Is elegance innate?

cc licensed ( BY ND ) flickr photo shared by Helga Weber

From across the street, I watched her.

Her red pashmina had caught my attention the moment she had stepped out of the car.

I looked on as she expertly drew the pashmina around her shoulders, transforming it into a stole.

She looked so elegant.
So sophisticated.

Just then, almost as if the universe took delight in mocking me, another beautiful woman waited for a car to pass before swiftly crossing the street.

Dressed in a beautiful black knee-length coat, with a pearl-colored scarf delicately wrapped around her neck, she resembled a graceful gazelle.

I couldn’t help noticing how the ends of her scarf floated behind her like wings.

As I slowly made my way home, I wondered how some women have the ability of making elegance seem so effortless.

Convinced that they were born with a special gene, I sought comfort in the fact they were but a lucky few.

Nevertheless, I sighed as I thought how wonderful it would be to have that look.

That look of “je ne se quois.”

That look of sophistication that says, I am beautiful and I know it.

These thoughts put me at war with my belief that all women are beautiful.

Yet a part of me conceded that while it was true that we were all beautiful, this didn’t necessarily mean that we all had the ability to exude elegance.

Determined to put this theory to the test, I called out to the Significant Other to bring down the basket where I store my scarves.

Bewildered, he looked on as I hurriedly threw scarf after scarf on the sofa until I found the one I was looking for.

Holding it up, I noticed how it sparkled against the beam of light that emanated from the reading lamp.

I smiled as I remembered my mother’s words the day she gave it to me.

“Here you go, Bella. So you can feel pretty and warm.”

I carefully wrapped it around my shoulders, trying to mimic the movements of the woman I had seen on the street earlier.

My breath caught as I spied my reflection in the glass.

There, standing in front of the Significant Other and Roxy I stood– looking like a badly wrapped burrito.

“Dare I ask what you’re doing?” I heard the Significant Other ask.

My sharp look and pursed lips indicated that this was not a good time.

Convinced it was my lack of expertise in arranging the pashmina just so, I pulled out another scarf.

This time, a luxurious cashmere little number I had bought back in the day when I didn’t have to worry about college tuitions bleeding me dry.

Twice around the neck, and voila!

I turned once again to look at my reflection.

This time it looked like I was wearing a high end neck brace.

At that point, I jammed all the scarves in the basket and instructed the Significant Other to take them away, no questions asked.

As I poured myself a cup of coffee, I thought that perhaps the look of sophistication was learned and not innate.

Perhaps these women attended a special “elegance learning” school where they were instructed in the fine art of tying scarves, faking the look of a stole, and walking in a way that prompted their scarves to come to life.

Or perhaps they all looked like badly wrapped burritos and it was my ID who was romanticizing their appearance and making them appear like unstoppable goddesses.

Calling out to the Significant Other, I stopped him midway up the stairs.

Reaching into the basket, I pulled out the pashmina.

“Don’t ask,” I hissed as I walked back to my room.

Opening the small cabinet door, I carefully placed it on top of the clothes already stored there.

It was irresponsible of me to conclude that my theory was right or wrong.

I would have to put it to the test once more.

Tomorrow.

I would try again tomorrow.

Do you think elegance is learned or something a person is born with?

Return of the Speedo Part III

This morning, as I searched in my closet for something warmer than the cardigan I’ve been wearing to walk Roxy, I realized fall has arrived with a vengeance.

The warmer, sunnier days of summer have been substituted with the colder, damper, rain-filled days of autumn.

I sighed as I remembered past summer days spent frolicking on the beach, drinking ice cold sangria, and laughing at the silly things.

It was this nostalgia that prompted me to look through my photos and relive some of those memories.

And in so doing, I discovered I still haven’t done my traditional Speedo post.

Busily scrolling through the hundreds of photographs, I quickly selected a handful to share with you.

Why?

Because it matters not whether we cringe or whoop with delight, a Speedo post possesses the ability to make us smile.

Or giggle.

Or sigh.

Or wonder what the heck these men were thinking when they put them on.

Nevertheless, this year I’ve decided that I shall not bash the Speedo.

Instead, just for fun, I would like to encourage you to express your thoughts regarding this controversial strip of cloth.

You can do this by leaving a comment or voting in the poll found at the bottom of this post.

(Hopefully, both!)

And now, without further ado, I give you men in Speedos!

First up, the “retro” Speedo.

Some men believe wearing a Speedo is the best way to bring sexy back.

I call this one the “underwear” Speedo.

If you don’t have a Speedo you can always make one.

If you don’t want to sport a homemade Speedo, you can always turn yourself into a human net.

I have to admit this one made me wonder if not all homemade Speedos are bad.

Finally, no summer would be complete without the white Speedo.

What do you think of the Speedo?

Don’t forget to check back to see the results!

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Note: This post is written in a humorous vein.
For further explanation, please refer to the post titled, Should I label this post a disclaimer?

Why exactly are we calling a bikini a fatkini?

I love fashion blogs.

I know this may surprise you, considering how much I say I love pajama pants.

But the truth is, I love fashion.

Not in the “Sex in the City” kind of way, but more like in the “fashion is self expression” kind of way.

Because to me, that’s what fashion is: the ability to express who you are in a personal and meaningful way.

Reading fashion blogs allows me to envision myself dressed in the styles of the lovely ladies whose fashion sense I admire.

I’m inspired to try fashion trends like floral jeans, peplum tops, and neon colors.

