How Do I Look?
- Details
- Category: The Goods
The other day, as I was driving out of the CVS parking lot, I saw my friend Leigh walking into the store. I waved and slowed the car. She gestured to me like she had something important to talk to me about, so I stopped and rolled down the window. She approached my SUV with purpose.
“Hi! Ohmigod, I’m so glad you’re here!” She said. I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, so was I! It was great fortune for us to meet up like this! Leigh stepped back from my window and gestured to her legs. “Are these pants too tight on me?”
She was wearing skinny black Capris and a black button down. “No, they are perfect,” I said.
“No, seriously,” she said.
“Seriously!” I answered.
“Like, look again. They aren’t like way too tight?” She turned this way and that. Someone honked and I checked my rearview mirror to make sure I wasn’t blocking traffic.
I tried again. “Seriously. I just saw you walking here, and, in a flash before I recognized you, I thought, there goes a thin woman.”
“No, but seriously.”
“Leigh. You look like what’s-her-name, Audrey Hepburn, in those capris.”
“Because, you know, I’ve recently lost weight, and –“
“I know! You’ve lost a lot of weight. More weight even than you had before.”
“Yes! And so now I have no idea what fits me. Like, I looked at the tag on these pants that I haven’t worn in years and was like, no way an I fit into them, but here I am!” She said, excitedly. But then she reconsidered her potential joy. “Unless they are too tight.”
“Ugh! They are perfect!”
“You need to be a good friend. You would tell me, right? If they looked bad?”
“Yes, I would tell you! Of course I would.”
Notice the interesting shift here. My role in this exchange quickly morphed from fashion advisor/giver of an unbiased opinion to “good friend.” Why was I accused of being a liar and, perhaps, not a good friend? Because of my flattery? If I told her she looked like a fat cow, would I have been deemed an honest, good friend…or a bitchy and jealous wench?
Was there any way to quote-unquote win this, or, at the very least, conclude it and get the hell out of the CVS parking lot in one piece?
Leigh paused. “You aren’t going to put this in your blog, are you?”
I smiled. “Yes, Leigh, I think I am.”
What is it with us women? Why can’t we accept a compliment, or be a fair judge of our own appearance? Why is it that, more often than not, we crave the supportive thumbs up from a wingman? Is flying solo with our fashion choices and body image really that hard?
I think the answer is a complicated yes and no.
The first problem that messes with our womanly bodies and heads is childbearing. I’m not one of those people that goes around blaming her children for her fat ass, but I will say that my body definitely changed post-baby. When we get pregnant, we gain a lot of weight, and then we lose a lot of weight. Then we have another child and do it again. And perhaps, again and again. Or, perhaps, we inject hormones and try in vitro and that messes with our bodies (and heads) in an even more extreme way. And then, once we have these children, we are too tired to exercise. For the better part of a decade, our bodies may be in constant flux as we ramp up up up and down down down, perhaps not losing all of the baby weight in between pregnancies.
And, throughout, we look at ourselves in the mirror, and go, huh. Like, at 7 months pregnant, we go, look at my boobs! And, then, seven months after the completion of breastfeeding, we go, oy, look at my boobs. And my hips. And my stomach.
And my arms.
Fine, my atrophied arms are probably not related to pregnancy or childbirth, but they are different now than they were before. Which brings me to point number two.
Age. Whether or not you’ve had children, you’ve had time. And time is a bummer on the body. Gravity pulls things down. The jowls, the butt, the aforementioned arms. Suddenly, we feel insecure about parts of ourselves that used to be just fine, or points of pride, even. Spanx helps some of it, and exercise remedies a lot as well, but the fact is, my face is slowly sliding off my skull like the California coastline into the Pacific, and no amount of lotions and push-ups and antioxidants can really prevent that natural downward drift.
And these are just a few of the reasons why we might ask a friend, “how do I look?” Because we don’t always know anymore.
