Untitled

Or untilted, which is what I almost wrote.

Today I decided to wear the size 18 black skirt from Talbots that I bought two weeks ago. It's a little big. I'm not sure why, but I thought it was going to take me through the summer. Hmm. Last night I tried on a black dress I've had for a long time, but only worn a few times. It's sleeveless (a touchy issue for me) and very plain, just buttons straight down the front. It falls into the Sicilian Widow category (I have lots of those; I like the Sicilian Widow look) and I was hoping to get some use out of it this summer. It's too big. It looks like a tent. It makes me, in turn, look like a house, or an installation by Christo, which is not really the look I'm going for.

Which brings me to my real point, I think. Wear clothes that fit. I remember reading Scruples for the first time (a great book, that hinges on weight loss and a woman's perception of herself) and the lines "She became one of the few women who really understood fit" lodged in my head. I probably don't understand fit on a profound level, but sewing helps. Having a critical eye helps. Wearing clothes that are the right size are always going to make you look better. I could wear that dress, indeed I could. It's not indecent, or gapping at the buttons, or anything else, but it's not flattering. My skirts that hang off me are not flattering. My really cool leather jacket, that I got so many compliments on, is no longer flattering, being at least two, possibly three, sizes too big.

It is still very strange, losing weight, even though I've slowed down somewhat. I'm not quite as dislocated as I was, not quite as thrown for a loop, but still, things like trying on that dress, are odd. I can honestly say, at this moment in time, I feel thin. I know that I am not by any estimation, thin, but I FEEL thin. The peculiar things are these, though: I will soon be thinner. So, if I'm thin now, what will I be then? Also, I've been thinner than this. I've been thinner than this and felt fat, in fact, as I was passing through this weight, this stage, on the way up. And what happens when I am truly thin? Or at least slender? Or some word that I will find at that point that will adequately describe how I feel? I assume, actually, that the same thing that happens now will happen then. I will have some clothes that make me look amazing. I will have some clothes that will not actively make people want to throw rocks at me. I will have some "what was I thinking?" clothes--though hopefully fewer, since I hope that I'm getting smarter. I will have fat days and thin days, hungry days and days where I don't care as much. I will be me, in other words, just on a smaller scale? Yes? Can I hope for that?

You know, I'm not looking for a miracle cure here, or a miracle of any kind. I'm not even really looking for a lot of compliments (though I wouldn't mind a few, here and there). I suppose it will be nicer to fit better in an airline seat. The seat in the car is not exactly problematic, but sometimes I feel as though I don't quite fit in it right--not that I don't fit, just that I can't find the right spot. Smaller clothes...I will like having more choice, that much is true.

I like that I can walk longer. I like that I can walk from the basement to the upstairs and not want to die. I like that I fit through smaller spaces. I like all of those things. So I guess those are good things to like, because those are the things that really endure.

Elle magazine this month has a lot of stuff about body image. Two articles resonated with me. One was by a young woman who lost 80 pounds, and got gorgeous, but had surgery for breast implants (to fill what was left after the weight left) and to remove loose skin. I am thinking, already, about the loose skin issue. Not too sure it's going to be an utterly enormous problem--I seem to be shrinking okay, or as well as can be expected at 51. I wouldn't mind a tummy tuck when I'm done, and Al seems to think it's in the realm of reason, so that's okay. But the article, written by the young woman herself, raised a lot of questions about what is the body, how do we feel, what does it feel like to lose weight, etc, etc, etc, all things I'm writing about here--but seemingly less cogently and trenchantly. Oh well. The other article was by a man, and it dealt with how mercilessly women despise their own bodies, and how they drag men into it with them. This is the thing that I have tried studiously to avoid. I will never ask a man if something makes me look fat. Ever. If I have to ask, it probably does, and, further, don't I own a mirror? I don't indulge in beating myself up. The furthest I will go is to say that I have no waist, or maybe no hips, depending on your point of view, that I have a flat ass, when I'm thinner, and that I wish my stomach were flatter. Does this put a blight on my life? No. I will also cheerfully tell you that i think I have very pretty eyes, pretty great hair, good skin (because I had the sense to stay out of the sun) and dynamite legs, hence all the high heels. I will also tell you that although I get my share of men who talk to my chest, I feel I have quantity, not quality. These are all statements of fact. I don't think that any of those things make me less worthy as a person, I think that they influence my choices of clothing and shoes. Period. And, besides, to quote Scarlet Johansson (as I think I already have), some fellows like me.

