Tag Archives: style

A Brief Open Letter to the Woman at the Dog Park

Is your name Starlight? Or maybe Rainbow-serenity? Let’s go with Starlight. I hope that’s okay, Starlight. When I was little I’m pretty sure I dreamed of your free-spirited ease of being and penned a song about you entitled, “Why can’t the world be free?” More than anything, I think the song scared my dad into fearing my future liberal political and social endeavors. I have a few confessions, Starlight, and since you’ve shared with me that you’re moving to “the new high rises downtown” I feel like it’s a good time to get them out in the open.

First, my fiance saw your boobs. I know! I know! Do you also feel a lot closer now? I do. I feel great getting this off my chest, (see what I did there?!?). He didn’t comment much about them which inevitably means they were impressive and I can see that, Starlight. Like, literally I can see the outline of your breasts because you’re never wearing a bra — the nipples too. And that’s okay! Bras are just a cagey nuisance of underwire and female suppression. And you know, if only all of us women could be so open as to share our boobs with the world via our patios maybe, just maybe we’d be a freer place.

I just found out this is called "African Style" and I'm left wondering... why does everyone hate Americans so much?

I just found out this is called “African Style” and I’m left wondering… why does everyone hate Americans so much?

When did you have your adorable baby, Starlight, and do you also think he has the head of Rob Reiner? Like, not in a bad way, he just has the biggest baby head I’ve ever seen. And this concerns me, as the level of shape your body is in would put Cosmopolitan’s “How to lose (insert area of body that any women has ever complained about)…” section out of business.  Is it because you are constantly carrying that nugget on your back using a tie-dyed sheet and a few overhand knots? Wait, did you secretly grow up in Laguna Beach, CA where your father taught you to sail and do things like tie knots properly? Now that I think of it, your red hair did not seem all that natural (because women born there can only be blonde. And rich. You know, because, Laguna Beach). Were you friends with LC? How about her and that Kohl’s deal, amiright? I’m sure you’re happy for her. Because, you know, karma and good vibes.

I have to admit that I’ve often thought about the nature of your family, like in the way that I could’ve sworn your baby daddy was a homosexual male. And it’s obviously none of my business, except for the times he yells “hi!” when I’m out on my balcony which is an obvious open invitation to examine your personal lives. It’s just, his hair is so perfectly unkempt and also that time I swore he was holding hands with a man. It’s confusing! Are you guys pulling an The Object of My Affection starring late 90s Jen Aniston and Paul Rudd? Because who wouldn’t want to raise her child with gay Paul Rudd? If so, no judgment here!

Because wouldn't we all marry gay Paul Rudd?

We’d all marry gay Paul Rudd.

Mostly, I just want you to know I’m thinking of you and how much you look like Jenny Lewis and how jealous that makes me. Oh, and I also wanted to know if all of your friends also look like a combination of the Lost Boys from Hook and members of an up-and-coming indie band or is that just you? And also sure, your baby is a pretty fucking loud crier (But still totz adorbz!).

Apparently, the Lost Boys may have actually formed an Indie band already...

Apparently, the Lost Boys may have actually formed an Indie band already…

Enjoy your new home in downtown Austin, Starlight! (Remind me again how you mysteriously make enough money to live in downtown Austin yet could pass for not having a shower in your home…)


Your nosey neighbors! xoxo

What Bangs Gave Me

1). The ability to not give a fuck.

2). More excuses to wear headbands.

3). The appearance of someone who does not give a fuck.

4). The ability to trick my mind into thinking people are looking at me because they think I am a celebrity.

5). The opportunity to carry around a fine tooth comb and use it in public.

6). The self-confidence of Kourtney Kardashian.

7). The desire to go up to people and ask which celebrity I look most like.

8). The ability to look like a long lost member of The Ramones and/or Justin Beiber’s mother and/or Mrs. Culpepper from Saved By the Bell at the same time.

9). A sweat blocker/soaker for my overproducing head sweat glands.

10). The illusion of having a new wardrobe because everything now looks different on me.

11). An excuse to constantly look in the mirror to make sure I don’t look like Dorothy Hamill (although I know this won’t be able to last very much longer).

12). The confidence of a real life hair stylist. (I cut ‘dem things myself!)

13). Inspiration to try new things other than occasionally eating dairy.

14). The ability to trick myself into thinking that putting my hair in a pony tale is a “style.”

15). The self-motivation to brush my hair every day.


Do some scary/fun thing today! Who knows what it’ll give you.

FAQ: Are You Wearing a Bra?