But here’s the upside of time: it means that I’ve stopped caring so much about what other people think of me. Of my weight, and my face, and my butt. I don’t even care that much whether people like me anymore, although I certainly try to be nice. Not caring….it’s so refreshing!
And so, I think we can all agree that a healthy self-image is top priority, because, ultimately, we can’t get younger or taller. (I’ve tried.) And we can all agree that feeling good is much more of a from-the-inside-out process than an outside-in one. And, yet, I do give some thought to how I dress when I leave the house, and I do like receiving compliments from time to time, so I understand Leigh completely: no one wants to be walking around in pants that are too tight.
Long ago, my mother imagined a device that would allow women to see themselves in motion from behind, like when walking down a New York City street. Do these pants really make my butt look big? Should I be wearing different underpants with these white jeans? It’s a mirror-like gadget called “Ass Backwards,” and she’s currently working on an app for it that she feels might help save women’s lives.
Which brings me back to Leigh, her Capri pants, and the CVS parking lot. Leigh had finally lost her baby weight - and more - in time for her son’s bar mitzvah. It’s been a while since she had seen herself as a smaller person and she didn’t know what to make of it. Her insecurity came not from insanity (okay, fine, maybe a little bit from crazyland), but mostly from complete unfamiliarity. She was tall and newly thin…and her hair was highlighted and her skin was tanned, because, she explained, her best friend’s son was also becoming a bar mitzvah, and Leigh was being called up for an aliyah on the bimah. (For those of you unfamiliar with Jewish-isms, this means that she would be standing on a platform in front of a room filled with hundreds of people, so she wanted to look her best. Not just before God, but before the Bernsteins and Shapiros, too.)
So, Leigh, even though we know appearances aren’t everything, I want to declare here, in my blog post, so loud that everyone on the World Wide Web can hear it: those pants look great.
Seriously.
Columnist and blogger Julie Gerstenblatt writes with humor and candor about her life in Scarsdale, her friends and family, and the particular demands of motherhood and wifedom in modern-day suburbia. She recently published her first novel, Lauren Takes Leave.
Fairs, Hayrides, and Caramel Apples: From the Maize Maze to the Blaze
- Details
- Category: The Goods
Every season offers up some kind of country fair that promises to make me gain weight while simultaneously upsetting my allergies. And yet, wherever I travel, I am drawn to these country carnivals, fairs, and hayrides like a moth to a flame.
Take, for example, last weekend’s excursion to Confreda’s Farm in Cranston, RI. This “fahm,” to use the local vernacular, is the home of Fall Fest, which boasts a corn maze, called The Maize, and an event called Scary Acres RI, a nighttime haunted corn maze and hayride, destined to freak you out completely.
We went during the day.
As explained on the farm’s website, “The first of the increasingly-popular ‘MAiZE craze’ to reach Cranston, the 10-foot-high labyrinth is designed in the shape of Rhode Island, with graphics celebrating our 90th anniversary. Carved into a cornfield the size of 6 football fields, the MAiZE is much more than a corn maze, it’s an interactive attraction with learning activities for kids, challenges for adults, and FUN for all ages! You don’t just tour the MAiZE…you experience it.”
To reach the maize maze, we embarked on a tractor-pulled hayride through several fields and tried to stay warm. In order to achieve inner warmth, I planned to myself with hot cider and funnel cake and a caramel apple upon returning to the “fahm.”
If anyone’s looking for a niche business opportunity, educational corn mazes are the next hot venture. I’m telling you: you heard it here first. People can even host corporate events and birthday parties in the maze (which gives an entirely new meaning to the phrase Children of the Corn). A company comes in and creates the maze and then sets up cool interactive activities throughout. This wise addition to the old-fashioned corn mazes of yore keeps families focused and deters them from wanting to kill one another when they realize they’ve been walking in circles for twenty minutes and it’s all Daddy’s/Mommy’s/Papa’s fault.