Reading that article makes me understand, though, why, despite the fact that I am essentially melting before his eyes, M has made next to no comment on this fact. I think the poor man is afraid of his life if he opens his mouth. I thought that before, to be honest, but I really think it now. I think that he has no experience at all with a woman who genuinely likes herself, at whatever weight, or is at least trying to like herself at whatever weight.

It's my little contribution, liking myself. Someone has to lead the way, and I'm only half tongue-in-cheek about that. I don't let my daughters beat up on themselves, at least not in my hearing. They may do that on their own time, but I don't think so, really.

So. Let's see. I don't think I came up with any really new themes here, just rehashes of old ones, but they bear repeating: wear clothes that fit. Love your body, because you reside in it; without your body, there is no you. And love YOURSELF, because you are you.

I remember reading once (and this was roughly 9,000 years ago, in Seventeen, back when it had actual articles, not just sound bites) that if you wished for something that some other girl had, you had to take her whole life with it. So, if you wanted long blonde hair, like Allison Barnett (who is showing up here with some regularity, I might have to deal with what she meant to me) you had to have everything else. Except Allison had one of those charmed lives, so she might not be a very good example. But you understand what I mean. So, if you want to be that woman next to you at whatever function you're at, if you want her perfect size 6 body, or her toned legs, or whatever thing it is that you're coveting at the moment, you have to take it all. You have to take her mother that wasn't/isn't very nice to her, you have to take the fact that she has no imagination or can't sing, you have to take her massive credit card debt and the fact that her husband tells all and sundry that he hates her. Suddenly that makes you, whoever you are, with all your lumps, bumps and sterling qualities, look like someone worth being.

And while you're at it

Check out this blog. Very, very interesting viewpoint.

http://www.lardbiscuit.com/lard/truefa.html

And follow the Hot Chicks link.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

I've noticed myself, as I've been losing weight, being more judgemental about the overweight. That's very not nice of me, and unfortunately, very true. I suppose that you can't devote four months (so far) of your life to something and expect to stay exactly the same in your viewpoints, but still, I try not to be judgemental.

So anyway, I have a lot of chances to look at overweight women in the bead store. Beading attracts middle-aged women, who are often overweight anyway, and, beading being a fairly sedentary hobby or activity, may even foster being overweight all by itself.

Our shop is in a basement, so you have to go down steps to get into it. The way the place is set up, as I sit at the counter, often the very first thing I see coming down the stairs is a belly, or at the very least, a spare tire. Not attractive. It was, in fact, one of the things that inspired me to do this--I didn't want to be one of the women coming down the stairs belly first.

I still believe, for the record, that you don't have to be a string bean, or a pin, or even the bean pole itself, to look good. You have to have a sense of style, a knowledge of what looks good on you, and a lot of chutzpah, but you don't have to be skinny! Having said that, you also don't automatically have to become a slob when you gain weight, which is what so many women seem to do. Sigh.

I was starting to think that I was in the process of turning into the weight Nazi, anyway, when a woman came in yesterday. She was emphatically not small, but she was emphatically not a fat blob, or slob, either. She probably took a 2x. She had a shape, she was not extravagently dressed, in fact she was wearing a sleeveless, low-cut top--but it FIT HER, so she didn't look skanky, either. She had a tattoo on her chest, about where the pendant of a necklace would hit, and that drew the eye. She was cheerful, outgoing, self-possessed, and very attractive. She gave me hope about myself. I could embrace her being able to embrace herself. So I was relieved. I'm not a bad person, or at the very least a crank, after all.

