Nail Polish: A History

It’s no secret to anyone that reads this site that I am a nail polish junkie.

I collect polish like most people collect shoes or handbags.

It’s a rare occasion when at least my toes don’t have some kind of glitter on them, and I feel naked when they are bare.

These days, it’s a hobby, but when I was younger, I did my nails even more frequently than I do now. Typically I’ll do a design once a week, and then maybe a polish change when it starts to chip. When I was in school? It was as often as I had time to do it. Even while I was rocking my tomboy glam, I had a manicure to match (typically it was a metallic blue.)

It gave me something to focus on when homework and school projects couldn’t distract me from feeling like an outcast. Is it a day where we can socialize in class? I only had one friend; she and I didn’t have class together, and a bunch of acquaintances I suspected dealt with me out of obligation rather than actually wanting to be around me (admittedly: this probably wasn’t true. But you couldn’t tell 14 year old me that.) So while everyone conversed, I would listen and smile where appropriate. My mind wasn’t there, though. I was thinking about if I’d saved up enough money for a new color for my hands.

It also helped to keep focus off of what I perceived as my flaws. Imperfect skin and teeth. I was fat. What I had going for me, in my mind, was that I was smart, and all of my insecurities added up to me being pretty obnoxious about it. Overcompensation, perhaps.

Folks were able to look past everything to ask how my nails were so perfect. In my mind, my nails were the only thing that could be perfect.

Perfection, like beauty, is a state of mind that manifests into the physical. If you say you are, then it’s true. 14 year old me was not aware of that revelation.

14 years later, I still love to do my nails. But these days, it’s all about perfecting a craft than it is pursuing this idea of perfection or trying to distract from perceived flaws. I could say I’m saving money by learning to do this myself, but let’s be real. With the way I buy nail polish, any savings are negated. But it relaxes me when work stresses me. It inspires me when I have writers block. It helps me break the ice when I’m around new people. And for that, I am profoundly grateful that something as simple as some nail polish came into my life.

This is only about 1/8th of the collection.

Lord knows I don’t need any more polish; the three bottles I bought a few days ago notwithstanding. What I could use is a better organization system for all of them. Anyone have any ideas? 🙂

Fatshion Friday: Getting Crafty

I am someone who almost always has to alter her clothes. I’ll convert long sleeves into cap sleeves and raise or lower a hemline to make a piece work.

Last night, I actually took a piece from start to finish.

Darby Smart is a company that, like Birchbox or Ipsy, has a subscription service where you can create…well, anything really. Some of their past boxes included a light up sign and cupcake toppers.

I happened to browse their site a couple of weeks ago and picked up a couple of boxes (you can get boxes without the subscription) to try. One of them was for a clear clutch.

I’ve been seeing clear, sparkly clutches a lot, but they were either a) not my style or b) way too expensive. But, for $39, I could create my own.

So, the kit came with the clutch, adhesive, a strap, Swarovski crystals, and a sponge applicator. I purchased the studs as an add-on, just because I wanted a combo of tough and glitter. Putting together my design was fun; like playing a combo of Bejeweled and Tetris. Here’s the result:

This project was so much fun! I did all of the crystals on the front so as to minimize the risk of them catching on whatever fabric I was wearing, and did studs across the top and sides. I have to let this dry for 24 hours, so I have time to plan an outfit to wear this with.

I have one more box to craft, but I am already looking for yet another project to do. The wood burning kit is calling my name!

Thrifty Thursday: Instagram Sales

Hello, my lovelies! I need to finish reorganizing my house, but I didn’t want to leave y’all hanging for another day with no post! So, I rounded up some great deals I found on my Instagram feed to share with you.

First up is Lane Bryant. They have 50% off site wide with the code FLOWERSLB. You only have today to take advantage (I’ll have to catch next week’s deal instead.)

