Catholicism is bad for your knees

I have horrible knees. Really, really horrible knees. They’re fat, and flat (who has flat knees!?), and strangely misshapen. They’re pale, and pasty, and the skin is a strange texture. I blame bad genes and years of Catholicism.

These knees have not seen the light of day (or night) for a long, long time. And yet today, for the first time in 20 years, I am wearing a dress that allows them to be visible. To see and be seen by the world at large.

Why? Because I am making a concerted effort to do what makes me happy and not care about what other people think. To make peace with myself and the way I look. That, and the fact that I went shopping on one of my rare brave days and decided to buy the totally cute 60s inspired shift that I loved – even though I would ordinarily have left it behind because of the ‘knees on show’ issue.

So now I sit in my office too nervous to walk to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee lest people start pointing and laughing, or sneering and whispering behind their hands, or gasping and…. You get the idea. Because on an emotional level I totally believe that it could happen, even though my brain tells me that no-one cares about my knees.

I know that I should be/get over this. I am no longer a child and being filled with all of this teen-like angst and insecurity is no longer excusable. I should be doing mature and cathartic shit, like writing letters to 14 year old Me. Telling her that the insecurity that consumes her will pass. That she will outgrow it and find a deep level of acceptance, appreciation for her body and endless pools of self-esteem to draw on.

But that isn’t true because sometimes (read: often) I feel just like 14 year old Me, trapped in 32 year old Me’s body.

Today is one of those days.

But at least I’m trying, and putting the knees of horror on display. That’s progress, isn’t it? I may even work up the courage to get a cup of coffee later.

*Edited to add: I have been struck by a new wave of confidence and am thinking:

F*ck Flattering. Wear what makes you happy.

Let’s see how long it lasts…

 

 

 

I’m not a slacker. I’m a sociological post-materialist.

Not all who wander are lost – JRR Tolkien

I’ve been back at work since the beginning of the year and have enjoyed my job and the people I’ve worked with. But I have to come clean and say that I really don’t like working. And I don’t mean in the ‘work can be such hard, well, work’ kind of way; but in the sense that I find it completely pointless and unfulfilling.

Yes, I realise that survival is a pretty good point and that I need to make money to put food on the table, and blah blah yawn. This is why I still get out of bed in the morning. But meeting these basic needs isn’t really making me happy, leaving me satisfied (just ask Maslow), or providing enough motivation for me to keep doing it in the long term.

I suppose that I could try to pretend that I care about getting rich and accumulating wealth. But I’m just not finding the quest for riches a driver anymore. Sure, I like beautiful things, but I increasingly find myself wanting to create rather than consume beauty. In fact, I’m really into the idea of re- and up-cycling stuff rather than buying more new things. Not to sound like a tree-hugger, but there are only so many resources available and we should probably try to conserve some of them. Not to mention the fact that the quest to acquire just feels to me like it’s in poor taste right now. It’s a pretty different mind-set I find myself in…

For a while I thought that I was fooling myself into believing that I felt this way, and that deep down I was still the rabid consumer that I’ve always been. So I tested my theory and tried to go shopping. About 5 times. I tried my favourite stores. I tried new stores. I tried highly recommended stores and unheard of stores. I tried cheap stores and expensive stores. And each time, I would leave the shops either empty handed, or with one or two purchases that I made because I had a real need.

Not only do I not want to buy new stuff, I desperately want to get rid of the stuff I already have. As we prepare to move (more on that in a separate post), J and I are sorting through our mountains of stuff and identifying the stuff that we want to give to charity or sell. Most of the time I want to pack the essentials (like my books, laptop, a few craft supplies, and enough clothes to not become a nudist) and then call a charity store to come and collect the rest. And when I am in any retail environment I keep finding myself thinking: “Well, I could buy this – but what’s the point? It’s just one more thing that I’ll have to store, clean, and move.”

To me, it makes perfect sense that a severe reduction in my acquisitive drive means a drastic reduction in my desire to work because this has always been all that work is about for me. I have worked to make money so that I could buy shit. I’ve never been a particularly career-driven person. I’ve tried to be. I’ve pretended to be. But the truth is that I really couldn’t give a continental about climbing the corporate ladder, or gaining recognition, or any of the things that seem to be important to my career-focused brethren.

I just want to be free. I want my time to be my own. I want to travel and see places and people I’ve never seen before. I want to watch TV shows and movies. I want to spend time with my husband, son and friends. I want to try new things, like yoga. I want to be able to sit on the couch and do nothing but knit a particularly challenging pattern. I want to experiment with making my own patterns and sewing clothes and home décor. I want to take my son to the beach. I want to lay in bed all morning reading. I want to write. For some reason I want to edit other people’s writing*. (Strangely enough, I probably want to do this more than I want to write).

