I Have Boobs, Deal With It.

Sing it, Meghan McCain!

So by now most of us are already over the non-controversy regarding Meghan McCain and a certain chesty twit pic. However it is her response today in the Daily Beast that really intrigues me as it seems to encapsulate the struggles that all well-endowed women face. So McCain posted a picture of herself on twitter sporting vaguely porny looking cleavage. She claimed it was in preparation for her big night in that involved a good book and some takeout. Now I don’t know a 20 something female who would post and unflattering or dowdy picture of herself on the internet and as Broadsheet pointed out, “What do they think young Republican women wear to bed? Lanz of Salzburg?” OK, so posting a megaboobs shot of yourself online might be vaguely tacky (however again, I challenge you to find me a 20-something female who doesn’t have at least one vaguely saucy pic of herself on Facebook) but to be called a slut over it? What century are we in?

 McCain says she has, “struggled to accept the fact that the way I look in a tank top comes off more “sexual” than a flat-chested woman.”  I can totally relate here, there are some styles smaller chested women can wear without stares that I just can’t pass off without looking like Marilyn Monroe. Although it can be a nuisance at time, I’ve always ultimately thought of it as a nice problem to have. I do my best to dress appropriately for the situation I’m in, try to keep it all “tucked in” and not flash people in public, but in the end… I have boobs. They’re big, sometimes people are going to notice them. I’m not going to go around wearing turtlenecks every day or uncomfortable chest minimizing bras just because some people can’t handle the sight of a fully grown woman. 

What’s up with people behaving as if having large or noticeable breasts is a sign of promiscuity? Last time I checked, there was no correlation between cup size and number of sexual partners and if there is… boy did I miss out when I was single. It doesn’t work the opposite way, people don’t look at women with small breasts and think, “Oh, she must be such a prude.”  Why do we look at a woman who has larger breasts, breasts that are often more visible than the breasts of a smaller woman and automatically think that she’s a slut just because her body’s doing what it does naturally? 

Although breasts are highly fetishized in our culture, the fact is that they serve a very practical evolutionary purpose; feeding human babies. Unless you have a lactation fetish, that’s just about the least sexual thing I can think of. Having large breasts is not an invitation for people to stare, comment or think ill of my character any more than having a large nose or ears would be. Living with the body I was born with and feeling comfortable in it, comfortable enough to not want to hide behind boxy clothing doesn’t make me, or Meghan McCain a slut. And while we’re at it, I’m so done with slut shaming. What’s a slut? Anyone who’s had more sex than you have? I’m tired of the word slut. I’m a slut, you’re a slut, we’re all sluts. Why in this day and age do we really think it is our business to comment on who or how many people anybody else is sleeping with anyway? 

Meghan McCain says she’s proud  of her curves, but like so much of her other writing, I feel that she gets close to making a great point and then backs off it in the end. She says she’s not perfect and that she’s still “making mistakes” and that she says she’s, “learned a valuable lesson about the internet and boundaries” and hopes, “other girls can learn from this episode.” Learning to draw the line between the internet and real life is a valuable lesson for sure, but in the end is this a lesson about being who you are, critics be damned, or covering up and shutting up when a few assholes pull out the S word? After all, McCain did threaten to take down her twitter page after the whole incident, something she has never done when the media has repeatedly called her fat. Why is it that a tiny four lettered word like slut has the power to make a confident woman like McCain consider silencing herself? Why is it that we use the word slut so often to defame, discredit and shut down young women? 

It’s something to think about. In the mean time, don’t you even think about calling me and my C cups slutty. Unless, of course, you mean it in a good way.

Oh I Don’t Know…

Call it out of character, but I’m having difficulty mustering feminist outrage against the supposedly “new” phenomenon of pre-teens buying into the “Slutoween” trend by donning tarty costumes made especially for them. 

