Girdles are bad. They squeeze, constrict, and restrain. Girdles hold your pussy together. They do. Also known as body shapers, Spanx or foundation in the fashion world, all forms of girdles hold your pussy together. Call this my own version of "My Angry Vagina" from Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues, but I believe that the pussy is supposed to be wide and loose and able to spread. It wants to spread naturally. Pussies can’t do that locked up in a girdle. But today I have to go to the mall to buy a girdle. I have to get shape wear for my career and for my comfort. Also, I feel like my adventure to purchasing control top panties are a punishment for fitness lack and cookie bingeing. Working with my agency this summer has gotten me back into my model frame of mind. Even the clothes I’ve been donning have been very minimally elegant. I love it. I’ve become very aware of my appearance, giving into a makeup routine in the morning. I’ve even been wearing my hair straight in an effort to motivate my daily appearance. If I have to calm my frizzy mane, then I’m more apt to putting on mascara and remembering deodorant. But in the midst of all this appearance maintenance, OT at work and traveling to my agency, my diet and exercise has dipped, as it often does. The main culprit is cookies and cereal. At this point I know my body very well and I know that too much sugar and too many refined carbs in combination with a sedative lifestyle will bloat me. My belly fat will protrude beyond a desirable flat state. Pencil skirts and high waist pants that otherwise flatter my svelte waist line become uncomfortable to move in. Skinny jeans are a nightmare. I hold the history of my last few weeks in my middle, and carry the burden around. There was a time that belly bloat would cause severe anxiety. I would stop eating for a day or two, binge on laxatives and live in the bathroom. I would burn 3500 calories in a week doing nothing but cardio, sweating away any reminisce of a hairstyle. During these times of intense purging I don’t bother with anything more than a high afro pony tail. Currently, maybe because it’s the summer time, or maybe I’m starting to enter a more progressive less stressful state of mind, but the only way I wish to feel different about my belly bloat is to buy a girdle. But I think girdles are bad. I do. Why would I spend my money on a product that is basically a tool to manipulate a woman’s body into a fabricated ideal of beauty in order to be accepted by a patriarchal society? Because I don’t want a belly bulge in my pencil skirt, my BCBG black romper, my Cynthia Rowley high waist red sailor shorts, or my tight black capris that hug my hips and gives me the silhouette of a 40s pin-up. My belly may not be a perfectly flat, ripped abs board, but I have a plump ass and curvaceous hips that complement my slim waist. I’ve harmed myself by focusing on one part of my body that I don’t like. I’ve come to the realization that there is not much I can do about it under my certain circumstances. Sure I could cut out all carbs, weight train 5 days a week and have colon hydrotherapy every 3 days, but I don’t feel like it, right now. I can’t afford to right now. What I can afford is a girdle, control top shape wear, to get my mind off of it while I bounce my hips from side to side in my pencil skirt. So maybe girdles aren’t that bad. I’m finding out as I’m approaching my 30s, that foundation underwear is essential and ultimately portray a more lady like and put together visual appearance. I’ve never met a plus size model who didn’t have artillery of foundation and bras for every type of clothing. I still believe in allowing your pussy to breathe and spread, but she doesn’t have to be wide open all day. That’s how fungus is grown. Just a classic case of whatever makes you happy and not sucking in will really make my day.
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My blog has a name! Thank you so much for the votes. That was a lot of fun! The race was close but in the end Progressive Perfection was the favorite. I'm glad because it was my favorite too.
Perfection is impossible. It's a state of being that we stress about daily. "Everything has to be perfect." "I just want to be perfect." Well if there was such a thing as perfect then why would we need erasers, backspace, or undo feature? If you read the bible you are aware that nothing is perfect except God. In fact most of the world's beauty lies in the imperfections. When you think about who you are and the fact that God is perfect then you realize that how you are is no mistake. We don't have to strive to be perfect but we can continue to actively work on reaching the perfection horizon. We will never be perfect but as long as we are working towards being the best ME we can be then the progress will speak for itself. What should we call me? Help me narrow down a name for this blog.It will be fun. And give me a chance to use the cool polling feature on this site. I've narrowed down a few of the names I've brainstormed. Although I do have a favorite, I'm stuck on which will appropriately fit the needs of this blog. My original Autobiographical play is titled Model Perfection, so I wanted to keep the name similar as a clear and easy reference. Thanks for your help. Squeezed in the middle.
This weekend Diva’s N’ Stilettos produced the first plus size fashion weekend in the DMV titled Curves Rock Weekend. I found out about this event through Plus Model Magazine’s twitter news and checked out the Curves Rock website. The company was also producing The Vagina Monologues in Baltimore for VDay this year and I just knew I had to be a part of both of these events. After months of correspondents, meetings, and hella tweets about Curves Rock Weekend, the day finally came Saturday July 28. The night before I packed my model bag, being extra careful that I had my portfolio and comp cards and got to bed early. Saturday morning I arrived at the BWI Hilton and patiently waited. Hurry up and wait is a model’s entire career. I was the first model to arrive and hair and makeup hadn’t set up yet. I got an access code to the wifi from the front desk, connected my Kindle and got up to date on some feminist reading. Slowly other models started showing. Some models I had met and seen at the audition, various model meetings and The Vagina Monologues, but most of the models didn’t give me more than a ‘good morning’ and a wave. Models continued filing in and the noise of chatter and comradeship got louder. I smiled, but I just got looks; confused looks. Looks that read “Who is she?” or “What’s she doing here?” When I first arrived one of the team members for the event was reluctant to label me as a model, even though I was dragging a giant bag heavy with runway shoes. She assumed at first, then sucked her words back in and then shyly asked, “You’re not one of the models? Are you?” |