Are They Insane?

Greetings Friends,

Here she goes, picking on the women again... but if this doesn't make you shake your head, I honestly don't know what will.

The image on the left is of clothing designer Georgina Chapman, wife of movie mogul Harvey Weinstein, and purveyor of the Marchesa line of gorgeous red carpet-ready gowns. Actress Ali Larter (last seen in the series Lost) is on the right. Both are perfect examples of how to look gorgeous when you're pregnant, and I give them kudos for that. The one thing I must take issue with are the shoes; particularly Chapman's: is it really necessary to potentially do harm to yourself and your unborn child by wearing such ridiculously high platform stiletto heels? Especially when you're tottering perilously close to a subway grating? Hell, at least Larter is safely on the red carpet. We all know that smoking, drinking and drugs are at the very least verboten while pregnant, so shouldn't high heels fall into the same category? Methinks the answer is an unequivocal "yes".

I'm not saying that women should have to succumb to the Victorian notion of "lying in" while they're great with child. Nor do I believe they should swaddle themselves in the maternity attire of yesteryear that tends to make one resemble a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. There has to be a happy medium somewhere, and those heels are not it. Wouldn't a simple 2 inch heel suffice? Pregnancy isn't a permanent condition; a few short months of stylish compromise never killed anyone, but those heels could potentially cause some lasting damage. With all the technology at our disposal - the ultrasounds, amniocentesis, and the myriad other tests pregnant women are now subjected to, you'd think they'd want to take every possible physical precaution, including the stowing of the Louboutins and Blahinks in favour of something a bit more sensible for the time being. I realize a pair of Chuck Taylors wouldn't be complimentary to either frock, but lopping off a few inches of heel height wouldn't have landed either one of these women on any "worst dressed" list. Is that too great a sacrifice to make for your unborn child?

What I'm trying to wittily (I hope) bring to light is the fact that women, and men, are no longer willing to make the sacrifices necessary to become parents. During a woman's pregnancy, there isn't much the daddy is affected by, until the screaming bundle finally lands in his arms. But the defiance on the part of pregnant women, particularly those who find themselves subject to a "bump watch", like Chapman and Larter, is maddening. Other women will find it necessary to emulate this defiance, by attempting to sashay through their own pregnancies wearing stiletto heels. These are the women who may find themselves flat on a gurney on their way to a hospital emergency room after taking a spill in a pair of 6 inch heels. The possibility of something like that could be life threatening for both mother and unborn child. Why take the chance? Yes, we would all love to walk the red carpet, looking as glamorous as the Hollywood A-listers, but there comes a time when you need to think of someone other than yourself. Especially when that other person is incapable of deciding what's best for them. So, before the breast milk vs. formula debate ensues, protect yourself and your foetus by sticking those heels in storage for a while. Get used to having to worry about someone else for a change. Your child will thank you for that.

Again, I must disclaim that I do not have children. However, I did discuss this topic with my friend D., the mother of two wonderful boys, and she concurred that the footwear choices above were "absolutely ridiculous".

Have a safe and wonderful weekend.

Nava

I Don't Like Spam!

Conspicuous Consumption

Greetings Friends,

No, this not yet another gender-bashing post; the reason I picked the ladies from Sex and the City as my "image du jour" is because the characters from this very popular HBO show (yes, I am a fan) epitomize what it means to be a conspicuous consumer. 

I was thinking the other day about what this show meant to the spending habits of not just American women, but of Americans in general. Yeah, we've always been somewhat label conscious, but the advent of Sex put our acquisitiveness into overdrive. Carrie Bradshaw, the "writer", with her seemingly endless supply of designer frocks, shoes and handbags made us all think that life on a shoestring no longer existed. We were all anxious to enjoy the same perks of the profession, which in Carrie's world included unlimited access to the best of everything, even if the show did subtly downplay the excess on occasion. We avidly followed Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte through six seasons of countless men, and countless costume changes, including the very liberal and obvious inclusion of enviable accessories. Man, was I hooked. My own shoe and purse collection grew by leaps and bounds; granted I did not have a closet-full of Blahniks and Fendi baguettes, but let's just say there was a lot of variety.

When Sex and the City 2 landed in theatres back in May, I was downright shocked that it was so universally panned by critics. Then, when I listened to why it was panned, I thought, well, they're not wrong. The days of prolific excess were over, and their reappearance in the movie made everyone extremely uncomfortable. There were rumblings of, these-women-are-now-in-their-40s-and-are-no-longer-behaving-in-an-age-appropriate-manner, which I totally scoffed at; but the ongoing litany of excess was something I couldn't ignore. The general obsession with logos and celebrity has reached a pinnacle of pervasiveness I can no longer tolerate. Plus, I am now attempting to earn a living as a full-time writer, and the reality of the situation is, a freelance writer bears no resemblance to Carrie Bradshaw. I don't care how many fashionable friends you have; if you want to earn a living, your laptop not only becomes your favourite accessory, it is your lifeline to making money. No two ways about it. 