I spend a lot of time looking at women in Northampton. It's known for women, after all, since it's the home of Smith College, which, in turn, is sometimes known as the home of the Four Year Queer--women who try other women for their time there, then go back to the regularly scheduled program. You see an awful lot of women with different takes on femininity, sexuality, body shapes, body pride, and style. There are the lesbians who have decided to be ersatz, or not so ersatz men--they have men's haircuts, carry their wallets in their back pockets, and bind their breasts. (There are also women who are transgendered--on both sides--in general, the male to females are enjoying being girls, the female to male have receded into a work-clothes garbed sameness). There are lesbians who are clearly happy to be women, but have their own take on it--a woman yesterday with what was, by any standard, a crewcut, shopping for pearls to make herself a choker. She was far from thin, but she was composed, self-possessed, and even in her t-shirt and shorts, carried herself well...as I say over and over and over--attitude is all. Anyway, there are women who have decided to embrace their inner Venus of Willendorf. I find Venus of Willendorf just a tad off-putting, to be honest. She reminds me of my downstairs neighbor, after my daughter was born, who looked at me and said, "A motherly body...that's nice...." I thought, yeah, well, if you think it's so nice, you have one, but I kept my mouth shut.

Women, to go on, who've had mastectomies and decided not to wear prostheses. (This bothers me because I'm a Libra--the imbalance distresses me on a basic level). Women who remain chic into their 70's. Women who are crunchy-granola, with long frizzy gray hair.

Oh, and while I'm on this rant that only peripherally has to do with weight and weight loss--my message to every single woman in America--

GET A GOOD BRA!!!! And if you can't get out to get a good one right away, pull up the straps on the one you've got!

Anyway. The young girls. Some are anorexic, painfully thin, waxen. I look at them and wonder how they can think long enough to choose beads. And then the young girl today, quite obese, panting with the effort of having walked down our stairs. She made me as sad as the anorexics. And the little Japanese and Chinese girls, tiny and exquisite. And the African and African-American girls, often a bit fuller-bodied than the others, in a way that makes you know they're supposed to be that way, not just that they fell into a bag of Doritos and never came out.

You can tell who's at ease and who's not. Who likes her body for what it can do, and who despises it. Sometimes I can tell so clearly, I just want to say, you know, you're fine the way you are, just let up on yourself a little.

Women and their bodies...we all need to make peace with ourselves, every morning when we get up, with the women that we are that particular day.

End of rant.

Today's a biggie

Or a smallie, depending on your outlook. I have, as of today, lost 30 pounds. It was a long stretch there where not much was going on, but I seem to have gone through that. Now that I've seen some progress again, I'm motivated to go on.

I cleaned my closet on Monday. To say that it was a mess insults messes. I threw out unbelievable amounts of stuff. I managed to part with clothes that I bought in 1992. I must have thrown out 10 black t-shirts, and I still have 11. (I like black t-shirts, what can I say? My daughter was going to wear a black t-shirt and a denim skirt and go as me on Halloween last year). I now have my clothes organized. This is aided by the fact that there's no point in storing sweaters, since they're not going to fit. I am living entirely in the present moment.

I have a wardrobe again, too. It's a size 18 now, not a size 20, and I like it. But, as I go down, and clothes start to not fit, I can start to cycle them out, because as I've already said, all size whatevers are not created equal. I will probably institute the one in, one out rule. I never thought I'd be in a situation to do that, I'm far too untidy, but I think this time I could.

It's quite a novel feeling to go stand in my closet and figure out what I want to wear, rather than going through all the clothes that were piled around. I have skirts hung, shirts, I have t-shirts folded. I know how many pairs of shoes--well, sort of--I have. (I lost track at 40....that's where the, oh, yeah, and those, set in). I still have a lot of work to do in my room, but I've made a start.