And when I spot a fashion trend I don’t have the courage to try, I live vicariously through the daring women who step out in style and blog about it.

Now that summer is here, I’m delighted to see many of my favorite fashion bloggers sporting bikinis.

I am especially pleased to see many women showing off their curves, undaunted by the fact that they don’t have what society deems a “bikini ready body.”

These women, confident in their skin and convinced they are beautiful, are my heroes.

They are who I look up to as I continue on the journey to lose my insecurities and feel comfortable in the body I am in.

Gabi Gregg is one of the fashion bloggers I admire.

She has recently been making waves with a bikini post that has gone viral.

Fearless, beautiful, and self confident, she is truly a sister worth emulating.

When I first saw Gabi’s bikini post, I cheered.

But not before I swooned when I saw her gorgeous vintage inspired two piece.

For the first time in twenty one years after giving birth to the Son, I envisioned myself wearing something similar to Gabi’s two piece.

However, there was something in Gabi’s post that burst my bubble: the fact that she called her bikini a “fatkini.”

A fatkini?

Really?

I was disappointed at what appeared to be another example of labeling.

Fatkini.

The term alone implies that it’s a two piece for fat women.

It would appear that “bikini” as in, a two piece suit, seems insufficient for full figured women, and thus, it is necessary to create a more literal term.

This makes me wonder why some women feel the need to adopt terms like “fatshion,” or “fatkini.”

Is it because we find that it sets us apart from the skinny girls; that it award us our own little club or clique?

If you ask me, terms like these only serve to make a distinction between those who are fat and those who aren’t.

In her recent post, Gabi promotes a clip of her appearance on the Today show.

In the interview, she’s asked if she thinks she’s promoting obesity and an unhealthy lifestyle.

Gabi replies, “I’m not promoting obesity or a healthy lifestyle. I think people should be aware of what they’re putting in their bodies and be more active. The truth is be happy with your bodies we have right now.”

While I found Gabi’s answer to be acceptable, I wanted to hear a different reply.

I wanted to hear her question why it is that when fat women wear a bikini, it’s seen as way to promote obesity, but when thin, emaciated women grace the covers of fashion magazines, it’s not seen as a way of promoting eating disorders.

I wanted to hear that being fat doesn’t necessarily equate being unhealthy, the same way that being thin doesn’t automatically signify being healthy.

I wanted to hear that women wearing bikinis, regardless of their size, are just that, women in bikinis.

I find that if we really want to empower women and promote self confidence, we have to lose the labels.

The word fat used to induce fear.

Anyone daring to use it was crossing the line, being offensive, being politically incorrect.

Fortunately, many fat people are battling the word’s negative stigma saying, “We’re fat and so what?”

Nevertheless, is it really necessary to label ourselves fat?

After all, it’s not like skinny people walk around saying, “My name is so and so and I’m skinny.”

The way I see it, any woman, regardless of her size or shape, should feel free to wear whatever she wants and feels comfortable in.

Without having to rename a bikini a “fatkini.”

And surely without having to affirm, “I’m a fat girl in a bikini.”

It should simply be enough to say, “I’m a woman in a bikini.”

Enough said.

How do you feel about the term “fatkini”?

Do these pants make me look groovy?

Spying myself in a shop window while I walked Roxy this afternoon made me realize I have to start dressing better.

Really, even a strong advocate of “clothes don’t make the monk” like myself has to draw the line somewhere.

Pretending I’m Charlize Theron in the movie, “Sweet November,” is not working anymore.

Let’s face it, Charlize wearing a ratty poncho still looks like a million dollars.

Me?

I still look like I’m wearing a ratty poncho.

Such is life.

In my defense, the day doesn’t seem to have enough hours.

It seems to pass by at lighting speed and before I know it, I only have a few minutes before Roxy has an accident on the carpet, or the Son starts screaming, “I’m sixty seconds away from gnawing on the legs of the dining room table!”

Is this the time to color coordinate an outfit and select the right accessories?

I don’t think so.

And so, with the intent of taking care of business before I have to witness the Significant Other trying to slice through a frozen pound cake with a butter knife, I’m out the door wearing whatever I threw on in the morning.

Today’s outfit consisted of a pair of pajama pants emblazoned with the word “groovy,” an old T-shirt that once upon a time used to be black but now has taken on a muted shade of gray, and a pair of old Birkenstocks I bought at a thrift shop ten years ago.

Hardly the epitome of groovy.

Tonight, I pondered why it is that some of us abandon our inner fashionista at a remote truck stop, never to be rescued again.

Do we do this because we’ve become too lazy to bother with our appearance?

Or do we do it because the older we get, the more our enlightened state tells us that clothes are not part of our spiritual essence?

Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter what we tell ourselves or how we try to convince ourselves there’s nothing wrong with our schizophrenic wardrobe choices.

The reality is that we should invest time on ourselves.

We deserve to put ourselves first.

Before our spouses, before our grown up “children,” before our furry friends.

It’s important for us to realize that we also matter.

Regardless that we may think that outward appearances aren’t important, the reality is that much of the time, looking good means feeling good.

And so, after much soul searching, I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps it’s time to modify my “monk” mentality.

Because while it may be true that a badly dressed monk is still a monk, wearing a pair of pajama pants that say “groovy,” doesn’t mean I’m looking groovy.

How important is it for you to look nice?

Photo Credit: The Son

Today I’m linking up with Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.