Eloquii has 30% off your entire purchase plus free shipping with the code OURGIFT. I am loving the relaunch, and am hoping to snag one of their gorgeous dresses for my birthday dinner next month. Curious? It’s this one. So pretty!

Because one should also deep clean their face as well as their houses, Julep is offering a free cleansing sponge with the purchase of their Bare Face cleansing oil. Use code DEEPCLEAN at checkout. Also, you can score 50% off of team duos and full priced nail colors using code MADNESS at checkout. Both deals expire March 31st.

Since I wanted to get y’all covered top to bottom, JustFab has a code for you to save 30% off of wedges. Use code FBFANWEDGES30 at checkout. Bonus: if you earned FabCash earlier this month, you can use both of these promos together! I snagged 3 pairs of shoes for $52 using this combo. I am all about balling on a budget whenever possible!

Now, I’m off to finish the day’s housecleaning. Happy shopping!

Pretty Like Barbie

I saw this picture on Facebook the other day:

There were a few likes. The comments that followed were interesting to say the least. Most thought that having a fat Barbie would make kids aspire to grow up and be fat.

Let’s look at that.

I was a fat kid, fat teenager, and am now a fat adult. I grew up playing with my Barbies, making them go on adventures through the stars to the moon and being every occupation from a chef to a teacher to a rocket scientist.

I totally wanted to be Barbie: independent, adventurous, and brave.

I moved to a city with no family and only a couple of friends, learned to navigate it, and went through a trial that tested my courage. And I came through it with flying colors. I realized that dream.

I loved Barbie’s outfits; the fact she had enough clothes to take her through any situation. She had all types of prints and colors and sparkles and tutus. I had an organizer for the amount of shoes she had. I have an organizer for all of the shoes I have (and it’s too small), so I realized that dream.

What I didn’t aspire to was to look like her.

As I kid, I envisioned having Barbie’s persona. I never thought I would look like her.

Barbie isn’t real. So that was impossible.

But then, during the course of the discussion, my friend and fellow blogger Shecoul brought up a very good point:

How many of my female students thin or fat have self esteem issues? A good 90% of them because of things like this. And it starts with dolls and dress up at a young age in my opinion.

This is true. Kids tend to emulate what they see, as I did when I played with Barbies as a child. But in my opinion, my complex with my body didn’t come from the doll. It came from the peers who played with me and told me I wasn’t pretty like Barbie. Because I wasn’t pretty like Barbie, I couldn’t be an astronaut or rocket scientist. Until I looked like her, I was lacking.

And where did they get this idea? Likely from the adults that gave them the Barbie to begin with.

People have a habit of using characters and personas as a litmus test of how their lives should go. You can’t live a life based off of someone else’s experiences. But when you tell a child “Look at you! You’re pretty like Barbie!” then that child will measure his or her peers in the same manner.

And the next thing you know: the child who is fat is not pretty like Barbie. Now that child is ugly. Logically this child knows, as I did, that one can’t look like a piece of plastic. And yet, when I knew that this is what stood between me and acceptance I grasped for that goal like a thirsty person reaches for water.

Eventually I learned that goal was like the curse of Sisyphus: destined to fail from the beginning. Took me years to get there, though.

So what’s the answer? Making Barbie look normal? Now, that Barbie above is exaggerated to say the least. But who can say that isn’t someone else’s normal? Who is the arbiter of normal, anyway? Is there a council somewhere that decides these things?

There could be, in a perfect world. But until we get that perfect world, we have to make do with what we have. If we can’t get some diversity with Barbie’s body, then we need to get some diversity within our thought process. It begins with the adult that gives the child the doll. It begins at home.

May we all be like Barbie: adventurous, brave, and fabulous. That is an attainable goal in life.