I know from experience that my skill level at few, if any, of these things is likely to be good enough to display to the public, let alone generate an income. So I know that they would be seen by many as failures. I really don’t care. I want to enjoy the process, not the outcome. I want to simply revel in the creation of something, with no thought given to profitability or income generation for myself or anyone else. I want to do for the sake of doing, make for the sake of making.

The fact that I feel this way doesn’t surprise me. To me, it’s totally normal. But society doesn’t seem to agree. It would seem that if you aren’t driven by money or a desire to achieve society’s narrow preconceptions of success, there is no space for you. Basically, there seem to be three options for women who want to be considered successful:

1. Be the brass-balled career woman clawing her way up the corporate ladder. Extra points if you start your own business and make it successful. Become an expert within your industry. Get head-hunted a few times. Have clients that adore you. Join self-congratulating industry groups and societies. Make lots of money. Buy shit with it. Look amazing all of the time.
2. Be a domestic goddess Stepford wife who cooks and cleans, has amazing sex; is interesting, witty and well read. Host wonderful dinner parties. Be a mother, preferably an earth mother who is a member of the La Leche League and a strict proponent of attachment parenting. Be involved in every school activity and charity drive. Bake cakes and cookies, and cook wholesome and nutritious meals. Shows how practical and thrifty you are and prove that you’re a better wife and home maker than everyone else. Look amazing all of the time.
3. Both of the above.

I call bullshit. Surely there must be more? Something more meaningful? But in the absence of these stereotypical measures of success, I’m left wondering what I believe success to be and how I measure it for myself. Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer. What I Do know is that I no longer think that success is a big house*, luxury car and designer clothing. I also don’t think that it’s anything as trite or hackneyed as being the perfect wife and mother, and raising the perfect child. While having a home, a car and a happy child and marriage are important to me, these are not the yardsticks by which I measure my success.

(*While I don’t need a big house, I would like to have a sewing and craft room. Purely for practical reasons, you understand.)

Maybe I’m just in the wrong job. Actually, I’m pretty sure I am. The very thought of becoming some money-grubbing company’s PR lackey and contributing to the great need to increase sales within the infinite marketplace drains me of the will to live faster than an open airlock creates a vacuum. But I have no idea what to do with that, because I’m not really qualified to do anything else. I’m lucky enough to have some talent, experience, knowledge and skills under my belt that allow me to make a salary and help put food on the table. Which I need to do right now, because being a single income family just isn’t feasible at the moment. But again, where does this whole situation leave me? I suspect that the answer is “between a rock and a hard place”.

I know that I could find my passion and pursue it on a part time basis. I could study part time and gain a qualification so that I can eventually change careers. I could choose a hobby and wait to see where it goes and how it develops. But really, being a working mother, wife, homemaker, daughter-in-law, and occasional friend is quite a lot to have on my plate as it is.

I just don’t feel as though I can take the limited time that I have available for maintaining meaningful relationships, dedicate it to a hobby; and expect my loved ones to be ok with that. With working and running my home, I have so little free time that I barely see my friends and family. So it just isn’t realistic to put more on my plate. Maybe some women can manage to work, run a home and have a hobby that pursue with single-minded dedication, but apparently I’m not one of them. Besides, I need time to figure out what it is that I actually want to do. I don’t want to be tied to any one thing. I want the tasting menu, please. I want to experiment, see what I’m good at and what I enjoy. I want to wander life’s paths. This doesn’t mean I’m not going anywhere. It just means I don’t know where ‘there’ is right now.

So how do I turn my (largely) as-yet-unidentified passions into a job that can actually get me excited to wake up in the morning, without spreading myself too thin? Should I even try? If you know the answer, please share it. I’m dying to know.

Yesterday, today and tomorrow: Holding on to the moments

Yesterday:

I remember how chubby my son’s fingers once were. I remember counting those tiny fingers over and over again as I sat in awe of the perfect little person that I had helped create and bring into this world. I remember how toothless his grin was, and how I worried that he was so late in teething. I remember how short and chubby his legs and arms were as he first crawled and then toddled around the garden. I remember the adorable sound of his gurgles and giggles; his squeals of delight when his Dad blew raspberries on his tummy. And I remember the way he used to be content to sit snuggled in my arms, just looking at me while I stared adoringly at him.

Today:

He is a little boy. His hands and feet are bigger and show the signs of riding bikes, playing in the dirt and kung fu fighting with the dog. His arms and legs have lengthened and are now sturdy and strong – able to support him as he leaps across the couch and stretches to reach the sweets on the top shelf. They show the signs of run-ins with paved drives and tarred roads. No longer do I hear gurgles and sighs, but a constant stream of chatter and questions. And he is certainly far too busy exploring (and climbing) his world to want to sit cuddled up with Mom.