Look! We’ve found clue number three, everybody! Mommy is this much closer to binging out! Let’s punch a hole in our Farmopoly card and turn left! Only seven more clues to go!
What else is on our to-do list this fall? How about the Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze at Van Cortland 
Manor? It’s spooky but fun and shows off amazing pumpkin artistry that puts Martha Stewart to shame. Or, perhaps, the Horseman’s Hollow, which I’ve never been to and will never go to because, according to the video testimonial of the event, one girl says, “It was fantastic. I was scared you-know-what-less several times!” That is not an endorsement for me. I like to sleep at night and I like my children to sleep as well. But, if you like being scared you-know-what-less, go for it.
Historic Hudson Valley offers these and other events and celebrations as well. Visit http://www.hudsonvalley.org/events for more information.
And, if you live in or plan to visit Rhode Island this fall, plan ahead at http://confredas.com.
Where do you go for (spooky or not) Fall fun? Looking for more ideas? Check out Scarsdale10583’s guide to picking the perfect pumpkin and getting some lavender too.Columnist and blogger Julie Gerstenblatt writes with humor and candor about her life in Scarsdale, her friends and family, and the particular demands of motherhood and wifedom in modern-day suburbia. She recently published her first novel, Lauren Takes Leave.
Bootie Call
- Details
- Category: The Goods
Last year, I stalked and then purchased what I thought was the perfect pair of booties. They were black leather with a stacked wooden chunky heel and I believed they’d go with everything. Alas, after one or two outings in my new booties - which I will not name here explicitly but the brand rhymes with “Bag and Stone” - I realized that I couldn’t walk in them. I actually brought them back to Bergdorf’s, retuning worn merchandise. I never do that, but these booties made me upset. They failed to deliver on their promise, and so I had to radically break up with them in a public place.
I boldly rode the escalator to the fifth floor shoe department and declared, loud enough so people could hear me, “Listen, I wore these, several times. I’m not gonna lie. But I can’t stand them, so please please won’t you take them back?” I definitely got the hairy eyeball and the once over from the salesman, but he looked at the shoes, picked up the black store phone, and punched in some secret code. Next he mumbled something to someone on the other end of the line, but I held my head high. Before you could say bibbity bobbety boo, I had a gift-carded refund.
Logic would tell you that I used that money to buy a new pair of booties, but there is no logic when it comes to shopping. Plus, it was Black 
Friday, and on Black Friday, you go for the deals on beautiful things that call out your name, not the things you may actually need. Also, there are no deals to be had on booties at the end of November because all the smart, fashion-forward-thinking women purchase the cutest booties in September. *
(*Except for the Extremists who buy them in August. Trust me: I know some of these ladies.)
So I bought a coat.
Now, here I am, a year later, stressing out (mildly, people, not like really) over booties. I want to get it right.
But what is “right” when it comes to short boots? Does anyone really know? And, can one pair of boots really do it all? I need a pair of boots that can look hip but classic, casual yet dressed up when I need them to be. They need to be able to go from the suburbs to the city, and to be able to handle long walks. Although I wouldn’t wear them in extreme conditions, they need to be tough enough to handle some weather. Like if it starts to rain as I’m walking to Grand Central, I can’t have my boots freaking out about it and getting all whiny.
Oh, and I’d like them to have a little bit of a heel so that I can feel taller and slimmer when I wear them.
Isn’t that a lot of pressure to put on a single pair of boots?
Which is why I have now in my possession 6 different pairs of booties.
You are my 911. Please help! This is my bootie call.
Truth is, I’ve actually pretty much made up my mind, but which ones do you like? And, what kind of boots are you looking for this fall season? Short, tall, mid? Ones with hardware and studs, or straps? Lace-up, wedge? The choices are limitless. And, with so many reasonably-priced options copying the trends, and so many sale days to take advantage of, I can be sure to feel good in whatever I’ve bought. And so can you.
(Hint: I’ve picked two.)