Monday Groove

Hey y’all. I am working on a post that will go up tomorrow, so I wanted y’all to have a song that’s been keeping me going through my rough work week:

Enjoy! I hope this gets the week started off right for everyone. 🙂

Fatshion Friday: My Favorite Shirt

Last summer, I went to a couple of events for Full Figured Fashion Week. I went to a sample sale, and I browsed the tables and got to meet some of the designers. I happened to run by Nicole Grier’s table. She is super sweet, and she owns a line named Feminine Funk. Her designs are so cute! I had to pick up a shirt. And the one I purchased, I wear at least once a week. Either while lounging, going out for the day, running to the bodega…

And the saying on the front? Gold!

If you got a problem with my hips, I feel bad for you son.

I got 99 problems but my curves ain’t one..

I always feel like a true badass in this shirt. I’ll be getting this one next.

What piece of clothing brings out your inner ferocity? Share them in the comments!

Cleaning Out My Closet

I am a bit of a hoarder when it comes to clothes and shoes. Every piece in my closet has a story. My silver glittery shoes I wore to my first Valentine’s Day dinner with my ex. My favorite blue dress that makes me feel fierce no matter where I’m headed. My favorite jeans that hug my curves just right.

It always pains me to let these items go. Those silver shoes hurt my feet, because they’re too small. My favorite blue dress gets way more play in my wardrobe than the 2039 other dresses I have–it can rest for a while. I have a hole in those curve hugging jeans, but I look so good in them! I just can’t let them go!

What I wonder is if it is the clothes I can’t let go, or the thought that the memory attached to them will disappear when the clothes leave.

The memory will always be there, or course, but I always like to think of the reason I have a certain item whenever I wear it.

Now, if I wear it and all I can think is “damn, my feet hurt!”, I think that misses the point of the happy memory.

So, I cleaned all of the stuff I don’t wear/can’t fit/no longer love out of my closet and decided to replace it with some new items. Starting with those gorgeous silver shoes I got from Steve Madden.

I replaced them with these:

Celestine, Millie, and Prowess from JustFab.

The rule I stick with is: if I buy one, I have to give away one. So now my friend will be able to make new memories with the silver shoes, and I’m looking forward to wearing these shoes with those jeans with a hole (still can’t let them go!)

If only the weather would cooperate.

The Evolution Begins: Put One Foot In Front Of The Other

New to this series? Here are parts one and two.

When I got to sunny Miami, I was in for a few shocking realizations. One, everything outside of my part of Louisiana is HUGE. Two, water really does come the same shade of blue in the Crayola box. Three, I have a ridiculously thick Southern accent (and no, I don’t hear it when I speak.) Four, I am desirable.

Let’s look at that last part.

For years, I concerned myself with what others thought of me. I still did my best to march to the beat of my own drum, but it was still couched in trying in some form to fit in. And honestly, I had to realize that wasn’t going to happen. At least, it wasn’t going to happen on the level I’d hoped. All of the teen movies coming out showed that with faith and a bit of luck, any ugly duckling would blossom into a swan.

That’s bull. You’re already the swan, you just need the eyes to see it. I wish I would have.

While shopping for school clothes, with my mom before the beginning of my sophomore year in high school, I noticed I was turning some heads. I immediately felt self-conscious. I’m thinking, okay, I’m so fat folks got to stare me down? Did I grow an extra head? Do I have yet another zit? What is going on here? What is this madness?!

Nope. Apparently, I ain’t too bad to look at.

I really wasn’t sure what to do with this news. For years, I’d been told otherwise by my peers, and made to feel otherwise by family at times (“I’ll pay you if you’ll lose 50 pounds!”) And now…I’m…pretty?

I wish I could say I was modest when this realization hit me. Nope. I went from having zero self-esteem to conceited. I would create outfits that today would make me cringe if I had photographic evidence of my wearing them.

But I rocked them with reckless abandon.

What’s interesting about this is that I’d always tied self-worth to weight. I dressed to look smaller. If I was quiet, no one would notice me or my fat. Blend in, be silent, keep the people away. Then I could be liked, loved even. I could be special.

And I discovered I could be all of those things and fat. Serious business, y’all.