Why? Well first of all, I have trouble with the idea that pre-teen girls trying to dress older than their years is anything new, or even necessarily something that adults should be overly alarmed about. Adolescent girls have always pilfered mom’s lipstick and changed in the bathroom at the school dance into that shorter skirt the ‘rents wouldn’t let them leave the house in. Yeah, part of that is pressure from society, but part of it is also natural curiosity. Trying to figure out what the hell to do with one’s newly morphed pubescent body is a big undertaking and it doesn’t happen overnight. It takes a lot of experimentation (and plenty of fashion train-wrecks) to figure out your relationship with your budding body. Dressing older (and by association, sexier) is as much about independence to most teen girls as it is about fitting in and being pretty. Instead of trusting our girls to navigate the muddy waters of adolescence and make good choices why do we behave as if it only takes one pair of sparkley fishnets to turn a 13-year-old into a baby prostitute?

Case in point, when I was in seventh grade I saw the movie Clue and decided I wanted to be a French maid for Halloween. My mother tried to talk me out of it. She even tried appealing to my emergent feminism by explaining that French maids are sort of a degrading male fantasy. This tidbit was pretty much lost on me. At that point my budding sexuality did not include any awareness of dominance, submission or other kinks. All I knew was that French maids got to wear frilly costumes, carry feather dusters and speak in smarmy French accents. Who wouldn’t want to be a French maid for Halloween? All mom’s suggestions for other, more appropriate costumes for a thirteen year old (“What about being a bag of grapes!? We can blow up some purple balloons and stick them to a sweat suit!”) fell on deaf ears. I was dug in. I was being a French maid for Halloween. 

Instead of locking me up and throwing away the key, my mother reluctantly took me on a field trip to the local costume shop to pick out the most conservative French maid outfit we could find. She also insisted that I wear a turtleneck under it and drape a shawl over my shoulders, “Because it will be cold out.” I went out trick or treating in the outfit, practiced my smarmy French accent, accosted several people with my feather duster, collected a butt load of candy and came home… without herpes. I did not magically become popular with all the boys. I didn’t even end up dating for another three years. I didn’t ditch my well worn wardrobe of peasant skirts and wool clogs for leather pants and bustiers. The next Halloween I went as Red Death from Phantom of the Opera in pants, a tuxedo shirt, a floor length cape and a mask that covered most of my face. In short, I remained unharmed by my brush with the Slutoween phenomenon. 

Was I just lucky that I didn’t become a statistic? I think not. First of all, I had good parents who wanted to have constructive conversations with me about my choices instead of just slut-shaming me. Because she actually listened to me my mother learned that my interest in being a French maid had more to do with playing a kooky character than pandering to the male sex. In fact, pandering to the male sex wasn’t even on my radar at that age. Even if it had been, I’m sure mom and I would have had a conversation about that too.

Unlike the author of the Daily Mail Article, I don’t believe that, “Parents who allow their offspring to wear this junk should consider putting them up for adoption.” I am so glad that my parents valued me as a person who could make her own decisions instead of thinking of me as a Pretty Pretty Princess that they had to keep pure as long as possible no matter what the cost.

Pre-teens of both genders are thinking about sex all the time and it’s totally natural. What else are you going to do when your brain is totally bathed in hormones? We’d be foolish to think that denying them every pair of tacky earrings or pot of lip gloss is going to stop them from growing up too fast. Guarding your daughters from the trappings of adulthood is a false sense of security. Instead of trying to take away the makeup and the high heels, why aren’t we trying to teach young women that these things don’t have to define them? Because that would mean that parents would actually have to talk openly and honestly about growing up with their kids… and that’s just awkward. Better to call them  whores and ground them until they are 30! 

As a kid I was encouraged to think for myself and stand up for what I believed in and be my awkward, imperfect self in any way that I wanted to be. This didn’t win me many friends in Junior High but in the end I think it made me less susceptible to the junk culture that tells girls their only value is being attractive. I understand that parents have a very real responsibility to protect their kids form predators. I also understand just how damaging it is to sexualize children from a young age. I just don’t think that the solution to the problem is to shelter our children more. I think the solution is to help our children learn to make good choices on their own.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my mom had refused to let me wear that French maid outfit on Halloween. I certainly would have had less fun dressed as a bag of grapes. Would I have merely snuck out in the slutty outfit anyway? Would fishnets and heels become even more attractive and glamorous once I knew that my mother hated them? Of course! Perhaps the fact that I had permission to experiment with the sexy outfit in the first place also empowered me to reject it in the end. Bottom line… kids are vulnerable, precious and impressionable but they are also a lot smarter than we think they are. Raise your kid well and a little eyeliner (or a slutty Halloween costume) isn’t going to change who they are. 

