two kitties

Drinking Buddies and Lifestyle Skills.

Henri Rousseau, Portrait of a Woman (the Polish school teacher), 1895. Musee Picasso.

So, I've lived here for six years now and I pretty much have just the one local friend. I mean, there are others, but it's really only Sue that understands me, or at least , laughs at my jokes and can get together with me even without a bottle of wine.

When I go home from My One Friend Sue's house, I've genuinely enjoyed my time there and I feel like I got to be 100 percent myself, which is altogether too rare in these parts. 

Can you call someone your "friend" if, after six years of get-togethers, they don't really know anything about you? I mean, don't know you're an artist? Or that you own your own business?

In that case, I think you're just a "drinking buddy." A friendship that is organized like that doesn't go deep, and it doesn't include any of the things that are really important about you. Your job is to be the audience, you've bought a bar stool ticket to watch the drinking stories of the past being performed night after night. If you're lucky, they allow some measure of audience participation.

Back to the point. The problem with My One Friend Sue (MOFS) is that she's only here in the summer. An amazing opportunity opened up this summer, though, when MOFS' husband decided to start his own company, thereby opening up the possibility of relocation from big city to here. 

I lobbied hard. I even offered to home school their children, given their worries about high school graduation rates on the Reservation. I know the limits of my expertise, and I made it clear MOFS would have to find someone else to teach the Maths part.  My course units were organized around "Lifestyle Skills:" 

Lifestyle Skills Class Syllabus

1. Makeup for Camping; Makeup FOREVER!

2. The Miracle of Spray Paint.

3. Hair: Brush Styling for the Masses.

4. Found Objects/Functional Art.

5. Baked Goods 101

6. Nothing Unconnected Ever Occurs: Reading, Writing, Going Within. 

7. Girl, In Landscape: The Art of Writing Personal Narrative.

8. Burqas for Art and Farm.

9. Are High Heels Ever a Mistake? 

10. The Psychology of Theme Parties, Considered.

The painting above, Portrait of a Woman, was completed by Henri Rousseau around 1895. It is said to be modeled on a Polish schoolteacher, Yadwigha, his lifelong, unrequited love. She is said to be the inspiration behind and model for his very famous painting, The Dream. Worth viewing alongside Michael Traister's Sock Monkey Dream. Just one of the insights I would have pointed out to MOFS' kids if she'd allowed me the chance to shape their young minds.

At the end of summer, MOFS promptly loaded up her children and took them home - to their swim team and their AP Math classes. You knew that was coming, right?

Green Monster Smoothie Recipe

I've been eating healthier the last couple of months. Except for today, maybe. When I locked myself in the art studio, pulled the blinds, and ate six of these.

I'm not sure why that happened, but, according to Oprah's favorite book "Women, Food, and God" it is because - short summary - I hate myself and don't see any possibility of changing the things I don't like about my life, most of which were lived in my past, not my present. Apparently.

According to this book, the answer is to go off, find god - the one with the small "g" - love yourself, and eat what you want until the weight magically drops off. [Now you've read the book, too.]

ANNNNNYYYYWAYYYY.... I actually enjoy eating healthy. The part I don't like is adding more cooking to my already burgeoning to-do list in the home. Which is why a pureed meal, like "The Green Monster" comes in so handy.

I found the recipe via Iowa Girl Eats. There are many variations, but I've found this one tastes the best. The dominant flavor is actually the peanut butter. You don't taste the spinach. Bonus!

1 scoop vanilla protein powder of your choice

1/2 scoop chia seeds (or flax!)

1 frozen banana

1 cup vanilla almond breeze milk (or other milk of your choice)

1 T. peanut butter

2 handfuls baby spinach.

A handy mini-meal with lots of protein, fiber, and vitamins.

You: After Plastic Surgery.

Newbeauty.com has a "Five Second Makeover" tool that allows you to get an idea of what you'll look like after plastic surgery. I uploaded a photo and got straight to work. (The tool works best with Internet Explorer - not Firefox.)

This is me, without PhotoShop.

This is me, with imaginary:

• forehead lift;
• eye contouring;
• lip augmentation;
• frown line injections;
• nasolabial injections;
• rhinoplasty (nose job);
• and "weight reduction."

 

 Whaddya think?

"Rubenesque" Beauty. More likely? I'm just fat.

Contemporary women of generous proportions often say they have a "Rubenesque" beauty. This expression refers to the way Dutch painter Peter Paul Rubens portrayed the human figure in his epic works of the 17th century. If its in a painting, it must be beautiful, right?