By the time I made it to college, I understood I didn’t have to conform to be a part of a certain circle. There were plenty of circles to be a part of, and hey, I could even make my own! My mind continued to evolve, and I was a better person for it.

Whether I’m stepping in heels or sneakers, I continue to put one foot in front of the other. Time marches on; the world spins; I rise.

The Evolution Continues.

The Evolution Begins: Crawl Before You Walk

Part One of this series is here.

My mother got engaged and married before I finished my freshman year. We were moving to Miami that summer, a world away from my home state of Louisiana.

Before we moved, my stepfather (“Pops” hereafter) got me a pair of beautiful black heels for my 15th birthday.

He got me a name plate necklace and bracelet too, because I saw his and thought it was so pretty.

But those heels? Oh, oh, my. High heeled, open toed, and the heels had these swirly embellishments on them. Now, Pops was well aware that I didn’t do dressy clothes often outside of church, but he figured that was where I’d wear them.

Nope.

Wore them to school with a pair of hip huggers I’d gotten for Christmas that year. The jeans had swirly black embellishments to go with the design on the shoe, and I had a nice black top to put with it.

Walking into the gym that morning, I heard a couple of whispers. I realized folks didn’t quite know what to say to me. I’d gone from demi-feminine to ultra-feminine in one day, and now I fit in. Kinda. Or maybe it was that I not only looked more like everyone else, but that I was even capable of pulling it off. It wasn’t a complete switch. I incorporated it into my “tomboy glam” repertoire: some days sweats, some days heels, and every day, at least to me, I felt I looked great. Until…

I started getting the backhanded compliments: “Wow, your outfit is so cute! You really aren’t a boy!” The ultimate one? “You can really dress. If you lost some weight, you would be perfect!” And although it hurt me, I didn’t drop the new look.

Yet all I could think was: really!? I don’t win here, do I? Of course I didn’t. But I was still too young to get that it wasn’t a matter of impressing everyone else, it was a matter of embracing myself as I was. Of course, I dieted and wanted to be pretty (cause you can’t be fat and pretty, don’tcha know), but I never really got that there is so much more to beauty than the outside. Your outfit is only a part of you, and it isn’t even the important part.

It took me changing states to change my perspective…

To Be Continued.

The Evolution Begins

I had blending in down to an art. I was the smart kid, pretty quiet but caustic when pushed too hard.

I was remembered before the big exam and forgotten shortly thereafter.

In middle school, I wore a uniform, and on rare occasions we were allowed to wear dressy clothes to school.

I was reminded, with an accompanying eye roll, that “dressing up” did not equal pants. I wasn’t really a dress or skirt kind of girl, outside of church. But, I complied, if only to fit in for a day.

First day of high school, I was proud of myself. I’d had a babysitting job all summer, and I could buy all of the clothes I wanted. My big purchase was a pair of Nikes. They looked like they had swirls all over them in a gradated blue that made me immensely happy.

I bought matching sweats and tees to wear with these sneakers, along with earrings and nail polish. Not totally tomboy, not totally girlie.

I loved it. Naturally, the first day of school I set off a bit of confusion for my classmates. “Why is she dressed like a boy?” “But if she’s trying to dress like a boy, why is she wearing earrings and nail polish?”

It was confusing for them, but not for me. I liked my style. I stood out a bit, but I was okay with it. I felt foxy. I could be fierce in my sweats and sneakers, honey! Couldn’t tell me nothing.

At least, that’s how I looked on the outside. I tried to keep my head high when the kids sneered at me. At my attitude, my supposed confidence. Daring to be happy.

And when I got “unruly”, you know, thinking I had some rights to live happily, I was reminded: “Yeah, you can dress, but you’re still fat.” “Don’t smile. Your teeth look a mess.” “Why you got so many bumps on your face?”

I did my best to keep my head high. My mother was a constant support, but it’s hard to hear a lone cheer amid a chorus of negativity.

And then, something happened to change my mindset…

To be continued.