Confession of the Day: I’m A Premature Bridezilla

A friend of mine recently posted a blog entry complete with to her ideal renaissance-inspired wedding dress. Never mind that she doesn’t happen to be engaged or even in a serious relationship at the moment. She momentarily pondered if this made her a bit silly. If this makes her silly, then I’m just plain certifiable. Friend, I’ll do you one further, much further. I’m not engaged either but I not only have a dress in mind… I have my entire damn wedding planned. You heard me. 

For a while I’ve wanted a Dia de los Muertos inspired wedding. My mom cringed when I once mentioned this in front of her, but hear me out mom, I’m not thinking cheesy-ass goth wedding, I’m thinking Martha Stewart Living Halloween Issue wedding. Picture it. A crisp fall day on Cape Cod. It will be just cool enough to wear an amazing Supermaggie scarf. The color scheme is purple, green and orange. The dress is 1950′s style, maybe with some colorful embellishments like this. Obviously this unique ensemble will involve a fascinator instead of a veil. Papel Picado and brightly colored lanterns adorn the place. On each brightly colored picnic table there is a different Mexican oilcloth tablecloth. The centerpieces are white ghost pumpkins carved into tasteful lanterns, and surrounded by short mason jars with bunches of Gerber daisies. The cake is a tower of Lyndell’s cupcakes atop a vintage cake stand with a sugar skull bride and groom at the very top. 

Oh, and this all won’t be mind numbingly expensive because it will all be vintage, etsy or DIY. 

Where’s the hypothetical groom in this? Oh, he just has to show up and look pretty. And wear a top hat.

Seriously though, what is up with wedding fever? or should I say wedding planning fever? Is it because a motherload of my friends have gotten engaged or married in the last year and watching them plan their weddings naturally makes me think of my own? Is it because in spite of my combat-boot stomping, anti-patriarchal “I don’t need no stinkin’ marriage to make me complete” feminist trumpeting  I’m secretly starved to settled down in partnered, heterosexual bliss? Have I been brainwashed by society to fantasize incessantly about “my special day”? 

Maybe I’m secretly a romantic at heart. Or perhaps it is the party planner coming out in me. I’m a theater person for chrissakes, most of the shindigs I throw involve mood lighting, atmospheric design and costumes (not to mention interactive craft projects, hooo!), is this all just a natural extension of my tendency to do it up?

So what’s your take on it? Is it normal and natural to dream about your wedding before you’ve even gotten engaged? Why do we all do it even if we scoff at romance? Am I helping to set womanity back like 200 years just by writing about this stuff or is it all just good clean fun? Do I even give a fuck?

I Can Stop At Any Time…

I know this is old news to anyone with a vague interest in fashion but…

Anna Sui is coming out with a new line of clothes for Target!

And they are Gossip Girl inspired!

They hit stores on the 13th!

Squeee!!!!!!!!!

I know, I know. I was supposed to be keeping my fashion dollars out of the big box stores.

I have a big birthday coming up next week and I was supposed to start dressing with a little more dignity, i.e not like a wanna be teenage socialite.

I can’t help it.

I totally want the one on the far left. The black number is a little too Sophomore semi-formal ’98 for me but the silver one… that totally would have worked for a New Year’s Eve On The Moon theme party I had a few years ago. I don’t know how I feel about the jacket over the cute little wrap dress but whatevs.

In general, I’m feeling it.

I think I may have a problem.

Peaches Part Deux: Fashion Redux

One of the fun things about going to shows is that you get to check out all the messed up stuff  the cool kids are wearing.  The Peaches show was no exception. As you can imagine the crowd offered some serious pageantry, ranging from the sublime to the completely douche-tarded.

I’m going to refrain from passing too much judgment on people’s looks as I’m loath to fan the (completely hilarious) flames of the hipster hatred fire. Hipsters after all, are people too, and hating on them has become as trendy as actually being one which makes it totally fin. I’m not sure what it is about hipsters that makes people so angry. OK so maybe if you went to art school and got sick of girls in tutus with rat’s tales talking about their puffy painted thesis projects, then I can understand. There is something about purposely looking bizarre and having absolutely no sense of humor about it that sort of gets me. If you are going to go out every morning with a handle bar moustache and a monocle, you best be able to laugh at yourself. But then, far be it from me to pass judgment on people’s fashion choices. I used to go to school slathered in glitter wearing a nausea-inducing psychedelic polyester dress, red argyle socks, Tevas, a patchwork bucket hat and a Lisa Frank back pack. All at the same time. Yep, I was that girl. That’s what Catholic school does to you.

