enough

i'm not sure if i'll ever be enough. i have moments of “enough,” but they are so fleeting. they're like that song in the sound of music...“how do you keep a wave upon the sand?” the gentle wave of “enough” rolls in, and before i even have a chance to play around in the fucking water, it rolls back out to sea again. then, as i'm busy staring at the sunset, or picking my too-small swimsuit out of my self-described-too-rotund rear, i'm blindsided by another wave...a bigger, meaner wave...of “not enough.” funny thing is, i keep getting up and going back into the water anyway. hm. perserverance or stupidity?

that's it. i'm signing up for surfing lessons.

read in a nytimes obit yesterday about a woman, geraldine stutz, who was the president of henri bendel for years. pretty remarkable considering it was the mid-fifties when she was hired. anywhoo, she was quoted in New York magazine in 1987 describing her taste in “dog whistle” fashion: “clothes with a pitch so high and special that only the thinnest and most sophisticated women would hear their call.” bee-atch. here's a woman making strides professionally, breaking barriers, but doing so by making legions of women feel not-thin-enough or rich-enough because they can't buy or fit into the clothes she deemed “it.” she wouldn't even stock clothes over a size 10. if you've ever tried on vintage clothing, you know that a size 10 in the mid-50s is far smaller than a size 10 in 2005. i don't think geraldine would ever invite me to tea. my ass probably wouldn't even fit into her size 2 chairs. it'd be fun to go though. i'd smuggle all of geraldine’s petit fours out under my elizabeth taylor-esque caftan (nothing else would fit me), and accidentally spill my tea on her “dog whistle” chanel suit. arf.

even today, there are many designers who won't design for women over size 10, or even 8. i suppose it makes them feel special. (jesus, it's all so very high school. at least i could compete in high school. i had good hair and could peg roll my jeans successfully.) they're like the fashion popes. they dictate what we are to believe is attractive - from the length of a hemline to the size and shape of our bodies. i've heard these designers (often male, but not always - us women folk can often be our worst enemies) defend themselves by saying that “my clothing just looks better on a thin body.” well, yes. sure. duh. most clothes look good on a hanger. isn't it much easier to create clothing that is flattering on a one-dimensional flat figure than a body with an actual landscape? wouldn't a designer worht his/her salt want to challenge him/herself by making clothes that look beautiful on real women? isn't that where the real talent lies? i could drape halle berry in burlap and she'd be beautiful. that doesn't make me a designer.

don't get me wrong. i love fashion, but i hate fashion people. they're a bitter and angry bunch. why? because they're hungry! i'd like to buy the fashion industry lunch. not a coke. not a line of coke. lunch. with brownies for dessert. and ice cream. after their initial response of shock and awe, i have a feeling their moods would improve exponentially. then maybe they'd design clothes for us real folks. cuz then they'd be real folks. and we could all sit around eating brownies and ice cream in armani prive and versace. first order of business - elastic waistbands.