Columnist and blogger Julie Gerstenblatt writes with humor and candor about her life in Scarsdale, her friends and family, and the particular demands of motherhood and wifedom in modern-day suburbia. She recently published her first novel, Lauren Takes Leave.
Fall Fashion Finds for the Suburbanista
- Details
- Category: The Goods
I love clothes. I love looking at beautiful clothes, trying on clothes, and, most of all, I love wearing clothes. Which is a good thing, I think. Wearing clothes. Every day. But here’s the funny thing: when I stopped working fulltime five years ago in order to write from home, my wardrobe took a big hit. Suddenly, it didn’t make sense to buy several pairs of nice Theory pants every year or two. Blazers just hung around my closet, bored, talking to the Blahnik boots that were yawning on the floor. Overnight, I found that I had absolutely no need to go into stores like Ann Taylor and Banana Republic, my teaching-wardrobe superstores. I used to know the names of their pants, the mid-rise Martin, the higher-waisted Jackson, but now I could care less. I didn’t even wave to them when I walked by their windows. Pants? Who writes at home over their garage in wool/polyester/spandex blend pants? Who walks the dog in trousers and kitten heels, unless they are going off to a workplace right afterwards? Not that I have a dog. But if I did, I’d be walking that furball while wearing jeans or sweats.
My life’s daily rhythms had shifted into a quieter mode and now my wardrobe needed to chillax as well.
Although I was excited to have the excuse to shop for new items, I was concerned that it wouldn’t be as much fun to dress up to go nowhere as it was to go to work.
How could I hold on to a sense of style while looking appropriate for the occasion? And what if that occasion was serving pizza lunch at my children’s elementary school? Or having coffee with a friend in Greenwich?
I found myself buying jeans. Lots of jeans. Skinny jeans, colored demin, and J Brand cargos. I bought flowy tops and sweaters in solid colors that were easy to wear and didn’t require a lot of thinking, as mornings were now about packing lunches and going to PTA events. As I was transitioning into a more casual look, I didn’t want to lose my flair, that sense of fun, just because I had nowhere to really be. I knew that I was a suburban Mommy, of course, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go out dressed like the best suburban Mommy and freelance writer possible.
But there’s a fine line between having fun with fashion in the suburbs and dressing appropriately. We all know at least one woman who seems too fancy for her everyday life, and I didn’t ever want to be pegged as Way Overdressed Mommy. Or worse, Who Does She Think She Is? Mommy. Yikes. We also know the ones who, in their love of dressing hip and young, end up looking too much like their teenaged daughters. Let’s call these ladies Sweet Sixteen Mommies.
How is it possible to have fun with fashion at forty (two)? And, what are some great fall fashion finds that could instantly update my/your/our collective wardrobes? These are the questions I asked stylist and fashion blogger extraordinaire, Stephanie Unter, also known as the Fashion Hunter.
Where many of us may have adopted a particular look or basic uniform that we feel comfortable in, Steph is a fashion chameleon, wearing pigtails one day and a hat the next. “I’ll put on red lipstick just to feel different. I see fashion as exploration. I’ll wake up and think about what that day is going to be about. I want to project a little bit of who I am in what I wear.” Where most of us see fashion in a somewhat practical way, she views fashion as theater.
So, I needed to know: how much emphasis does Steph put into the trends? “Trends are not the bible. I don’t buy into every trend. I’m obsessed with fashion, but comfort, wearability, and sustainability – can I wear it again – are close seconds.”
So, while she reports on high fashion and street style daily through her blog, she says that, “I need to figure it out for myself, both budget-wise and for my body, because I’m petite and not all trends are going to look good on me.”
Here is Steph’s must-have, how-to list for Fall:
1. Perk up your wardrobe instantly with a pair of statement boots. Check out these perfect Isabel Marant ones.
2. Cropped trousers are in, which work nicely with those statement boots, since the shorter pant draws attention to your ankle, “and the boot pops out” because it’s not being hidden under long pants.