So anyways, here are my top five favorite looks from a set of people who are clearly not burdened by the constraints of trying to build a tasteful business casual wardrobe. Enjoy.

1) Plaid Flannel Shirt With Matching Rambo- Style Headband.

The girl I saw sporting this look seemed to be channeling Euro joke-pop sensation Gunther.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Too bad she didn’t try to touch my tra-la-la.

(NSFW)

2) Pirate Chic

There will always be a spot in my heart for pirates, but I thought the pirate -chic look was supposed to be oh so five minutes ago? Regardless, any girl who can rock an eye patch with a cocktail dress and still look fierce gets a gold star in my fashion playbook.

She looked just about as glam as this lady, which is to say very.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3) Members Only Jackets.  

I’m not gonna lie, I’m jealous of anyone with a Members Only Jacket, especially if it happens to be gold lame, like the guy I saw at the Peaches show. Members Only jackets remind me of my grandad, but not in a creepy way, I swear. This particular dude had an old school MJ vibe going on, which was fine by me.

4) Fascinators 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been a big fan of fascinators for a while now.  In my other, other life (the one where I’m not a blogger or an educator but a girl who likes to dress up as a crazy french lady and high kick down Mass Ave with feathers in her hair) fascinators are my go to fashion staple when I need that little something extra to go with my false eyelashes, ruffled rumba pants, and 60-yard cotton candy pink crinoline. You know, when I feel like being understated. Girls who don’t have a femme to femme drag queen complex like yours truly are sporting them with jeans and T-shirts, which I think is a tres charming way to mix it up a little.  You can get them all over etsy now but this one is from Truly Fallen,  where I’ve gotten some fun stuff in the past. Bonus, the lady who sells them is super nice. 

5) Moustaches

The number one hipster accessory of the mo has gotta be a kickass moustache. And to think, I was once so ashamed of mine that I had it burned off my face with costly laser procedures! But that’s another blog entry. Anyways, kids these days are all about the facial topiary, even Peaches herself is know to be apologetically hairy. The great news is if you can’t grow one, there are a variety of fake moustache options out there on the internet. 

So there it is kids, all the fashion news from the front lines that’s fit to print. And in honor of all things eccentric, I leave you with one more Peaches clip. This one has been my theme song today and it’s rife with some good old fashioned equal opportunity objectification.

(NSFW)

Shine On You Crazy Diamonds

This Week’s Best and Worst in Feminist Blogging:

Best:

There’s an all out knock down drag out UFC style cage match going on between old school and new wave feminists right now and thanks to teh world wide web everyone with an opinion and an internet connection has a front row seat. 

Linda Hirshman over at Slate’s brand spankin’ new feminist blog double X fired the first shots with the article The Problem With Jezebels. What’s the problem with these young feminists, drinking, having casual sex and not taking the blame for sexual assault? The nerve! My first reaction was, huh? Really? We’re still upset about this? Didn’t they invent the whole free love thing in the 60s? Why are old school feminists pissed now that their daughters are actually cashing in on it? If feminism means equal opportunity for both sexes, that means women have equal opportunity to not only climb the corporate ladder and influence society, but to get drunk, get laid and act like chuckleheads without having our lives and reputations destroyed for it. Because we’re human, just like men. And the victim blaming thing? Not cool. As long as society continues to put most of the responsibility for sexual assault on women, some men will continue to find reasons to rape. Why shouldn’t they when “she asked for it” is still accepted as a valid excuse? 

This is where I find that I just don’t get second wave feminists. Or maybe they just don’t get us. In the immortal words of Will Smith, Parents Just Don’t Understand. Hirshman also doesn’t get why Jezebel’s Tracie finds this picture (NSFW) funny, saying, “How can Tracie…criticize the men who go to Hooters?” I think the picture is a damn funny commentary the phenomenon of “accidental” celebrity coochie sightings. But then again, I’m one of those lazy, spoiled new wave feminists who thinks women shouldn’t have to behave like a “model minority” to get ahead. I also think I should be able to vote for the candidate who best represents my ideas regardless of their gender, drink what I want, fuck who I want, and laugh at my own vagina. 

