aspect of her body that she’s grateful for.

This guest post on Eat The Damn Cake dishes on the weight obsession in Hollywood from an insider’s perspective.

We’ve waffled back and forth when it comes to the issue of shapewear… Dances With Fat details her first experience with a popular brand, and muses about the bias and brainwashing material communicated through the brand’s marketing.

Danelle LaPorte at White Hot Truth confesses to letting her mind run at the helm of panic from time to time in Why Self-Improvement Makes You Neurotic.

Whole Living, my new favorite magazines, gives us 3 Ways to by Picky About What You Think (And You Should Be)!

Fffff. I dare anyone to convince me this woman is anything less than perfect.

This is an incredibly moving story of a woman whose luck was anything but on her side, yet she managed to turn her terrifying experiences into pure positivity.

Thank to reader, Monique, for posting this video on our FB wall!

“SKINS” Open Mic: Kim Selling from Champ Ensminger on Vimeo.

Completely. Amazing. (& all of you, too.)

Have an amazing weekend, everyone! If you have a fantastic link for us, leave it in the comments!

It’s Getting Hot In Here

Edited by Ann of Holier than Now

Though you may be living in a snow globe (sure feels like it here on the East Coast), you’re never out in the cold – assuming the snow hasn’t knocked out your internet … This week’s links will warm you up with hot topics that, ideally, bring out the best in a thoughtful, vibrant blogging community. Take your gloves off (the wool kind, not the boxing kind) and join the conversation!

P.S. If you’d like your voice heard here in Links a La Mode, take a look at this helpful guide by Grit & Glamour.

Links à la Mode: January 27th

• Alternations Needed Petite Body Tips Are Usually Bunk: Find Out Your Real Body Shape
• Styling You Jeggings: For or Against?
• Ruby-Eyed Okapi How The Media Tells Us How to Look Through the Lies of Photoshop
• Melina Bee 8 Tips on How to Leave Great Comments
• Love Brown Sugar The Great Debate: Do Skinny Girls Have More Fun?
• Fashionwrites On the Controversial Debate on Fashion and Ethnicity
• Peachy Keen A Week with No Pants
• Full Time Fabulous The 10 Commandments of Building a Loyal Blog Readership
• FOTW A Controversial Take on Burberry’s SS/11 Campaign
• Independent Fashion Bloggers: Proezna Schouler speaks at IFB Evolving Influence
• The Haute Hoosier One Man Admits His (Sartorial) Man Crush
• A Perfect Midnight What’s In a (Blog) Name
• The New Professional Walking the Halls, Not the Streets: Can Tall Boots & Skirts Work for the Office?
• The Demoiselles What Does it Mean to Be Labeled – And Does it Matter?
• Brunette Blogging Privacy and Blogging
• 260 Days No Repeats Can the Stripe Trend Work for Any Body Type?
• Makeup and Jeans Girl Orange Lipstick for All? 5 Tips to Make It Work
• Holier than Now Crossing the Line: The Cross Jewelry Trend – Offensive or Innocent?
• Dress with Courage Androgyny, Prada, and Taylor Swift: My Relationship with Perfume
• Analogue Chic No More Mugshots: How to Look Better in Profile Pics
• Over 50 Feeling 40 Is Fashion Over 50 More Fun?

SPONSOR:

Shopbop: Clogs, Flats, Heels, Platforms, Knee Highs Boots, Wedge Sandals, Booties, Open Toe, Shoe Sale, Designers

“I’m just not allowing myself to wallow. If I feel triggered by something, I get out of that situation. Immediately. No apologies. If it means skipping a post or skipping a party or admitting that i can’t help in a situation, I’m doing it.

If I’m getting ready in the morning and I feel gross and really susceptible, I get ready without using a mirror. I’ve actually been minimizing my mirror use in general. Physically forcing myself to look away from things I know will reflect–windows, cars, anything. Now, with that, when I do catch myself on occasion, I’m feeling less…owned by it.”

-Haley, on her BDD

Body Dysmorphic Disorder, aka Body Dysmorphia, aka BDD, is a psychological disorder that causes a person, male or female, to become over-focused on or preoccupied by perceived defect in his or her physical features – eyes, nose, belly, feet, what have you.  You’ve probably heard a little something about it in the past year or so, but like eating disorders, the media tends to focus on how mysterious BDD is, or how weird the symptoms are…and not on the reality of the people who live with it.

And especially not on how they live with it.

Lindsay and I have a friend named Haley.  Recently, Haley and I got to talking about her struggle with BDD, and I asked how she’d progressed so far from her initial fear.  (Haley’s BDD is primarily focused on her mouth, a less-common focus of those with BDD.)  Her response was the above quote: that she decided to stop letting her BDD win, to stop “wallowing,” and at the same time, to respect that it’s a part of her.