Every single time I get asked this question (quite a few times, actually) I wish I could say no because I am in a constant state of wanting to be braless. Whenever I can be, I am without a bra. It just makes sense; It’s just natural. I mean, it’s not like we’re making wire supported boxer briefs for the balls and penis–and those things are a lot floppier. Also, last time I checked, man boobs do not require men to wear bras in public.

The dress code at my work states that I must wear “professional, appropriate” attire and even has specifics when it comes to what I wear UNDER my clothes: “Undergarments must be worn at all times, must be covered by appropriate clothing, and color and/or design must not be visible through clothing.” I’ve accepted that I work with kids at an Elementary school and sometimes people can lose sight of that–I’ve had a substitute teacher come in wearing, legitimately, the same stained grey sweatpants two days in a row. Those sweatpants were a crime and this oaf was just being lazy. But undergarments are a whole different thing and I’d almost prefer if I didn’t have someone telling me I needed to always wear them. 

I should probably say that for most of my childhood I refused to wear socks or underwear because of how uncomfortable I found them. I just didn’t want to have to worry about the seam of the sock moving out of place and sticking into my toe–it was a super big deal. Underwear was bad too because of the waist band. It felt to me like a cage around my privates, holding me in so tight and so uncomfortably it had to be wrong. I felt like I couldn’t BREATHE. But then my mom discovered those smooth, thicker waist bands that don’t feel like you have rubber bands wrapped around your stomach. She also forced me into skirts and dresses so I’d be too embarrassed to not wear underwear. That plan often backfired on her. At five, as a little girl, not wearing underwear made more sense than the inevitable trauma of your skirt blowing up on the playground, exposing your little girl parts. Exposing your private parts at five was almost the cool thing to do. It was like talking back to your teacher in high school, inciting laughter but inevitable punishment.

Either way, at some point, I accepted wearing underwear and socks. (Wearing underwear definitely comes in handy when you laugh so hard you pee yourself just a little bit, just enough for it to show if you DIDN’T have underwear on.)

But I didn’t sign up for the whole bra thing. As I’ve mentioned before, I developed my bossom quite early. To be specific, it happened in the Galvin Middle School cafeteria because that was the microcosm of sexual realization and maturing. It wasn’t until I saw a picture of me in profile from the year before that I realized I had already been developing and that not having a bra on for a side profile picture was a really bad idea; it looked almost like those Nat Geo specials except I had on a shirt.

So I started wearing bras around seventh grade and it was okay until the initial excitement of having breasts wore off. These days, at work I see third grade girls wearing bras and I have to actively stop myself from retching. It’s like, what the fuck? Training bras and shit. What does that even mean? That you need to train your boobs to be inside of a bra? Shouldn’t THAT right there tell you that bras are an awful oppressive piece of clothing. (Unless you really like the feeling which is then OKAY with me).

As it stands, I am forever grateful to the bandeau as a fashion trend because it made it possible for me achieve some middle ground: minimal physical discomfort as possible for the whole day without showcasing my nipples to schoolchildren. Now, I am LUCKY: In the morning, I nanny for the most adorably genius two-and-a-half-year-old boy that never graced youtube or reality television and I am able to get ready for my day during his nap time. It’s perfection because he doesn’t care if I’m wearing a bra so I don’t have to till my next job. And it’s an easy transition from no bra to bandeau. Minimal digging into your side.

The one reason though, that I have endured such bra wearing for so long was because of the promise of its’ benefit: perkier bossoms! My boobs had been a source of great pride to me over the years; not that they aren’t still it’s just a bit different. They don’t control me anymore, let’s say. But now, the myth has been shattered and “I’ve never been happier”(was literally the text I sent my boyfriend when he, like a badass feminist, sent me this link because he didn’t want to do it publicly and maybe embarrass me which was amazing in a different way).

In a fifteen year study, French professor Jean-Denis Rouillon found that “medically, physiologically, anatomically – breasts gain no benefit from being denied gravity…On the contrary, they get saggier with a bra.” IN YOUR FACE.

A recent conversation with my best friend from college, closet connection to Hollywood, and only person I know who enjoys the constriction of bras, Mackenzie:

Me: I’m writing right now about that new study that shows wearing a bra makes your boobs saggier and you’re in it obviously

Mackenzie: A writer came in a few days ago…

Me:  Yes! I need to hear more about your glamorous life!

Mackenzie:  ..and I greeted her and I was like do you want coffee or water? And she goes “wearing a bra doesnt make your boobs less saggy.”
Mackenzie:  “I’m telling you because you’re young. There’s still time for you” and I was like great! Thanks.
SO, for all you ladies out there: There’s stil time! Let those sweet chariots swing low! Be free young ones!