For the record, Salon’s Rebecca Traister thinks the mud slinging fest is great, and I’m inclined to agree. After all, the fact that now we’re having a multi-generational non-linear debate about what a feminist is means that contrary to the rumor, feminism is still alive and kicking. 

Worst:

Yahoo’s newish website for women has been bugging me for a while. I’ve been holding off on writing about it since it’s mostly too stupid to pay attention to (think Jezebel only with a lobotomy or Martha Stewart’s Living minus the style). Shine is supposed to be the female’s destination on the web, all a girl really needs in her online day. In reality it is Journalism Lite, a thinly veiled platform for advertisers to capitalize off female insecurity in order to get us to buy into a certain lifestyle and ultimately spend money.

Mostly I’m just annoyed that Yahoo keeps sending Shine updates to my inbox, as if I’d actually be interested in it. The topics on the front page include: Manage Your Life, Fashion & Beauty, Parenting, Love & Sex, Food and Astrology. This is what I’m supposed to be interested in? Notice that the news isn’t even on this list. I’m supposed to care about astrology before I care about current events? Who gives a crap about Darfur as long as I have my star forecast! There’s no section on careers, business or the economy, nothing on science, entertainment or the arts. However there are articles on How To Woo Him With Your Phone Voice, How To Make Yourself Interesting, Why You’re Not Losing Weight and if that all fails, How To Get Back At Your Ex. Well thank god! I thought I was going to have to live the rest of my life as a fat, boring loser with a bad phone voice! Thank you Shine!

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that there is plenty of room in feminism for fashion, lip gloss and relationship advice. I love magazines like BUST that give a nod to craftiness and the culinary arts, honoring the DIY domestic spirit of our grandmother’s generation instead of discarding it. After all, being able to knit our own leg-warmers or whip up a great three bean casserole doesn’t have to be a function of oppression, it can be a way of overthrowing the patriarchal society that says we have to shop, eat and dress a certain way in order to have value. 

What I really resent is the assumption that most women don’t care about the world beyond our own appearances and relationships and all we’re capable of consuming is articles about fashion, beauty and dating. I believe that most women genuinely do have interest in the greater world around them. However the media that is marketed toward us refuses to address those interests unless they come pre-packaged from some sort of “women’s issues” angle. As if I can’t possibly relate to, let’s say, suffering in Iraq unless it has to do with women and cute little children. I’m so tired of the assumption that I’m not going to read a news story unless it has to do with a kidnapped white girl.

So boo on you, Shine, for adding to the glut of junk Cosmo Girl Culture we have to wade through in order to get to anything of substance.

Please, Think of the Hipsters!

OK, so most of my readers are aware of my well documented love/hate relationship with American Apparel. An affair that has been complicated of late with the announcement that AA has now launched a line of (sort of) maternity clothing. Now just ‘cuz you got knocked up doesn’t mean you can’t still dress like coked out disco skank! This adds yet another perverse layer to the American Apparel Hates Fat People (or at least fat women) debate. What does it mean that AA is willing to start a line especially for husky guys but their answer to expecting women is to just try and wriggle themselves into some of their stretchier styles? Clearly they have demonstrated an understanding of the fact that larger people need larger clothes, so why doesn’t the idea ring true for the women’s line? Is being pregnant just not a good enough excuse to get fat?

So here goes kids, I’m dusting off my hate letter to American Apparel. Enjoy:

Dear American Apparel,

I appreciate that your 100% cotton garments are so expensive because they are made without any slave labor in sunny L.A where you pay your workers a living wage. Really I do. I appreciate it so much that I continue to buy your products even though you are enabling a generation of hipsters to dress like aerobics instructors from the 80s without even the effort of raiding a thrift store. I appreciate it so much that I even look the other way from your horrific print adds. You know, the ones with some anorexic, strung out looking girl in some vaguely masturbatory pose that’s supposed to be provocative with a look in her eyes that says she’s oh so bored with everything, even sex (which she probably can’t even muster the energy to have since she’s so emaciated that she looks unable to menstruate, let alone break a sweat)? Yeah those ones.