3. Add a statement necklace to any simple outfit and boom, you’re glam. Try Danijo, Erikson Beamon, or Pono jewelry.
4. Interested in trying out a trend? Do it smart. “I love Zara and Asos for knockoffs. They copy D&G and Prada prints. Getting into runway looks? Go for the cheap!”
5. Want to tell the world a little bit about yourself without uttering a word? Let your t-shirt do it for you. “Graphic T’s are huge!” Steph says. Anything you believe in or any place you love – say it on a basic t under something fantastic,” like a gorgeous blazer or jacket. “I love mixing high and low.”
6. At most, incorporate two trends at any one time, and make it subtle. “If you want to try the brocade look, do it with a bag or a pin. Into oxblood? Put it on your nails.” You don’t have to wear it all over. “If you appreciate the color, wear it however you want it.”
7. “In terms of colorways, I’m also seeing greens, navy with black, and winter whites. Also, metallic pants in gold and silver.”
8. What else is hot? Jean shirts, leather everything, and pencil skirts. And biker jackets “are always a fall staple; they never really left.” Also, continuing from last season into this one and spring are the use of lace and peplums.
Ultimately, Steph takes “a lot of inspiration from street style, from movies, and from what’s happening in magazines.” Also, “I love seeing the transition from season to season,” she says, noting the way the buttery soft leather with beautifully cut-out patterns continues into spring in pastel hues.
Not everyone is as into fashion as Steph is, whose work in the industry brings her incredible joy. “I love to see who is following me on my blog,” she says. “That’s my way of getting high. Fashion is fun and funny, fast and furious. It keeps me going, keeps me alive and on my toes.” Check her out at newyorkfashionhunter.com.
Now, stop reading this and get shopping, people! We have trends to tackle and fashion to flaunt!Columnist and blogger Julie Gerstenblatt writes with humor and candor about her life in Scarsdale, her friends and family, and the particular demands of motherhood and wifedom in modern-day suburbia. She recently published her first novel, Lauren Takes Leave.
Like a Tornado: Or, Madonna’s Recent Concert
- Details
- Category: The Goods
My cell phone rang at 4:00 pm on Saturday, September 8 while my family and I were eating a weirdly-timed meal at Harry’s Burritos in Larchmont. From the caller ID, I knew that it was my good friend, Laura. “Hey,” I said, answering the phone. “What’s up?”
“I know this is last-minute, but I have two extra tickets tonight to the Madonna concert. Can you and Brett join me and Neil?”
My first thought was, Ohmigod, Madonna!
My second thought was, we don’t have a babysitter!
My third was, isn’t there a tornado warning in effect tonight?
“It starts at 8:00 but I heard she doesn’t go on until 10. We have seats down front, on the floor. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”
I quickly parlayed the info to Brett.
“Where’s the concert?” he asked.
“Yankee Stadium, I think,” I said, confirming this with Laura. She said that the concert was indeed outdoors at Yankee Stadium, and that, should it be cancelled and rescheduled due to bad weather, we were no longer invited for the rain date. Her friend’s husband was sick tonight, but would most likely be better soon. “I’m just saying,” she said. “Tonight only.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And I need to know like now or I’m inviting someone else.”
“Give me thirty minutes,” I said, disconnecting and speed texting a babysitter.
While waiting for the babysitter to text back, we paid the bill at Harry’s and walked around town a bit, stopping for ice cream at Longford’s for a weirdly-timed dessert. I texted my friend Kate, who had attended the concert two nights earlier and had given me a brief - and decidedly lukewarm - report. Was the concert really bad, or just eh? The question I had for Kate was this: is it worth going through all the trouble of finding last-minute child care, washing my hair, putting on something stylish yet rain-proof, and staying up past midnight for this concert?
I needed to know how far I should go in the name of Madge.
