Category Archives: Archives – Fashion Crap and What not

Here are some OLD posts that I wrote years ago when I thought purses were the be all, end all. Read them with caution – and don’t judge me. My sharp wit is still there, even amongst all of the shoes.

My Deep Winter Face & Some Olives

I fondly remember thumbing through the latest issue of Teen or YM magazine at age 14 and taking some sort of quiz that told me what my “season” was, and thus promised that it would help me forever and ever choose the best red lipstick to complement my most-likely stunning 1990’s outfit.

I could never settle on an answer, because I felt like my coloring was so unlike any of the choices. I have dark DARK hair naturally, super black eyebrows, my skin is very very fair, but my eyes are a very dark grayish blue. Basically I matched nothing. I have no idea what color my wrist veins look. They looked like all of the choices! And to be honest, I’ve never had luck picking out the best makeup colors for myself, because nothing really seemed to match me. Awesome. The un-matchable face. But now, at age 41, I watched a random YouTube video the other day that pushed me way way down the “find your colors, find your seasons” rabbit hole, and it’s been surprisingly illuminating. PS – this is the channel I’m speaking of – her videos are helpful, and her voice is very relaxing. Plus now I need to purchase like 6 tweed blazers. Audrey ala Mode

She said something in one of her videos (sorry, I’ve now binged on about 890809 of them, so I cannot tell you which) that was like light bulb turning on over my head. She said, and I paraphrase, you can have very fair skin and still have an olive tone. WHAT? I thought olive skin meant you were darker? NOPE. Just means you’re green, apparently. She said, once you notice that your skin has a very slight green undertone, you can’t unsee it. And she was right. I am green. One of the telltale signs that sets a fair skinned olive gal apart from the other fair skinned maidens is that despite what one might think, we actually DO tan. I just choose not to as an adult, because I eschew the outdoors & the hot weather, but in this photo I clearly match Jenn Molloy, and this is proof positive that I can, and have, gotten tan in my younger years: 71573480_435162730684735_343837949093216256_n

And now what? Well, I don’t know. I’m green I guess. But this just encouraged me to take it one step further and explore the idea of what “season” I might be. Concurrent to this, I was having a personal crisis over a pea green sweater. I bought the sweater, but didn’t try it on in store, because I actually LOVE the way this color looks on other people. I also purchased the same exact sweater in a sky blue that day (which I did try on) so I figured that the pea green (I keep accidentally typing pee green. Hm) was a shoo-in. But, it really just exacerbates my green-ness. I become a pea. So, I got to the bottom of all of this drama by taking a color quiz. I took it three times with three different photos, and my result was the same each time. Again, it felt a tiny bit inaccurate because my eye color doesn’t typically GO with my hair/skin color combination, but I believe that the colors it suggests for me ARE the ones that I most prefer on myself. Here is the quiz – take it! Why not, right? Colorwise Season Test

As it turns out, I am a deep winter, which is lovely because I generally enjoy all things winter. And apparently so does my face. These are absolutely the colors that look best on me (I also think that clear winter would work for me, but my eyes are a very dark blue)

No wonder I look so crappy in the pea green! And in camel! And beige! And yellow! Here is the infamous sweater… which is horrid, until I add a grey scarf next to my face. Notice how the same sweater in the light blue is so much more complimentary, and the all time best is the teal shirt that I’m wearing today. Same mirror, same lighting. Now, I’m not going to say that I will never wear items in my “worst colors,” but I’d probably choose to wear them on my bottom half, or in an accessory, and not right next to my big old green head. Take the quiz! Its fun ladies. And let me know what you score!!

Give me a break, Heather

Sometimes I talk to myself.

In fact, some of my best conversations have occurred completely inside of my own head. I fancy myself pretty entertaining, and usually I amuse myself. But too often I do something else. Something that I’d bet my bottom dollar that you also partake in. This is a serious statement because if you check my wallet at this present moment I think I’m literally down to my bottom dollar.

But that is neither here nor there.

What I’m talking about is self-criticism. I do it. You do it. Don’t even pretend you don’t. Even the most confident among us has a momentarily lapse of self-deprecation. It happens. But why does it happen? I’ve been thinking on this subject a lot lately, and I think I’ve had a semi-epiphany about it.

Like many of you, most of my self-criticism concerns my weight. I’ve often said that not a day has gone by in my adult life when I haven’t obsessed over money or calories. In fact, I can’t remember a time in my life when I was even consistently “ok” with my body, and believe me, I’ve been chunky, skinny and everything in between. I’ve always had a knack for feeling good for a second, and then immediately following up that feeling with, “oh but if only I was…” and fill in the blank. A little thinner. A little less thunder-thighed. A little less ham-like-armed. Blah blah blah. If you’re like me, and I sort of hope you’re not, you probably can’t even enjoy a fantastic meal at a restaurant without thinking either “well, I certainly can’t get on the scale tomorrow” or possibly “I guess if we’re going out to dinner I’ll eat sparingly throughout the day to compensate.” But I think you all are, because when I reached out on my Facebook and asked for photos that you all felt good about, I was met with so much self-loathing and self-criticism, and that made me so sad.

It has to stop. And so, friends, today I’ve decided to cut myself a break.

That’s right. Give me a break already, Heather. Size 4 size 14, I’ll probably never been 100% ok with the gal I see in the mirror, but you know what? I think I’m becoming comfortable with that idea. I’ve been obsessing for over two years trying to lose the last 18 baby pounds (ps – don’t gain 65+ pounds when you’re pregnant. All of those egg sandwich bagels SEEM like a great idea, but they will hang around long after your kid is begging you to crack raw eggs with a hammer on the floor of your living room) And I do think I’ll do it, eventually. I hope so.

But right now, I’m giving myself permission to accept, and dare I say even LIKE, my body during the process. Am I trying to kick my Taco Bell habit and eat healthier? Of course. Am I hoping to incorporate some exercise into my life? I guess, but I just hate it. I know that until I do these things my old jeans will sit in my closet and stare at me mockingly, but right now I’m ok with going at my own pace and telling those jeans to check their attitude at the door.

I grew a kid in my body, and they cut him out of my abdomen with a knife. I think. I don’t know, I was pretty incoherent for that whole thing. I work like 8908 jobs. I’m busy. I’m tired. I’m so many things all the time, all day long, all week-long, all month-long, and I’m so so so exhausted sometimes. And I know you are too. You’re moms, you’re step moms, you’re single, you’re married, you’re divorced, you’re pet moms, you’re hard workers, you’re doing all of the things that make the world go ’round. And you know what? Its ok if it’s taking us a little bit longer to get there. Size 2, size 22, size 42, you have to find some beauty when you look in the mirror. It’s there – I promise. Other people see it, so stop all of your “I’m so fat” “I’m so ugly” “look at my wrinkles” and cut yourself a break, for God’s sake.

Success isn’t about achieving a specific end result. It’s every step you take along the way the moment you decide you are going to be successful. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two months or two years. It’s a journey. Be a little kinder to yourself as you find your way down the path.

Here I am pre-Jake, 36 weeks pregnant, and two weeks ago. And I think I’m ok with it. I’m trying so hard to appreciate my body for what it can do, not for what I think it’s supposed to look like.

heather

And how about all of my beautiful friends, who, either happily or reluctantly, shared these fantastic images of themselves? Beautiful, every single one of them – and I bet, if you turn down that little voice inside of your head that keeps putting you down, that you are too. xoxo – H

friends2friends