In your Cambridge store today I witnessed a phenomenon that makes me want to whack you upside your collective fashion mullet. To put it bluntly, you seem to think that the only people who should be wearing your 100% cotton slavery free garments are people the size of the waifish models you use to pedal them. Lest you mistake me for a lone whiner, it has been well documented that I’m not the only woman with this problem.

I think a person my size should be able to fit comfortably into a size large at any mainstream retail store. Hell, throughout most of the 1990s (before the whole size inflation thing happened and I woke up the next day and was suddenly a size 6 without doing anything differently) I WAS a medium or a large at most shops. If you are trying to take a stand on the whole vanity sizing things and have Americans start thinking realistically again, then I respect that, although somehow I think your motives are not so altruistic. 

Okay, okay, I understand that a womanly figure is threatening to the other greasy haired, concave chested half of your sales demographic, the MALE hipster.

So I beg you, AA, if you can’t muster any compassion for your female shoppers, think of the male hipsters! What about all the sensitive men who’s self esteem you are destroying with your size deflation when they find they can’t fit their scythe like hips into your tightie whities or striped cotton 70′s athletic shorts?  Female eating disorders have long been a scourge in modern society, now must you now send the other half of the fashion conscious sector to purge over toilets as well!? Aren’t they better employed spending their parent’s money on weed or flunking out of an art school they aren’t talented enough to be at in the first place? How will they manage to roll out of bed by 3PM to pound a Miller High Life and get to band practice if they are too worried about their love handles? How will these fragile men live their lives if they are forced into the same kind of all consuming body image schizophrenia that most women engage in on a daily basis!?

The real dirty thing about all this business American Apparel, is that I bet the size deflation doesn’t run through to the male side of your clothing line. In fact, I wonder if size inflation/deflation is even an issue with men’s apparel in general. Tell the truth AA, nothing is worse than a fatty, especially a fatty who tries to wear trendy clothing and feel good about herself even if she’s not a size two. That’s just like, ew. And while we’re at it, nothing is more threatening to the image conscious, emotionally crippled pretty boys you like to sell your clothing to than a woman who could kick their asses. 

But this psychology is nothing new. We saw it in the 90s with Calvin Klein who said so famously that women over size 10 shouldn’t wear jeans. We’ve seen it throughout history. Because nothing freaks the fashion industry out more than a mature woman who isn’t willing to contort and starve her body by any means possible in order to fit into YOUR clothing.

But I’ve been unfair to you, AA. It’s not just you, it’s not just the fashion industry. It is the culture that supports it. The culture that tells women that we need to look adolescent to be sexy and that a mature woman in power is undesirable.

It’s me too, after all, I bought the little size XL sundress you had on the rack. And the A-line skirt, and the leggings, and the tiny tank tops in a rainbow of basic and fluorescent colors, and the sparkly gold hot shorts. And even though I’m not your target consumer, even though I’m spending my hard earned cash at a store that has tried to ward off my child bearing hips by making most of their styles too small to fit them, I still think I look hot in your clothes if I do say so myself. And sometimes I kinda hate myself for feeling that way. Damn American Apparel, I wish I could quit you. 

xoxo,

Fever

Confession of the Day…

All of my cool ass hipster threads are from Target.

No, seriously. This should come as no surprise. I was raised by a woman who could sniff out a good bargain like a truffle hunting pig. Paying retail for clothing seems sacrilegious to me, like throwing away perfectly good food is to other people. Compliment me on something I have on and my most likely remark will be, “You like it? It cost me $6.” As I got older the retort has morphed from, “It cost me $6.” to, “Oh, these shoes are vintage Ferragamo from the 1940′s, I found them at a thrift store for $20.” Nevermind that if I actually respected my vintage shoes I wouldn’t be wearing them out of the house.

Finding cheap stylish clothing is like a sport for me. It never once occurred to me that mentioning how little you pay for something is a bit declasse. At least it never occurred to me until after I finished bragging to my mom’s friend over dinner about how my Ralph Lauren tweed jacket only cost me $40 at a high end thrift store and she leaned in and said to me with an air of confidentiality, “You know, nobody would know if you didn’t tell them that.” Why wouldn’t I tell them that? Telling people is half the fun!