Haley is fighting a war with a well-armed adversary: her own mind.  I asked if she’d be willing to give those of us without BDD an insight into the reality of the disorder, for one woman who is fighting it, and she agreed.

Jen: What is Body Dysmorphic Disorder?  What does it mean to you?

Haley: BDD (I’ll refer to it as Body Dysmorphia sometimes, too) is an obsessive-compulsive spectrum disorder.  It can be focused on a really specific part, like your nose; or it can be a general area, such as the jawline/mouth area (my personal vice) or the thighs or stomach area.  The key thing I always point out when talking about BDD, though, is that it’s not a general feeling of “yucky-body.”  It’s not “feeling fat today,” it’s not “I’m not pretty.” These feelings may tie in with BDD, but generally that’s a particular point of interest that’s very, very distressing and often really socially debilitating.

BDD, for me, has been an uphill battle for…God, I guess about eight years now?  I started to feel really preoccupied with the way my mouth looked, even at rest, in the fifth or sixth grade.   It was around then that I developed a need to have the lower half of my face covered while sleeping, for fear of not being able to control how my mouth looked.  In college, I gained a bit of extra weight, and noticed that around my awkward, stupid mouth, I also had an awkward, stupid jawline and chin.

Haley, at the height of her BDD.

I felt (and feel, sometimes) like my mouth and jaw area weren’t meant to be a part of my face, or my body. They’re offensive and disfigured, but in a way I can’t really describe.  They’re just not right.  “Right” is a big term with Body Dysmorphia—you spend a lot of time lamenting what’s wrong with you, “wrong,” like anyone is “right.”  It’s hard because there’s this innate feeling of being broken, irreparable.

Jen: How did your friends and family react to your BDD?

Haley: My family would be upset about it sometimes, like, “Why won’t you ever let me even take pictures of you?  Not ever?  What’s the issue?” but it was more like they were frustrated at how good I got at dodging everything. There are years of my life that aren’t documented in the family books because of my complete unwillingness to be in pictures.

My friends were always a little more understanding – not saying they didn’t think it weird how adamant I’ve been about not appearing in pictures ever, but they were more understanding of it and generally didn’t press me.  You’d be surprised how easily people will adjust when you’re as dedicated to the idea of not being photographed as I was.

I actually stopped stage performance because I got so self-conscious of my mouth–you generally HAVE to be photographed when you’re in a singing group or a dance crew and that was…painful.  Elective pain, if you will, so I opted out.  It’s a shame to think of how much it bothered me even then, and that wasn’t anywhere near the height of how bad things got.

“There are so many of people trying to take pictures of me, but i throw my hand in front of my face…”

Jen: What was the height of it?  Is there one incident that encompasses or represents it?

Haley: There was a summer.  A lot of abuse of alcohol, abuse of myself.  There was a lot of sleeping because I couldn’t handle going out, being seen.  It was about midway through college, and every picture of me from that time (all four of them, really) is of me with my hand deliberately covering my entire face.   It was terrible.  It was right after that when I took a look in the mirror and just said, “Either the curtains go or I do.  Something’s got to give.“

Jen: So that moment was the first step.

Haley: Yeah.  I don’t know what the catalyst was, really.  It just kind of crept up on me that I didn’t want to be trapped by the depth of that self-consciousness anymore. Everyone has their off days.  Everyone feels self-conscious, everyone feels trapped.  It just…it happens, it’s part of being alive.   But every day?

I got kind of…dependent on the title, “BDD.”  That was comforting.  In this generation, it’s easy to fall into the mindset that a diagnosis is equal in value to a cure.

If there’s a name for what I’m feeling, then it’s okay, right?

Maybe it is, in some cases, but it can’t be an everlasting excuse to stop pushing to feel better.

Haley, then and now.

Jen: If someone reads this and resonates with your experience, what should they do?  What advice would you give them?

Haley: Okay.  The part of me that holds a degree in Psychology says this:   If you feel trapped, get help.   Do your research.  Take care of yourself.  There’s a ton of research being done on BDD and there’s a ton out there that can help you feel better.  Even if you just have body image issues that aren’t to this caliber, life’s too short to leave them unaddressed.

That’s more of a disclaimer than what I actually did, though, so I’ll just share my perspective here:

The hardest part of getting a handle on my body image was learning that sometimes I just have to be able to say, “No, I can’t do this right now.”  It’s not weak to admit that you’re having a bad day when you’re on the up.