I'm not saying I thought any of it was real for even one second, but many people did. For those who don't know what a snake pit New York City can be, life really did look fabulous. In reality, it can chew you up and spit you out faster than an A train, speeding uptown from 59th Street to 125th street, with no local stops. Now, you can no longer go around searching for "labels and love" without encountering some derision from the once mighty who have fallen so far. Many mistakes were made, and many judgments were passed by a lot of people. As far as I am concerned, we are still in a period of recovery that certainly does not warrant the type of in-your-face consumerism Sex and the City made famous. We need to take a while to reassess those mistakes, and try our best not to repeat them. Some of us will learn, some of us won't. I'd like to think I fall into the category of "Now I Know Better", and I'm certainly doing my best to stay there. 

I may not ever live a Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle, but at least I can be proud of the work I do. I no longer live in New York, and I no longer covet the things I once did. Sure, I still love my books, shoes, purses and scents, but I always have. It didn't take 4 larger-than-life Manhattan women to show me the ropes. But the same 4 fictional women taught me to appreciate what I do have, and let go of what I no longer need.

Nava

Am I a Self-Hating Woman?

Continuing on from Wednesday's "Afflicted or Affected" post, I want to clear the air about how I feel about being a woman. I don't hate it, but sometimes, I will admit I'm not fond of it. Mind you, I don't for a second want to pull a Chastity Bono by referring to myself as "Chaz" and acquiring a certain appendage. Nope; Uh Uh; Not gonna happen. However, there are times when I wish my own gender would buck up and stop acting so fragile and "precious".

Above is an image of the Wilson sisters, two of the coolest rock 'n roll chicks ever. Loved by men because of their looks (and hopefully their collective talents as well), and envied by some women for being a couple of legitimate bad-ass rockers during a time when the world of rock music was dominated by all-male groups like Led Zeppelin, The Eagles, Aerosmith, etc. I adored them then, and I adore them even more now. For Ann and Nancy, it was all about the music, rather than submitting to the subjugation of the male dominated genre of rock 'n roll. They legitimately kicked ass, but retained a degree of femininity that blurred the gender lines in a really significant way. They held their own with the men, and are still around making music. Here is a recent photo of them:

Click on this link to see a snippet from an interview they did in support of their new album, Red Velvet Car. What I wouldn't give for an actual album; downloading it onto my iPod doesn't seem in keeping with where the Wilson sisters came from, but I'll take it, considering the impressive legacy. I don't care how long I live or what's going to be on my iPod (or whichever device will be in use) in 30 years, but rock 'n roll will never go out of style; at least not to my ears.

I have to admit my gender "discomfort" and "tomboyishness" may have something to do with the fact that my only sibling is my older brother. If not for him, I would have turned out much more "precious" than I did. Make no mistake; I am far from fragile, and nobody in their right mind would ever consider me "dainty". That's not a bad thing. I revel in my independence and I pride myself on not backing down to the fears many women succumb to. I can recite the New York Islanders 1979-80 Stanley Cup Championship team roster by heart, answer the phone after dark, eat in a restaurant by myself; hell, I'll even jump in the car, by myself, and drive a few hundred miles if I need to. What's the problem? Yet, so many women are paralyzed by crippling, ridiculous fears that don't make me bat an eyelash. Does that make me any less female, and should I reconsider acquiring that appendage? Or, do I have a metaphorical appendage that sets me apart from a typical female? Sure, I like to joke about having balls or "cojones", but is that really an accurate assessment? I love being a woman, and I have no desire whatsoever to switch teams. I just constantly wonder why my gender can be so meek, frail, frightened, combative, back-stabbing, psychotic, jealous...shall I go on? I am not suggesting I'm immune to such behaviour myself, but sometimes, women tend to sabotage themselves in ways the male gender finds completely alien. Honestly, so do I. And despite all that, no, I am not a self-hating woman; I just wish being a woman didn't come with all the baggage it does. Not that men travel lightly by any stretch; Ideologically, you won't find many men who are afraid to go to the supermarket at night by themselves, but ask a man to purchase a box of tampons, and see what kind of a reaction you'll get. OK, maybe not from all men; I'm willing to bet there are still quite a few who won't do it.

In the meantime, I'll just have to keep hoping for a revolution. I am too far gone to be a revolutionary, but I can do my best to spread the word from my pulpit, such as it is. Ladies, do me a favour: try to see it my way. Just as you shouldn't dress, scent, or do anything else to please a man, don't deny yourself what you really want out of fear. Or, humour me by at least thinking about it.

Have a lovely weekend. 

Nava

Afflicted or Affected?

Sometimes, the acknowledgment of having too many self-involved people in your midst can lead you to embrace a mode of behaviour that could be perceived as somewhat "bitchy". This is one of those times.

I know two individuals who claim to have a severe "allergy" to fragrance. Mind you, I am not discounting the existence of fragrance allergies, but what I am highly skeptical of is the appearance of this affliction whenever it's convenient for the affected individual to draw attention to herself. I have seen this happen too many times to consider it coincidence. In my view, it is most certainly an affectation brought to light at precisely the point when one or both of these individuals feels the overwhelming need to entice others to pay attention to her.