Why then do I feel like a goober when people compliment me on my Target duds and I say , “Oh, it’s from Target. Or, “Oh, it’s Alexander McQueen (dramatic pause) from Target.” OK, so most of Alexander McQueen’s line for Target looks like it isn’t fit to be worn by anybody over the age of 16. (See Fig. A)

Fig. A

But I found a really cute Alexander McQueen tank top that I snapped up, and isn’t the idea that high fashion can be affordable to all at a cheapo price kinda neat? It just seems so socialist of us, so vaguely Swedish in a very hip kind of way.

I am also loving Target’s Go International line. Basically they are limited edition rip offs of high end fashion trends. I grabbed this hot little dress right off the racks:

Although I do not wear it with ripped nylons and stiletto boots because once again, anybody over a certain age has no business dressing like that unless they are the lead singer of an all girl Motley Crue cover band.  (See again, Figure A.) I also grabbed an interesting short sleeved Members Only inspired asymmetrical jacket and a very hot bronze colored decollete baring shirt. None of these things look terribly like they are from Target, as my mom’s friend would have said, no one would ever know. Especially when they are paired with the rest of my wardrobe, so why do I feel like a sellout when I have to cop to my budget dressing habits?

We have already been over the fact that I have too much of a sense of humor about myself (not to mention good personal hygiene habits and a steady job) to consider myself a real hipster, so I am not outing myself as the bourgeois square that I am for buying my clothes there.

Maybe I’m afraid of supporting a big, evil corporation with all my fashion hungry dollars. I know Target does plenty for local schools and the arts… but I live in fear that someday I’m going to find out that they support some secret conservative Christian agenda or allow their pharmacists to refuse birth control prescriptions and then I’ll have to boycott them just like I boycott Wal-Mart. Come on Target! You are supposed to be Design for All! The Ikea of America! Fashion for the proletariat! Vive le resistance! At least this is what I tell myself as I swipe my debit card there on my bi-weekly Target-trysts.

Maybe I’m outing myself as a mere amateur fashionista by shopping at Target. “I got it at Target ” doesn’t sound as cool as, “I got it rummaging through a designer sample sale or at a vintage shop.” And can I really claim to be so fashion forward when I’m yanking things off the same rack as every teenager and housewife in America? Aren’t I supposed to be hipper than that?

But then I think to myself, bitch please, I do not have time for such things. I’m too busy making kick ass performance art, educating myself and hitting the social scene to spend my days weeding through what’s hot or not. Have you ever tried to talk to somebody who’s actually high fashion? Hint: they’re boring as hell. That’s what happens when you spend all day perfecting your art school hairdo. And now that I’m a grown adult, wearing a vintage moth eaten jacket that may or may not but probably has somebody else’s pit stains on it just doesn’t shine the way it used to when I was a teen. Target is cheap, Target is fast. Target has clothing that comes without pit stains and in sizes above zero. When I think about it, it really is a great compromise for the fashion/budget and time conscious amongst us. Just because I don’t consider fashion my hobby means I can’t occasionally look like it. So I got it at Target, bitch. The whole damn outfit today. And I’m proud of it.

The Sarah Palin Drinking Game

Look kids, I may just distinguish myself as virtually the only feminist blogger on the net not to post a searing opinion on the Pitbull in Lipstick. I’m not going to post any of her scary gaffes in the Katie Couric interview about Roe v. Wade or John McCain’s stance on deregulation. I’m not even going to post any You Tube videos of Amy Poheler and Tina Fey brilliantly lampooning her on SNL, even though that shit’s hysterical. But I will post a link to another video that’s pretty damn funny.

Don’t get me wrong here, I hate the woman’s guts. And it isn’t because she’s a woman, or a mom or has a shoe collection most women would kill for. It’s because I think she embodies everything that’s bad and scary and harmful about the far right, and I can’t believe that some political strategist was so stupid that they assumed all they needed to do was put a candidate with tits up there and all the feminists and soccer moms would vote McCain because, “She’s just like us!” However I also believe that when you demonize someone with the fervor that other lefty bloggers have demonized her you give her too much power. Sarah Barracuda, I’m not afraid of you.