Mom and Dad are there for hugs when he is hurt or sad or scared, but most of the time he does pretty well on his own. He wants to run and climb and jump and Mom just slows him down.

Tomorrow:

He will be a bigger boy. Then he will be a teenager. Until, one day, he will be grown and I will be an old woman – proud of the man that my son has become. He will have his own child with chubby fingers and toothless grins to enjoy and wonder over.

And I will still remember the baby that he once was.

The Fair Lady Magazine Make-over of Awesomeness!

A while ago a friend sent me an email saying that Fair Lady Magazine was looking for women to participate in a make-over (thanks Kirst!). I entered, not expecting to be chosen because, well, I’m never lucky enough to be chosen for this sort of stuff. So imagine my surprise when I Was in fact selected.

What followed was a number of emails from the Fair Lady editorial team requesting everything from my dress, shoe and shirt size to photographs of hair styles that I really disliked. That and infinite amounts of excitement on my part. I told anyone who would listen that I was about to have an adventure – and a few that wouldn’t – but even their glassy eyes weren’t enough to discourage me because I was getting a make-over baby!

As the day of the make-over drew nearer, I found myself filled with just as much trepidation as excitement. What if they totally messed up my hair (which I have been trying to grow) by cutting it uber short, making me look like a complete freak show. What if they wanted to dye it purple? Or even worse, black? What if they put me in horrible granny clothes? Or stuck pink and blue make-up on me? *Shudder*

But the nerves didn’t stop there. I will be the first to admit that I sometimes (read: often) have self esteem issues. Being on the larger side of chunky is not an easy thing to be, in a world obsessed with the skinny and svelte. So I’m not ashamed to admit that I was a more than a little afraid of not fitting in with the ‘fashion industry types’, of them not finding clothes that fit me, of being judged and (most of all) of looking awful in the photographs. There are no words to describe how afraid I was of the photographer. After all, this was likely to be a guy who spent his days looking at the likes of Candice Swanepoel in itty bitty non-clothes. And I was likely to look like a bizarre (if well made up) heffalump-crazy cat hybrid. I began to think that this might have been a mistake after all. How could I, with my frizzy hair, generous (cough) hips and round face, hope to look like I belonged at a magazine photo shoot.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. In fact, quite the opposite. The make-over turned out to be one of the most life-affirming – not to mention Fun (yes, with a capitol F) things that I have ever done. It was awesome! Which I suppose I should have expected because really, what could be better than spending an entire day in a salon while people fuss over you, making sure that you look your absolute best. Nothing, that’s what!

Apart from being treated like a celebrity for a day, one of the most amazing things about the day was how positive and supportive everyone was. The editorial team and make-up artist consisted of a group of warm, funny and amazing women. The photographer was an absolute honey. The make-up artist was a genius who even managed to make my non-existent eyebrows look good. The hair stylists at Tanaz Hair, Body and Nails were out of this world. My face shape and lifestyle were analysed and taken into consideration at every step and the colourist was an artist.

Every time I saw someone involved in the shoot, I was greeted with exclamations of delight and comments about how gorgeous I looked. I’m not sure if this is standard operating procedure when conducting a make-over photo shoot and to be honest I don’t really care, because I left the salon that feeling like a billion bucks.

Now, those of you who have read this blog before will know that the only thing I love more than a good long list is an opportunity to learn something. Luckily, the make-over left me filled to the brim with good ideas and useful tips. So what follows is the long list of what I learnt from an incredible bunch of people.

What I learn from the hairstylists:

• If you have a round face, you should never have a middle parting because it will just leave you looking even more moon-faced than you are. This is something that I have carried through in my everyday life and I have to say, it really works. Side partings for the win!
• It’s all in the cut. Seriously, a good hair cut can completely change the way you feel about your hair – not to mention the way you look.
• If you use the right products you too can have model worthy hair.
• Don’t go more than two shades lighter or darker than your natural hair colour. If you do, expect to look washed out and to have your colour turn ‘brassy’. I have to mention here that I adore my new colour, which is essentially a warmer version of my natural colour with a few lowlights. Or highlights. I can never be sure of which is which.
• Even dry, unruly and frizzy curly hair can look awesome if you spend some time on it and invest in the right products.
• The R5 Rule: Never spend a R5 coin. Don’t give it to the car guard, newspaper seller, your kid or your husband. Keep it. And every month (or three months, or whatever works for you) gather your R5 coins together and spend them on yourself. (If you’re like me, you might want to take your stack of coins to a bank and get them exchanged for notes. For some reason I have a horror of spending huge piles of coins…)
• Figure out what you can spend on your hair on a monthly basis and use this to come up with an annual hair budget. Then go into your salon (where you hopefully have an awesome stylist) and discuss with them the best way to allocate your funds. Will you come in once a month for a trim and colour touch up, or every three months for a cut, colour and some products? Let your stylist advise you, since they know their business better than you do. I really think that this, coupled with the R5 Rule, is one of the best ideas I’ve ever heard.