At first I felt that I should immerse myself in communities, and continually push myself to get more comfortable with my face.  What came from that was even more obsessing, but instead of being obsessed with trying to get myself “right,” I was obsessed with the idea of getting better and helping others.

It’s only recently been that I can step back and say, “I’m actually not having a great day,” or “I can’t dare myself to wear lipstick today.  I can barely dare myself to get out of bed.”  I’ve found that the most success I’ve had is just…stepping away from it all.  It’s not “my” disorder, it’s not “my” self-image issue.

I won’t indulge the thought of “I am the most disgusting person ever.”  You have to reprogram what you’ve grown used to.  It’s not easy and it’s not fun and it feels dumb and unnecessary to do things like that sometimes, but I can say that I’ve had more good days lately than I have for as long as I can remember. You’ve got to look out for you and be very aware of what you need and if it feels indulgent, whatever–be indulgent.  Do what it takes.

If you want to find out more about BDD, Haley suggests BDD Central and the Cleveland Clinic as good starting points.  If you’d like to contact Haley directly, leave a comment here and we’ll forward it on to her.

Kristy is an occasional guest blogger for The Demoiselles and a member of the TD community (moniker “Owl“); an opinionated 20-whatever-something who can’t seem to shut up about feminist, queer, and fat issues; a Tumbl-er who posts pretty things, funny things, random things and her personal theology (Owls & Elephants); a damn good baker and a shitty knitter.

Last night I sat down to watch the E! show BridalPlasty. You may have heard of it – it’s a reality TV show where 12 women compete to win head-to-toe plastic surgery procedures; the winner also receives (in addition to her “perfect body”) a “celebrity style,” extravagant “dream wedding.”

Sorry to use so many quotes, but they are all from the show – you’re inundated with this language from minute 1 to the end – and hopefully they give you a feeling about my views on the whole thing.

That is to say: I hate it. Not for the show itself, but for the web of harmful ridiculousness it promotes.

Before I’d even seen it, I knew I was going to hate it. I’m not a fan of plastic surgery OR the fantasy of princess dream weddings. But surprisingly, these ended up being the least of my horrors upon watching.

For the first half of the episode I found myself scoffing, laughing and loudly quoting (read: mocking) the women to my partner who was sitting in the other room. Then I realized something important:

This show is not only dangerous because, like all reality TV, it pits contestants against each other in crude ways. And it’s not only extra dangerous because it also pits each woman on the show against her own self, telling her she is imperfect (read: ugly) and promotes the need to get 10-15 medical procedures to fix that so that she can be “truly happy.

The really dangerous part of a program like this is that it pits viewers against contestants – ‘That woman is so skinny, she thinks she needs lypo?!?!?’ ‘These women are so shallow and stupid.’ Etc, etc – AND it pits viewers against their own bodies by continually reinforcing how even these seemingly perfect women still need 15 cosmetic surgeries.

Wow, that’s a lot of hate. Every woman for herself, and every woman against herself. I realized I was actively participating in this hate by making fun of these women.

But that’s not all. At the beginning of the show, I realized with delight that it has women of all shapes, sizes and colors. But, by the end, it was the woman with the darkest skin, fattest body, who wasn’t upper-middle class who was voted off first. The other women just couldn’t believe she would pawn her wedding ring – even if she did it so that she could keep her car, so that she could keep her job, so that she could, I dunno, SURVIVE. They all just thought that pawning a gorgeous ring from the man who truly loves you was a selfish, valueless, disrespectful thing to do. And they held it against her. *facepalm* The message in that: if you can’t afford a celebrity style wedding, don’t evaluate why you even want it, just join reality TV. Oh wait, the whole fact that you couldn’t afford it in the first place means you don’t deserve it. It was painful how misguided these women were, and no one made an effort to explain anything – in fact, they were rewarded for their classism and bias.

I could write multiple blog posts on how women, even feminists, seem to feel they can only find happiness through money – ‘perfect’ weddings, nice diamond rings, international vacations to ‘find their true self,’ – or, worse yet, through men. This entire show is one ridiculous TV version of a failed Bechdel Test, and it enforces the notion that even if you have a loving man in your life (which everyone obviously NEEDS), money and surgery are the only way to truly love your body and yourself; and that you should hate other women and their bodies as well.

At best, this show says, “Hey, every kind of woman can hate herself and others!” At worst, it’s actively ruining happiness by promoting fiction and disappointment. Is that the message we want to identify with as women? We need allies, not enemies! And we need to teach our children, each young girl, not only to love herself but to love others. That’s the first step to making shows like this non-existent. Don’t feed the train wreck.

