Month: July 2018

The Fab 40s In Their Cutoffs

Oh yes, we absolutely can. Wear shorts, that is.   I begin my post with a sense of utter outrage. In the process of conducting due diligence and research to write this, I came across multitudes of so-called style experts dishing out the most ridiculous of counsel to women on whether cutoffs (or the entire spectrum of shorts, for that matter) were age-appropriate. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d just taken my Bystolic (and that I’m physically drained from a very exhausting weekend of work + play, with the last vestiges of jet lag thrown in for good measure), I suspect I’d have suffered a fit right then and there.  Or, at the very least, hurled verbal abuses at said culprits vis-à-vis the sanctity of my home office which would, in truth, serve no higher purpose save to leave me with the cringey task of wiping smatterings of spit from my laptop screen. O U T R A G E D , I T E L L Y O U First of all, …

The Girls

Breasts. Tits. Boobs. Whatever you may call them.   Yes, however you may refer to them, my breasts are my most significant area of body insecurity.  Ever so quintessentially clichéd, I’m fully aware.  Allow me to clarify.  Yes, the insecurity pertains to size but perhaps not quite in the way you think.  I’ve never once desired to be a cup I am not.  To provide some provenance, pre-Eve, I was a 34B.  Right after having Eve, I stayed 34D for a long time.  Then I went to being a 36B, and now, I’m at 34AA.  Clearly, lingerie stores have had me to singularly support their existence these past few years, what with all that yo-yo movements of my cleavage (you’re welcomed). So, my bone of contention is that I do not crave more but I yearn to regain what I’ve lost through the years of weight fluctuations and intensive workouts.  I want to be a 34B again. No more, no less. I’ll be the very first one to admit that it IS a lot easier …

What Makes You, You?

Ya, boo. What makes you, you?   A simple prompt from the awesome Jodie, about the versatility of denim, gave rise to the question of what makes you, you.  Is it your external self with its specific composition of water, protein, connective tissue, fats, bones, carbohydrates and DNA?  Or, conversely, is it how that external facade is packaged namely dress style, trimmings (body art, ink, etc), hair colour? Or, as a third alternative. is it how we think and behave that dictates and makes us who we are?  Our moral guidelines, our moral code?  Our beliefs? Could it be all of the above? I rather think so. After all, at the end of the day, our physical selves take instructions from our minds, our emotions.  How we feel manifests itself into how we conduct ourselves, how we appear in the eyes of the world. As I explain myself, I am also reminded of an impromptu conversation with a friend, Michael, just a fortnight ago.  This oh so articulate and creative friend revealed how he’d often …