I Am Displeased

Being an alumna of a women’s college, there are any number of things in society that I can complain about.  Inequality is rampant, and I’ve been well trained to notice it.  This week, my greatest annoyance is with women’s clothing.

Don’t get me wrong: I love clothing.  There’s just something wonderful about finding that feels good, looks good, and makes me believe I can do anything, from the first moment I put it on.  The only problem is, this feeling is unjustly rare.  The industry seems to making it as hard as possible to find that perfect fit—in more ways than one.

Looks nice, right.  But wait...

Let’s start with sizing.  Why on earth isn’t there a universal sizing that all makers of apparel must use?  Some companies have numbers, but the same numbers between companies do not equal the same size.  I wear anything from 8 to 12 in pants.  Then there are those companies who use S, M, L, and from there add X’s as needed.  This is problematic because I am a small woman (5’0”), but I wear a DD cup, so I’m never sure whether to wear a small or a large.  Will the small be too tight?  Will the large look like a sack? 

While I’m on the subject of breasts, why is nearly every neckline I find low enough to be borderline inappropriate?  I have probably a dozen shirts that are scoop-necked, because most other shirts I find with more conservative necklines are hideous.  It often comes down to a choice between a cute shirt, or not having to worry every time I bend over. 

A few days ago, I was in a bit of a hurry, so I bought two new shirts without trying them on.  They were simple business shirts, one solid, one patterned, both very nice.  However, when I got them home and tried them on, I found a two-inch slit at the breast, for no reason at all.  This on a shirt whose neckline is already four inches below my collarbone, putting the slit squarely above my cleavage.  And I would swear that this shirt was intended to be worn at work.  How is this appropriate? 

What is this nonsense?

And oh yes, heaven forbid that I suggest trying to work in some of the things I’ve worn in my life.  Or indeed, do anything at all.  So much of the clothing I wear to look “nice” is so impractical, either by the way it fits, or the stifling fabric it uses, or the difficulties that go along with cleaning it.  There are some things in my closet that have never been washed.  Don’t judge me, I’m sure you’ve done it too.

I need an entirely new paragraph to mention pockets.  The one reason I chose my current phone when I upgraded was because it was the smallest one, and had the best chance of fitting in my pocket.  Even on my jeans, though, there is now a worn rectangle with rounded edges over my right pocket, because the fit is so tight.  And yesterday, I put on a new pair of dress pants and realized I hadn’t yet cut open the pocket.  I did so, and put my hand into the pocket, only to be stopped at the second knuckle.  Not even two inches.  I ask you—what is that going to hold?  People wonder why women have such large purses—it’s because we don’t have pockets to carry things! 

I wonder sometimes if designers know anything about women at all.  Do they know that there are women beyond New York and Los Angeles who are not six feet tall and 118 pounds?  Do they know that some of us have to do more than walk down the catwalk and back?  Can they understand that we would like clothing that will not only make us look good, but feel good?  Is it so strange to think that clothing should help you accomplish what you want to do for the day?

This rant is now over.  We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Notaphor?

I have a very fond relationship with metaphor.  As a writer, I enjoy clever wordplay, here defined as any comparison that makes me think, or forces me to look at an object or an idea in a new way.  

We are all serving a life-sentence in the dungeon of self. 

An actor is a sculptor who carves in snow.  

Life is a verb, not a noun.  (all found in Dr. Mardy Grothe's I Never Metaphor I Didn't Like) 

I admit, though, I also enjoy laughing at bad metaphors.  Sometimes they are more descriptive than the good ones.  

You got further plucking the chicken in front of you than trying to start on one up a tree.  Especially when the tree was in another country, and there might not even be another chicken.  (This one I got from Wretched Writing by Ross and Kathryn Petras)

And then there are those metaphors that have become so ingrained into our language that we never think twice about them.  

All the world’s a stage.  

Less is more.  

Food for thought.

By definition, a metaphor identifies something as being the same as some other thing, usually unrelated, in order to make a rhetorical point.  Metaphors, then, are concerned with identity, with what something is.  Recently, however, I’ve been wondering if there is another side to metaphor.  Can you play with words by comparing something to what something else is not?

Billy Collins seems to think so.  He has a lovely poem called “Litany”, in which he makes fun of senseless metaphor.  “You are the bread and the knife,” he says, “the crystal goblet and the wine. …  However, you are not the wind in the orchard,/ the plums on the counter,/ or the house of cards./ And you are certainly not the pine-scented air./ There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.”

This poem always makes me laugh (listen to him read it!), but I wonder if I could take this thought a step further, and look at it a bit more seriously.  Things are often defined by what they are not; not-being sets a boundary, making what is clearer.  And if we are looking at words in a poetic sense, it is just as interesting (to me, at least) to say that a person should not be a cobweb, or that a story should not be a yawn.  A woman is not meant to be hollow.  Words are not dogs—they don’t come when called.

Just thinking out loud, really.  But it does open up a lot of possibilities, don’t you think?

Hey, It's a Book Review: "Godmother Girl" by Johanna Lemon

Remember Johanna Lemon?  I featured her interview in my post on July 11, which you can find here.  For those of you who might have missed it, or just need a reminder, Johanna is a fellow alumna of Hollins University who is in the process of self-publishing her books.  Two of them, That Girl and Godmother Girl, are available now through Amazon.  I myself had the privilege to read the latter, Godmother Girl.  A godmother is meant to protect and guide her charges, suffering with them in their darkest moments.  For Corisande, however, it’s her own darkest moment that weighs heaviest on her heart.  Trapped by the past, she one day comes across two young people who are in the same situation: Vanessa, a teenager with barbed-wire-topped walls around her feelings, and Frederick, who is a fascinating mystery that Cori must unravel.  Together the three of them dive into a tangled web of secrets that reveal that the three of them are more closely connected than they ever believed, and that unless they trust one another, they will never make it out alive.

Forget the plump, white-haired, nameless mentor of Cinderella fame.  Johanna Lemon’s Godmother Girl will redefine the term for you.  Her created race of magical guardians don’t just appear when we need a ride to the ball—they are down in the trenches with us, acting as friends and bearing our burdens at our side.  Corisande, however, has more to worry about than just the normal struggles of a seventeen-year-old girl.  She herself has the weight of a tragic past bearing down on her, as well as a wicked plot to solve and a truly grade-A villain breathing down her neck. 

This book snatched me up midway through and would not let me go.  It is passionate, intricate, and compassionate.  Cori is a force of light in a very dark place, and proof that great adversity breeds great strength.  Her journey provides an honest look at depression, self-harm, and suicidal tendencies that can be hard to find.  And it is a wonderful story.  I would highly recommend it.