In 1985, I was willing to do just about anything for Madonna, scalping tickets on the street for $50 each just to have a glimpse of her from the nosebleed section of her Virgin Tour. (Get it? It wasn’t just the name of her 1984 album; we were her first concert tour.) When invited at the last minute by two cute high school seniors (seniors!), my friend Jackie and I quickly readied ourselves, putting on our best fingerless lace gloves and moussing up our hair. We made sure our sweatshirts were cut across the neckline and that our eyeliner – fresh from the freezer – was thick and black. After making sure we each had thirty or so bracelets up our arms – both the black gummy variety and some rhinestone stunners -- we bounded out of my house and into Hottie Senior Number One’s car.
I was in the ninth grade.
The Beastie Boys opened for Madonna that night – I had no idea who they were, and thought they kinda sucked – and so Jackie and I spend most of that first 30 minutes shopping the vendors for the perfect t-shirt souvenir.
What happened next was pure magic. According to Wikipedia, that night, Madonna sang “Dress You Up,” “Into the Groove,” “Everybody,” “Angel,” “Borderline”, “Lucky Star” AND “Crazy for You.” She also sang “Burning Up” and, in her finale dressed as a bride, performed “Like a Virgin” and “Material Girl.” It was a legendary concert – a greatest hits performance before we knew it - and I was there.
Flash-forward to the present. I couldn’t just put on my fingerless lace gloves and head to the city because Madonna was waiting for me. I had responsibilities. I had two children who had never heard of Madonna. I had stormy weather to worry about. I had a little indigestion from that burrito. And I had a bedtime of 10 pm.
4:27 pm. “Sorry, I can’t 2 nite,” came the text from my babysitter.
I thought of texting another babysitter, and then maybe another. I thought of reaching out to friends and hitting up their babysitters. Then I received a text from Kate, which read, “Honestly, it was just okay…she didn’t come on until 10:45…Nice to be out with your hubby regardless…lmk.”
I looked over at Brett, who was now finishing off Zoe’s ice cream. Is it really always that nice to be out with him on a Saturday night regardless of the reason? Isn’t it sometimes better to be in pajamas watching HGTV’s Canadian remodeling design show, Sarah’s House? And, what is Madonna thinking, starting her concert at 10:45? Both she and I have wrinkles now, for goodness sakes. (She hides hers, but they must be there, right?) Although, she can still rock a leather bodysuit, which is kind of annoying, and simultaneously awesome.
I texted Laura and told her my decision: we were skipping the concert. She’d have to invite someone else.
I used to love Madonna. But I am not in love with Madonna anymore. I still adore the vintage Madge, the one who sang songs that mattered to me. The one who didn’t call herself “Madge.” That Madonna shaped the way I dressed and gave me quasi-deep things to think about through her platform as a pop culture icon. Sex. Religion. Abortion. Fashion. Dance. Romance.
But for me, to quote Take a Bow, “the show is over, say goodbye.” I felt lame by not going that night, and, as I watched the rain fall, I also felt perfectly comfortable with my decision. I mean, it’s not like I’d never seen Madonna in concert. It’s more like, can anything ever really top your first (and perhaps, only) time with her?
I went home and put on my PJs and snuggled with my husband in front of the TV. Then I read an email from another friend who attended the Thursday concert.
“BTW - Madonna concert was great,” she wrote. “As theatrical, sexy, crazy as ever. And she looks fab! Her surgeon should be commended. Some small slow parts, but whatever – I’m a HUGE Madge fan so it’s all good for me.”
Did I feel a pang of regret when I read that email while sitting in my suburban living room? Perhaps a little bit.
But at least I had my once-in-a-lifetime with Madonna in 1985, which sometimes really feels like a lifetime ago. And, call me crazy, but that’s honestly good enough for me.
(Pictured at top: Me as Madonna from 1985 in 2010)Columnist and blogger Julie Gerstenblatt writes with humor and candor about her life in Scarsdale, her friends and family, and the particular demands of motherhood and wifedom in modern-day suburbia. She recently published her first novel, Lauren Takes Leave.