Let me point out that neither affected individual reads my blog. They are both aware that I blog, but cannot be bothered to support my efforts. One individual is a highly skilled professional; the other is a small business owner, whom I fear will eventually chase away 100% of her clientele with her "scent free environment" mandate (she owns a retail establishment), among other shortcomings. I feel that way because both claim a hyper-sensitivity not only to perfumes, but to scented personal hygiene products such as soap, shower gel and shampoo. Granted, I, too have been knocked back on my kiester on occasion, by a strongly scented something; Chanel No. 5 will chase me out of a room faster than a Democrat from a Tea Party gathering, but generally, it takes quite a lot to get my nose out of joint. Pun intended.

OK, so you're probably thinking I'm an insensitive bore, with no sympathy whatsoever for the plight of the afflicted. You couldn't be more wrong; I just happen to believe that a fragrance allergy, in most cases, is an affectation, rather than an affliction. Yes, I fully acknowledge that overdoing the eau can cause certain individuals serious discomfort. But, when I've managed to wear fragrances (and quite potent ones at that) around both these women, without either of them so much as sneezing, that is solid proof that this perceived "allergy" is nothing more than an attention-getting ploy. If a judge and jury of my peers were present right now, I'd have no problem placing my hand on the good book and offering sworn testimony to that effect. Oddly enough, I've never met a man who is hyper-sensitive to scent; mysteriously, this affliction only seems to hinder the female gender. Hmmm...

I am by no means an expert in psychology; nor do I feel qualified to identify someone as a hypochondriac. But, when you consider why women wear fragrance, or at least why they're told they should wear fragrance, the fragrance sensitivity issue seems to be an exclusively female one. Why? I believe most women feel fragrance is supposed to be an attention grabber. Glossy print advertisements tell you it should make you feel sexy; you'll have men falling all over you if you wear a certain scent. Boiled down, women scent themselves for men; well, theoretically. I don't buy that. Attention is attention, no matter from whom you get it. If your appearance and/or your scent are garnering attention, be it from the opposite sex or from other women in your group, there will be an element of resentment from those who are a bit more wallflower-ish. Yeah, well, that hypothesis doesn't really blow my skirt up either. So, what is it then?

A while back, I wrote about the Narcissism Pandemic I think we're in the midst of, because of an overinflated sense of importance that seems to be rampant in society. People have become so attached to their high-tech gadgetry, that if your mobile isn't consistently ringing, or you're not receiving at least 200 text messages a day, you're non-existent. Gadgetry isn't the only vehicle with which this can be achieved: you can feign illness from just about anything.

I just finished reading the novel The Falls, by Joyce Carol Oates, which takes place in Niagara Falls, New York, during the time when Love Canal was first discovered to be a toxic waste dump. The evidence was overwhelming, as we know, and many residents, including children, were irreparably harmed by the effects of living amidst the toxic sludge. Of course, the manufacturing and chemical sectors that were thriving in Niagara Falls at that time, denied their role in sickening the local population. It wasn't until the late 70s when former President Jimmy Carter was finally able to declare the area a federal disaster zone, but by then, the damage had already been done. Love Canal is only one example of how big business and politics can come together as a formidable obfuscating force. And, the end result is usually staggeringly detrimental. I'm not saying that my sensitive schnozzed acquaintances bear any resemblance to the people who were sickened by living near Love Canal; what I am saying is that there is a horrifying loss of perspective among humans, and there is a growing segment of the population that simply lives to complain. Why? Because like perfume, complaining has a way of garnering attention. Keep in mind, though, that the less attention you get (or the more attention you want), the more apt you are to complain. And, blaming someone else for what ails you is the "prime directive" by which the complainer lives. It's always someone else causing the grief, never the person who is seeking the attention. Making someone else feel badly will make the complainer feel good; and get noticed. Ultimately, those around the complainer will grow weary, and eventually, the complainer will find herself alone, devoid of anyone to whom she can voice her complaints.

To my two acquaintances specifically: quit beefing about your fragrance "allergies". I know you're never going to read this, but there are others who will. And while they may not know you personally, they know others like you, and will agree that your "affliction" is nothing more than a selfish "affectation" meant to draw attention to yourselves. Do them and me a favour: take a minute to think about whatever it is that's really bothering you. Look inward instead of outward, and try to figure it out without getting anyone else involved. You may begin to see the world change before your eyes, and realize, your own little corner of it really isn't that bad. If not, keep it to yourself; we really don't want to hear it.

In the meantime, I will continue to waft through life, whether you like it or not. One day, I might smell like the inside of a Roman Catholic church. The next day, Turkish Delight. The day after that, it may very well be pipe tobacco and stewed fruit. Instead of complaining, take a whiff; you might just like what you smell.

Nava

Happy Labour Day!

Greetings Friends,

Here's hoping everyone in North America is enjoying the final weekend of summer.

See you on Wednesday.

Nava

Blocked Like a Basement Toilet

Greetings Friends,

It was bound to happen at some point. At least it's a holiday weekend, and I've got the new Jonathan Franzen novel Freedom queued up for some inspiration. Wish me luck.

Enjoy your Labour Day weekend. Try not to feel too depressed as we bid adieu to yet another summer.

Nava