Extra credit: Jezebel’s “Bridalplasty: Reality TV Becomes Self-Parody”

Be sure to visit Kristy on her Tumblr, or shout at her in the forums! (She likes it.)

If you’d like to submit a guest post for TD’s guest post series, email it (or a pitch) to info@thedemoiselles.com!

Photos: 1, 2, & 3

Once in a while, a reader floors me with their perspective and willingness to share their story.

It happened again today while reading Cals’ comment on In The Dark:

Lately, I’ve just tried putting things in perspective. When I look at myself in the mirror to evaluate how I’ve arranged things for the day, I try to narrow my basis of comparison.

Because no, I am not: A model, a movie star, or the airbrushed girl on the cover or in the pages of some magazine. And that is OK.

So, I ask myself how I look in terms of the average girl. Because, those are the women I see on the street, work with, interact with everyday and yes, get ridiculously jealous of sometimes.

9 times out of 10, I find that I’m pretty happy with what I see.

Barring that, I’m an artist. When other people’s fantasy depictions don’t give me a depiction of the world (and people) that I like. I fight back by making my own. I draw figures of queens and fairies with thicker waists, curves, a little meat on their thighs. Maybe even a little bit of a tummy, sometimes.

In short: I accept my reality and define my own fantasy.

Beautiful and perfect, just like the rest of us. Thank you, Cals!

On that note, we’re looking for contributors for our Out Of The Nest series. This means that we’d love some new guest posters to share their stories regarding their body image and perceptions — whether they’re optimal or not — or anything else relating to how the world sees bodies, beauty, or fashion. If you’re interested in writing something, or sharing something you’ve written with us, please shoot us an email at info@thedemoiselles.com!

Marzipan is a twenty-five year old with an English degree, a penchant for body image activism, an over active imagination, and a desire to love and adore herself and others truly and imperfectly and to the best of her abilities. Her blog, Medicinal Marzipan, is both a record of her recovery from a lifetime of fear, mistrust, and self loathing, and a testament to how wonderful life can be once you decide to let go and learn to love yourself.

When I was a kid I rarely felt fat when I was naked. As if somehow out of the confines of clothing and sizes and labels, my body looked just like the bodies splayed all over magazines and television. I remember running my hands over my stomach and thinking that it felt flat, it felt like those stomachs looked.

I have been overweight for as long as I can remember. I don’t even know if I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t one day become aware of the way that people’s stare would catch on my stomach when they looked me up and down, or the look in my mother’s eyes when she looked at my thighs as I pulled on a swim suit. It’s always that one second of looking to long that snapped me right back into reality, slapping me back into my place if I dared to move about in peace, taking up too much space or smiling too big – for a fat girl.

For the majority of my life, my body has dictated my experience with the world around me. Don’t talk to loud in class, don’t assert yourself, stay small, smile, be nice, treat people kindly, be funny. I would dress my fat up and take it to parties where I wasn’t welcome, where the frat boys would call me Shamu, affectionately zoning directly in on my favorite aspects of my childhood and the hours I spent crying/planning/dieting/failing/binging/and crying some more. I would dress my fat up in loud accessories, perfect make-up, and straightened hair.

During high school and college, my impaired body image and low self esteem pushed me to make choices that were detrimental and horrible to my psyche. To my core, I felt as though I was so worthless I couldn’t say no to anyone, which, as you might have guessed, found me in many a sexually traumatic and damaging experience. I knew that I was smart and academically successful, strong and athletically successful, but the negativity that surrounded my feelings about my body led me to seek validation in ways that I still cannot understand. I wanted to be the beautiful girl who had a bevy of suitors. I wanted to be courted. I wanted my hand held in public places. Instead I was the secret grope in the closet girl, the girl that you never told your friends you banged, and the girl that you could tell wouldn’t say no.

It took me until the year after I graduated college to understand that when I thought I had been looking for love and romance, because I didn’t truly believe I deserved it, I never found it. I started – very slowly, mind you – to work on love myself. When I describe this process to people, I always feel like an idiot because I describe it so simplistically when I know (believe me) that it is the hardest thing for a person to do.

And honestly? At first I faked it. I would summon up whatever possible strength I had and I would practice walking tall, feeling sexy even when I felt disgusting, asserting myself, and believing that I was worthy of blissful, satisfying, and mutually adoring relationships. I buy clothing that fits, even when it kills me to go up a size, because I truly believe that you look beautiful if you feel beautiful – no matter what your size – and you will not feel beautiful if you have to constantly tug at your clothing or if it pinches and hinders your range of motion. I would pursue people that I found attractive and was SHOCKED when I realized that people didn’t run away screaming. I did things that terrified me, such as becoming a professional hula hooper and performing on stage in scantily clad outfits in front of an audience, or on the street with many people watching.