What I learned from the make-up artists:

• Gel eyeliner just doesn’t budge and allows you to apply a precise line of exactly the right thickness.
• Even the experts use Mac (confirming a long-held suspicion of mine that Mac is the Bomb! (Unrelated to what I learnt at the shoot, keep an eye out for their new range of Wonder Woman products – awesome packaging plus really cool colours. Win!)
• Khaki and deep purple eye shadow makes for a great smoky eyed look. Despite sounding atrocious.
• For those of you who, like me, feel like a painted tart when you’re wearing anything more than a slick of eye shadow and some lip gloss: If it feels like you could scrape your name in your make-up, it’s probably just enough for a photo shoot.
• Blush really, really works. It defines our cheek bones and makes your face look thinner.
• Dewy beats the hell out of matte for skin. If you think about this, it makes total sense. Because no one’s skin naturally looks like matte powder. Not even grandmothers can pull of that look.
• The reason models have that ‘heroin chic’ look is because the hard core eye make-up that is used on photo shoots is Impossible to wash off. I washed my face about three times when I got home, once when I showered in the evening and once in the morning. I still went to work with eyeliner on; which, admittedly, made me look better.
• Eyeliner is your friend. It really makes your eyes ‘pop’. (But in a good way. Not in the B-grade horror movie way.)

What I learnt from the editorial team and clothing stylists:

• Accessorise, but keep it simple and understated. If you’re wearing a bold necklace, downplay the earrings. If your shirt has a lot of detailing, don’t wear a bold necklace. You don’t want to look like a Christmas tree on steroids.
• Try things on in a variety of sizes, even if you think you’re a large, a medium might look better. This has the added advantage of making you feel a lot better.
• The right earrings can make an outfit.
• Wearing heels not only makes you look taller, it improves your posture and makes you look and feel sexier. Just make sure they’re comfortable – which is easy if you spend a bit more and invest in good quality.

What I learned from the photographer (these are priceless tips because they really, truly work):

• Lean into the camera just a little, as if you’re about to speak to someone. This elongates the neck.
• Tilt your head slightly. I don’t know why this works, but it does.
• Don’t face the camera, turn slightly to the side. This makes you look thinner.
• Relax your shoulders. Again, I have no idea why this works, but it does. And the photographer seemed pretty insistent about it, so I guess it’s important.
• Sometimes a well placed but subtle pout can look awesome – pretend you’re drinking from a straw. (This is my tip, developed as a teen trying to look sultry. I’ve always felt that it looked too stupid to try in real life, but somehow it worked. Although I suspect that this is only true when you’re at a professional photo shoot with a photographer who knows what he’s doing.)
• ‘Pop’ one hip. In other words, stick one hip out as you balance your weight on the other foot. This is in no way a comfortable position, but it looks good.
• A fan gently blowing your hair back makes you look about 50 times hotter. If you can’t afford to hire someone to do this for you, make a plan because it makes a world of difference. I plan to train my three year old to carry a hand-held fan and then walk along in front of me (walking backwards, of course) to recreate this look. It may lead to years of therapy for him, but I think it may be worth it.
• It’s all about comfort. Once you’re happy, relaxed and comfortable, you will look beautiful.
• Photographers, especially the charming ones, are really hot. (I’m hoping my husband doesn’t read this.)

What I learned about being a model:

• It really isn’t as easy as it is looks. Being pulled, prodded and fussed over All Day can get a little old after a while. I can’t imagine how true this must be when you do it all day, several times a week for years. No wonder models look so miserable most of the time.
• It’s hot, hot work. Magazines work at least three months in advance for editorial and about four months in advance for this type of feature. So even though it was about 30 degrees outside, we were wearing winter clothes as the make-over will appear in the August issue of the magazine. And the lights are not exactly cool either. Plus, the blocked off all the windows (presumably for lighting purposes). Thank God for that fan. Maybe that’s why it made me look better – because it prevented me from melting into a decidedly unattractive puddle on the floor.
• You won’t be fed till after the shoot. I guess that’s why so many models look miserable. And how they stay thin. By the end of the day I was ready to eat my arm.

Thus ends the epic 2 000 word tale of my make-over experience and what it feels like to be a magazine model. I’ll be sure to upload a pic as soon as I am able. Keep an eye out for the August issue of Fair Lady and/or the website to see the results!

I must end off by saying thank you to Shereen, Kerese, Shelene, Pepper and Justin. You guys were Fantastic! Thank you for making the day such a blast.