More Crimes of Fashion

For years now, women have been dismayed with the fashion industry and the publishers of womens' magazines for their unrealistic portrayal of female beauty.  While waif-like women with shoulders like coat hangers who look more like stick figures draped in fabric (and not much of that) than women decorated the pages of every periodical aimed at womens' interests, young girls were dying to look like these underfed models and mature women were made to feel invisible in a world meant for air-brushed anorexics.  But reality never imitated art as obesity became more of a problem.  Meanwhile stricter standards that regulated just how skinny models were allowed to be have been put in place in many cities that host fashion show events.

You won't be surprised to discover that fashion photographers are still air-brushing models.  But you may be surprised why they are doing it.  They're adding fat.

Yes, of course. You see, curvy is back in style.  But they haven't got many curvy models, they've spent the last 20 years or more convincing these models that they must starve themselves to ultra-thinness in order to get work.  So, now they have to add curves.

I am glad to find that the fashion industry has decided to accept the fact that real women have breasts and hips.  I will be pleased if they stop encouraging young women to endanger their health just so they can fit some impossible ideal. 

But I will be more pleased when the fashion industry recognizes that women come in lots of shapes and sizes.  They're not all skinny, they're not all curvy.  It's okay to be stick thin if that's your body type, but it's not healthy to diet your way underweight just to be stick thin.  It's okay to be curvy if that's your body type, but it's not necessary to obsess over your imagined shortcomings to the point of having dangerous procedures.

It's okay to be who you are, really.

Fox News: Fashion magazines now airbrushing models to make them look ... fatter?

With just a couple of weeks to go, the countdown to the first day of school has started. It's the day all mothers look forward to, the day they bustle the children off to school.  The Girl asked me why I was so excited about it, what do I get out of it?

 "Six hours a day, all to myself", I replied.

Honestly, I do understand how they feel.  I remember being a kid and how those last few days of summer crept up so quickly, just as you were settling into a nice leisurely summer routine.  In fact, even as an adult I have noticed the differences that signal Autumn is on the way, despite the continued hot and sunny days.

Even though this transitional time from carefree pursuits to tightly scheduled days and homework can be downright depressing for kids, the beginning of school is an exciting time as well.  I remember the thrill of new pencils and pens, the crisp, clean sheets of notebooks as yet unsullied by note-taking and doodling. There's an undercurrent of excitement in packing up the schoolbags, deciding on the exact right outfit for the first day, and hoping that this year will be better than last. For there's always that rush of organization and good intentions at the beginning of September, even if it starts to fade by November.

I know that I will miss the full house for a few days.  I will worry about how they are adjusting to new classes and teachers.  I will be waiting by the door when they come home.

But I will also be enjoying six hours a day, all to myself. 

Never Do a Dish Before its Time

My mother was a stickler when it came to housework - she liked to make sure her children were doing a good job of it.

Whenever my siblings get together these days, each of us tries to outdo the others with our stories of waxing floors, doing laundry and being the indentured servants working our way to adulthood and freedom.  And although I often join in with exclamations of "yeah but I had to do three days' worth of dishes every morning!", I am actually grateful to my mother for being so gracious as to delegate these menial household chores. 

I am grateful, foremost, because I learned a lot. Unlike an entire generation that came after me, I know how to wash dishes by hand.  I still hate it, and I still make the job last far too long by instituting a strict and unchangeable algorithm for dish washing designed to ensure the cleanliness and greaselessness of every glass, pan and lowly spoon. I realize also why I never actually finished doing dishes then and why I still almost never have them completely done.  I hate doing the silverware but even more, I hate pots and pans.  I usually get as far as the silverware these days, but I always have a few pots left over to "soak" until a bit later.  Then later, when there are more dishes to do, I take the soaking pots out of the sink and start washing the dishes in order again - plates, bowls, glasses, silverware - until it's time to put the pots back into soak.

I get further these days because, well, we use many fewer dishes in my small family than we did in my mother's house with five children.  And I don't "scald" the dishes anymore (although I sometimes entertain the thought).  Scalding the dishes was my mother's way of eradicating any nasty germs that might have survived the washing and rinsing process.  She'd heat a kettle full of water on the stove until it was boiling and pour it over the newly washed dishes.  My mother was always good at adding one step to any already too long task.

I have to get back to the kitchen, now.  I have the pot from yesterday's beef stew soaking in the sink.  Oh, I am not going to wash it just yet.  I am going to get a cup of coffee.  We'll just let that pot soak a wee bit longer.  It may be ready to wash tomorrow.