A student of the Dutch Masters might argue just the opposite - that Rubens was using the extra pounds to warn against the dangers of gluttony and sloth. The Drunken Silenus (1617) stumbles home with the devil (just behind him on the left).

Venus at the Mirror (1615) might be a warning against vanity:

Bacchus has "man boobs" from drinking too much booze and is raising a couple of drunk kids:

But Jesus? Peter Paul Rubens painted Jesus kinda "ripped" in The Incredulity of St. Thomas.

 

He's got abs like Mark Wahlberg back in the day. He's strong enough to withstand anything. Resurrection? No problem. He's led a cleansed and grateful life.

Just a word of warning about throwing that "Rubenesque" phrase around too carelessly.

What Not to Wear: Big Hair Jezebel Jessie.

Kim Cattrall's vintage style.

A couple of weeks ago, I watched the "Jezebel Jessie" episode on TLC's famous show, What Not to Wear. You can watch the "before" and "after" in a quick three minute clip right here.

Jessie was like most of the women on What Not to Wear - she was an attractive woman in her mid 50's  trapped in her own concept of "pretty." And, like most women, Jessie shaped her idea of "pretty" around a time in her life when she felt that way on the inside AND the outside. She felt good about the way she looked, the world of men seems to have agreed, and since that time, her hair, makeup, and clothing have remained exactly the same.

The problem was, of course, that she matured. The role she played at home, in business, and in her marriage changed. Her life asked for less of her big hair and cleavage but Jessie still depended on the reactions of men to decide how she felt about herself.  Inside and out. 

In the short video, TLC cut out the parts where Jessie got really, really upset. Hair stylist Nick Arrojo cut her big hair, and she didn't like it. She was so upset, in fact, that during her final reveal to friends and family, Jessie confessed to making phone calls asking men not to attend the party because she just didn’t think they would think she looked good with her short hair. At the end of the show, she returned home to Dallas, bleached her hair, and had her stylist put in hundreds of extensions.

Beauty is a tightrope. Your body is in balance for a precious few steps throughout your life. I've been there and I speak the truth. I've been both a skinny, buxom blonde that has morphed into a generously proportioned brunette. Life changes. When that happens, you might cling to the old idea of yourself or start shopping for outfits based on what is "good enough", not because of the price or because of the style but just because it covers your scars.

It hurt me to hear Nora Ephron describe Eileen Fisher clothing as "I Give Up" clothing. I have a closet full of Eileen Fisher that I wear for work. But Ephron was absolutely right - I have given up, in many ways. I can just throw anything Eileen Fisher in a suitcase and wind up looking reasonably put together at meetings half way across the country. So what if I look like a grandma? It fits and it doesn't wrinkle. That has more appeal than I ever realized.

Going dark was easier - after seeing a photo of my roots I had no trouble letting go of the notion that I was still blonde. (Perhaps a sign that I had waited too long?) $700 worth of Joe's Jeans and a whole lotta personal training later, I hope I'm looking longer and leaner in those pants. (At least I was until I got this boot cast on my leg, but that's another post.) 

Sometimes I miss the old me, but not as often as you might think. It's kind of nice to have conversations that begin with a topic other than the size of my breasts. I don't miss people making assumptions about me based on my appearance. I remember a Professor at Georgetown (I'll name him if you ask me to) saying to me - in front of our entire class - "You are obviously a shallow person." I was so stunned, I couldn't say anything. Luckily, a classmate replied on my behalf that the statement was "inappropriate and out of line."

How is your body and life changing as you grow older? How are you dealing with it?

Skin.

 

Nothing scars the human psyche more deeply than severe acne during the teenage years. Too many of us believe that a boy wouldn't love you because of the shape of your nose, the kink of your hair or the curve of your hips - but those are things that, with careful discipline, can be shaded, masked, smoothed and straightened. It might take hours, but it can be done.

But skin? Skin is meant to be what protects the body, not makes it vulnerable. It is the jacket we wear for others.  The thing we look at when we are trying to decide whether or not to love someone and it is the thing someone sees, first, when they are trying to decide whether or not to love us.

If your skin is good, you don't even think about it. If it isn't, there is a constant liturgy of questions: Can I take off my shirt in front of everyone when we go swimming? Eventually, we might get married and she'll see me naked. I'll have to let him touch my back when we're making love. In his memoirs, writer John Updike openly admits that he married the first woman who loved him in spite of his skin.