I read somewhere that when you start taking better care of yourself you're less tolerant of mess in other parts of your life. That may very well be true. I can feel it beginning already.

So...I've reached a milestone. I still have 75 pounds to lose, but that's not the 105 I started with. I can look back and see how far I've come.

I'm inspired to go on.

This just in!

For everyone who wants a little bit of tasteful sleaze in her life...I found this site while googling polka dots for the last post. Well, this site goes to polka dots and beyond, and in quite large sizes, as well. I seriously crave either the dagger or panther skirt! Go look for yourselves!

http://www.modemerr.com/index.html

Breakthrough

A very small one, indeed, but a breakthrough. I've been stuck at 222 for a while now....I've finally lost a pound, down to 221, making it 29 pounds lost. Just one more till 30. I'd like to lose 35 by May 19, a date with personal significance, and I might. And if I don't, that will be fine, too. As long as I keep going down.

Even while I was stubbornly not losing weight, however, things were happening. The size 20's (with the exception of a maroon pinstripe skirt that was hiding in my closet, and which was very clearly cut small) I'm out of size 20. I did another shopping trip on Tuesday, and while most of what I bought was 18, there was one 16 that snuck in. (Women's sizes, still, of course. But still smaller than I was taking).

That trip was remarkable for a few reasons. For one thing, it was the first time in recent memory that I shopped for a few hours straight, in high-heeled sandals, and didn't need to sit down for a rest because of my aching back. My back doesn't ache now. I have other aches, but I'm also 51. The excruciating lower back pain is gone, gone, gone, though. Thank God. (I can also stand longer to cook, which is a good thing, because WW foods take an awful lot of chopping and slicing). I also tried clothes on. I was still not in a hurry to look at myself in the merciless lights of a dressing room (and I always remember my friend Judy saying that you wouldn't buy the clothes you walked in wearing, if you looked at them under those lights...which of course begged the fact that, well, you did actually try those clothes on, too, at one point, but I do know what she means) but I was in there trying the clothes on. When something didn't fit, or wasn't flattering, I didn't take it so personally this time, either. It's the way it is. I'm a work in progress right now, that's all. Truthfully, one of my main problems was that everything is polka dots right now, and I LOVE polka dots. If I fully indulged my love for polka dots, though, I'd look like a Dalmatian.

So I was happy. I shopped the bargain racks, because there's no point in buying clothes that aren't going to fit soon anyway. I had a real get thee behind me, Satan, moment at the Ralph Lauren sale rack. A white linen skirt with ribbon trim--adorable--and a silk tweed jacket, that fit in 18!--also adorable. Together, however, about $300. I have no real place to wear them, no ritzy weddings or graduations to attend, and they're not going to fit in 6 weeks to 2 months, and that's just not something I can do. I contented myself with a skirt that is a tiny bit on the snug side, but with elastic inserts, so that it will fit for a while, that was $38 down from $109. (I love the racks that say, take 50% off lowest ticketed price. Yes! I have some amazing bargains from those racks). Then I betook myself to Talbots and made my very first Talbots purchase, a skirt for $30 from $98. Not very interesting, only a straight black skirt, saved from utter tedium only by the matte bronze sequins on the bottom, but it fits, flatters, and will last me for a while. I need a workhorse black skirt.

I was talking to my cousin yesterday, who has weight issues of her own, which, because she reads here, I will not address. They are hers, and not mine to spread to the world. Suffice it to say that she's thrilled for me that I'm losing weight, and when I somewhat self-depracatingly said that I bought a smaller size, but that the smaller size was an 18, she said, "Any number that has a 'teen' after it is good!" I hadn't looked at it that way, so that was illuminating. She's right. The next thrill will be going from women's to misses, and after that, hopefully, I'll be able to buy something, once in a while, that's a single digit. I don't think I've ever been in the single digits in my entire life.