I’m not even gonna wax poetical about the Veep debates and how much more massively satisfying they were than last week’s predictable presidential snooze fest. Broadsheet already posted an article about exactly why Joe Biden is my new political crush, so I’m only gonna go there briefly. Biden is an old school working class hero, the type of guy that reminds you of what makes your dad and your granddad great. He’s long been a champion of women’s issues without being patronizing or talking down to women. Both a single dad and a working man with a career, he’s seen it from both sides the way few men have, so you know he gets it. Joe Biden, I heart you.

On my girl scout’s honor, I’m only gonna post one snarky thing about Sarah Palin in my blog, and then I’m gonna return to telling you all about burlesque, body image and how my vagina has opinions, because man does it ever.

So here we go, my one cheap shot about our would be Veep…

Ladies and Gentlemen, Fever2Tell proudly presents, The Sarah Palin Drinking Game*:

Take a shot every time she uses the word “maverick”.

Take a shot every time she uses a folksy phrase that appeals to the average “Joe six pack”.

Drink double if she mentions Russia.

Chug your entire beer if she says she can see Russia from her backyard.

Take a shot if she winks.

Drink every time she continues to insist on something that’s an outright lie, even after she’s been called out on it multiple times.

Drink every time she mentions invading Iran.

Drink triple every time she sleazily invokes the memory of the Holocaust in order to justify invading Iran even though that would add a third war we can’t afford to fight to the tally and where exactly is Bin Laden again? Oh, who cares, let’s just shoot all the brown people and have it over with.

Take a shot if she uses any fake swear words to pluckily show emphasis while still remaining a ladylike hockey mom, for example, “doggonit”.

Drink double if she totally ignores the question asked in order to robotically refer back to the McCain talking points she has memorized.

Drink every time she mentions, “hungry energy markets”.

Drink every time she says she’s read “All of the magazines.” Really, all of them? SO you read Bitch, BUST, The Advocate, Hustler, Maxim and Jugs too?

Drink double if she can’t name a single important supreme court case besides Roe. v. Wade.

Drink when she says she’d council a 15 year old incest victim to choose life.

Drink every time she sleazily tries to associate the word rape with Joe Biden by mentioning how he compared offshore drilling to raping the continental shelf, when she’s really trying to deflect her poor record on protecting rape victims. Remind me who pays for rape kits in Wasilla, Sarah?

Drink every time she says she’d like to promote a “Culture of life”, even though that culture doesn’t seem to extend to the wolves that she advocates killing, or the pregnant teenage moms at Covenant House, which she slashed funding for.

Just crack open the whiskey and start chugging if she actually admits to her literalist interpretation of the Bible which involves a lack of belief in evolution, the idea that dinosaurs lived 4,000 years ago and walked the earth with humans, and that the End of Days will happen in our lifetime.

And if these people actually slime their way into office, pack your bags, and move to Canada.

*Game was invented during last week’s debate, and so would be best enjoyed with the aid of a time machine. However, if you’ve no access to a Tardis this game can be applied to just about any interview, speech or public appearance.

cheer up emo kid….

turns out everyone really does hate you.

Having angry Mexican rioters lob tomatoes at you is really the epitome of suffering for your scene, and suffering is like, cool, right?

I must be ancient, because I just don’t get teen subculture anymore. It’s not that I find what’s hip to be weird and scary a la Grandpa Simpson, it’s more that I find the new rebelion as lame and wussy and suspiciously prepackaged. OK, so there is something about emo’s abundance of fey, makeup wearing boys that would have send my teenage heart aflutter, but once we got past the eyeliner to the gooshy, whiny caramel center within, I would have run screaming back to Robert Plant and his hairy chest on the covers of my favorite Zeppelin albums.

To me emo is like punk or goth lite, without a decent musical ourvre to redeem it. In the face of even the most arrogant punks or pretentious goth kids, I could never deny that the Clash and Depeche Mode rule. My Chemical Romance just doesn’t resonate with me the same way. Again, it’s probably because I’m old.

I should probably refrain from ragging on hipsters though, lets I prove myself a total poser. After all, on some days I tend to look suspiciously like this stereotype from Your Scene Sucks, right down to the fantastic plastic. At least I have a sense of humor about myself, right?