I literally forced myself through the shell of low self confidence that had kept me at arms length for the majority of my life. And at first, it worked like a charm. I felt liberated and fantastic and like I was on top of the world. I felt like I could do anything. The reality is that now it has become more of a struggle again, because I fell in love, gained some weight, and now am consumed by some of my old feelings. The thing about body image really that it is something that you need to keep working at. There are times when you feel amazing and it is so easy to love yourself you barely think about it, and others when you are all torn up inside and want to hide and cry. The real strength is keeping hope through those times, pushing yourself to keep making good choices, and cutting yourself some slack when you don’t.

Visit Marzipan’s [amazing] blog, Medicinal Marzipan!

Alterations Needed is a twenty-something city girl who dumped her college-age closet with a vow to build a respectable adult wardrobe. However, at a towering 4’11″ tall, she found herself too small for conventional garment sizing, and constantly pointed towards the children’s department by well meaning “average-sizers”. Refusing such injustices, she started a blog documenting her adventures in XXS Petite fashion and building a wardrobe, as well as a community for like-sized women to share their shopping experiences.

I am the human equivalent of a teacup chihuahua. I conveniently fit in most overhead storage compartments. I never complain about inadequate leg room. I have been lifted, without permission, off the ground by complete strangers, but I’m usually quite nice about it if you ask beforehand. At 4’11″ tall, and 85 pounds, as a full grown adult I am the size most people were at age 12.

J. Crew suiting pants – Size 0 Petite!

But that is not all I am. I am also a thoughtful dresser, lover of style, and appreciator of good fit. I believe in clothing’s ability to completely transform a person and how we feel about ourselves. The day I began to think deeply about how I wanted to dress myself, and how I wanted to present myself to the world, was the day I began to truly feel self confident. I love a well dressed woman, but want even more to be one.

So, I’m on a quest to build a stylish, respectable wardrobe, free of children’s clothing thank-you-very-much. Give me cashmere… give me tweed… give me silk…

But how do you do build a wardrobe when fashion is not made for someone of your…*ahem*…stature? Fashion is made for the tall and thin, not the short, and, well… I’m very short. I paw through racks of clothing, looking for something – anything – that runs small. I stand in dressing rooms, tugging and pulling on extra fabric, wondering if it can be taken in, up, or chopped. I woefully return beautiful garments because my tailor tells me it can’t be altered… proportions are all wrong… simply can’t be fixed…

When you’re this small, shopping becomes an interesting adventure. Necklines end rather immodestly below the bust; shoulder seams hang down the arm; waist details end up somewhere near the belly button. Arm holes droop down by the waist. Bust details are never in the right place. Pant rises hover dangerously near Steve Urkel heights. Fabrics can swamp me. Prints can swamp me. Length can swamp me. Basically, imagine a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s closet. That’s me trying to dress myself in standard sized clothing. It’s cute when you’re 7… Not when you’re 27.

But I press on. My perseverance is unyielding. I will find those elfin-sized designer shoes, because I will call the customer service to every retail store known to man, and have them shipped from across the globe if need be. I have become so aware of how poorly garments fit on me, it’s exhausting, but oh so rewarding when I hear those magic words, “that fits you perfectly”. You bet your average-sized ass it does… I spent months hunting it down, and a week getting it tailored.

Finding yourself on the extremes of what is considered “standard” is insanely difficult. After beginning my wardrobe building adventures, I’ve never felt more connected or sympathetic towards the styling plights of my plus-size and tall counterparts. I chat with tall women about the unreasonable limits of fabric hems, and lament with plus-size girls about the prevalence of polyester (what? no silk?) in anything larger than a size 14, or labeled with a giant “P”. And don’t get me started on the injustices of the “in store only” coupon (um…but you only carry special sizes online…how am I supposed to use this?).

So… to all the special sized ladies out there… press on! And to all the tall skinny girls out there… back away from that 00… you don’t want to make me angry. I bite ankles.

After much toiling, and some great entries on our Flickr Pool… We’ve chosen a winner for our second [better?] giveaway!

The winner is…

TOTUS MEL!

She won for her submitted image, below, taken by her 5-year old daughter – stunning and precious. (Plus, she’s rocking a gorgeous top from an Etsy designer – how can we not love that?)

If you could send us your contact information, we’ll send it off to Smashing Darling, and your student-designed Smashing Darling skivvies will be on their merry way to you!

Stay tuned for future Flickr’D giveaways, and keep submitting photos to the pool to win!