I don't think teenagers appreciate the dramatic improvements in over-the-counter cosmetic treatments for acne. Back in my day (which doesn't really seem like it was that long ago), there really wasn't much you could do. A trip to Walgreen's might yield a giant-size plastic bottle of Sea Breeze Antiseptic, Clearasil with .05 percent benzoyl peroxide and - maybe towards the end of high school - Neutrogena with salicyclic acid.

Our parents - who had to endure their zits with no help at all - patted us on the back, assuring that the acne would eventually disappear. They warned against the traps of vanity, and gentle suggestions that, in the meantime, perhaps we should consider avoiding greasy foods and chocolate. Friends with more-than-pimples and helpful parents went to dermatologists but, for the most part, came back disappointed. You had choices, but they weren't good ones. In the 80's and 90's, there were antibiotics and there was Accutane.

Missy was the first person in my high school to try Accutane. She went through a phase so awful it made you crave the burqa. At lunch we'd watch the skin peel off her face in chunks (literally) and, because we loved her, we sat through it and didn't say a word. However horrible it was to watch, we knew how much worse it was for her to go through it in front of everyone. Our inner trolls were all right there, sitting at the lunch table right next to us, talking loud enough so that we could easily overhear what they were saying.

There has to be an answer, we told ourselves. I'll try harder. I'll buy this new thing. I'll drink more water. A just and loving universe would create a solution to this problem. Luckily, Missy pulled the arm of the cosmetic slot machine and won.

In adulthood, when the pimples are [mostly] gone and the science of dermatology can put our kids' zits on the moon, the experience of severe acne still bubbles under the surface. Give a 40 year-old a couple of glasses of wine and mention "high school" and you'll find that the scars are as tender as if they were made yesterday. 

Truth and Beauty.

Ten years ago, I moved back to the United States with a shipping container full of makeup and a dream. (OK - the part about the dream is a joke.)

Like many women, perhaps more than most, I believe that cosmetics - liberally applied - will lead to a dramatic life transformation. It's not exactly vanity. More of throw-your-hands-up-well-at-the-very-least-you'll-stumble-through-your-miserable-little-life-looking "put together"-sort-of-thing. A belief in the possibilities being sold across the counter. A solution to every problem. Or, at minimum, an everyday enjoyment of some nicely scented stuff.

My first makeup artist was Gary at Charles Ifergan in Chicago.   The gay Carmindy of his time, Gary knew what he was doing and he made me not only look, but feel beautiful. He provided me with a take-home Xerox copy of a face, with all the colors brushed right on. A kind of road map to beauty. Though I don't wear the "face" anymore, I still have all the relevant cosmetics (and the map) in my drawer. I can't bear to throw it away the memory of what beautiful felt like.

The origins of this life approach can be traced back to my youth. By 7th grade, I was spending my entire weekly allowance at Walgreen's on Noxema and nail polish, trying to sneak into the house without my "not even lip gloss until you're in 8th grade" mother hearing the crinkle of the paper bag in my hands.

You know what I'm talking about. That internal, teenage feeling of hideous-ness that has relatively little to do with how you actually look on the outside. Where does that come from? One day, you're happy enough and the next the inner troll just appears - whispering comments in your ear as you cross the lunch room: that boy will never love you; if you just had the right jeans with a Goody comb in your back pocket things might be different.

And, just often enough, hair, makeup and clothing does change life on the inside. Ask any fan of TLC's What Not to Wear. The most dramatic transformations are those we watch happening on the inside - the TV client looks in the mirror and usually, for the first time in a long time, sees their own worth. A person worthy of being taken care of, a body and a spirit that has been given permission. A person that deserves time, care, and respect. Maybe a stronger person doesn't need to wear makeup to feel all of that. But that person wouldn't be me. 

Tell me about your experiences with (or without) makeup.

The Beauty Myth.

This morning, New York's Bergdorf Goodman posted this photo on Facebook to advertise an upcoming Marchesa trunk show.

A saavy Facebook follower commented, "This model needs a hairbrush and a sandwich!" and [so far] dozens of others have been quick to agree.

In The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf argues that women in Western culture are pressured to conform to ideal (often unattainable) standards of beauty, and that this ideal is politicized - it is a way of keeping women under control by the weight of their own insecurities. 

What do you think?

We'll be talking about beauty all week on Two Kitties for a brand new category on the blog, "Cosmetics Build Character."