Dear Lady,

We wanted to write and share our thoughts with you, because as your wardrobe, your looks are a reflection on us. We see you as a “big beautiful curvaceous woman” but you only see yourself as “plus size” and consider it a bad thing. It isn’t a bad thing though, and we have some things we want to share with you.

First of all, stop wearing dark colors all the time. Yes, black makes you look slimmer and dark colors help too. But for crying out loud woman, you need a bit of life in your wardrobe. Did you know that your best colors are really blues and reds and purples? We know you look at them longingly while you’re out in the store, but then you go and buy dark colors because you feel you can’t wear the colors you want to wear. STOP THAT! You are drawn to those colors because they will look good on you. Go ahead and wear dark pants and skirts if you must – but please – bring some color up next to your face. Trust us – people will be less likely to notice your butt or hips if they’re drawn upward to your face.

And speaking of clothes — stop buying cheap quality clothes because you feel you don’t deserve better. That’s a lie. You deserve nice things too. Stop shopping at only the discount stores. If you have to shop online — that’s ok. It’s ok to go to nicer stores and find pretty things on sale too. We’re not saying you have to spend a fortune. But buy nicer quality clothes because they’ll fit you better, and you’ll feel better about yourself.

Did you know that you can even pay FULL PRICE for something for yourself and the world won’t end? It’s true — find one item that you really love and pay full price. Trust us — every time you put it on you’ll remember that feeling of “I’m worth the full price”, and you’ll love to wear that item. Who knows — maybe someday you’ll even be able to buy clothes that aren’t on sale?

While we’re at it — we have a few more tips for you.

Stop buying clothes that are too big for you because you don’t like a part of your figure. Sometimes it’s nice to show some curves — even if it is your breasts. We were so proud of you when you broke down and bought that size 20 shirt that you loved when you normally buy size 22/24. That even made you brave enough to try on the 16/18 top, (ok…so it was black) and you realized that you were buying clothes TWO SIZES too large for your tops. We practically jumped for joy when that little black number made it into the closet. WAY TO GO! Now keep it up — only remember — colors look better on you than black.

In addition — throw out all that old underwear and those yucky bras and get some that aren’t “granny-style”. You know what we mean — even your granny would probably be embarrassed to wear them! Get yourself some comfortable undergarments that support you and some pretty panties or comfortable panties that make you feel like a woman. You’re not a clown or elephant or any of those other labels you use for yourself.

Speaking of undergarments — get at least one piece of lingerie that makes you feel sexy. Do it for you — not for him. You deserve to feel pretty and sexy because you really are that way deep inside.

Well — those are our tips for you. We’re happy to see you’re wearing a tiny hint of makeup now and some perfume, and we’re thrilled to see that you even spent money and bought yourself quality shoes for your new walking program. Sure they were over $100, but they were an investment in your health.

Just don’t forget us — some of us need to be “retired” as we’ve gotten holes or stretched too much.  Some of us would prefer to move on to another woman who needs our large sizes instead of hiding your figure. And others of us are just waiting for you to realize that we’ll make you look pretty if you just add us to something with color.

We believe in you – now believe in yourself.

Sincerely,
Your Clothes

Redhead, Ginger, Carrot-top, Copperhead, Big Red, Brass, Cherry, Coppertop, Fire-ball, Fire-crotch, foxy, Raggedy Anne, freckle-face, Rusty, Wendy, and the list goes on and on! There are tons of names for redheads; some mild, some wild! But what has given redhead women this surrounding of fame? All from a hair color that all TRUE redheads are born with, of course! There are key moments in history that redheads have made a profound mark, and people have interpreted this. Making today’s redheads are either walking targets for jokes or much cruel tactics, or semi-formal celebrities in a crowd.

This story is believed to be true within the setting, yet very controversial still. This particular redhead woman was Adam’s first wife. Yes, like Adam from the Bible. See, controversy already! The story goes that Lilith and Adam were both created at the same time, that they were equal (unlike Eve, she was created from Adam). Then one day, I guess Adam started getting too bossy and demanding about her fetching some water, and she declared that she was an equal and would not serve Adam in any way. She then flew off into the stars and never returned. She was then declared a demon like creature by God himself. She was punished by having to lose 100 of her children a day. (See pretty interesting stuff!)

Poor Lilith. But she’s not the only redhead who has been condemned in the past. Many are taunted and bullied every day, just for their hair color. It starts in grade school and progresses every year. Childish taunts become sexual comments. Being a redhead myself, I remember how cruel kids could really be, over something I couldn’t really change at the age of five. The older I got, the worse it got. I was always paler, so I looked awkward in shorts and skirts. When I got old enough, I started highlighting my hair, trying to dull down the color. I never really liked it, though. I really enjoyed my red hair, and could never fully dye it another color, losing my natural red forever. Comments got more sexual, and the red hair color seemed to signal an open invitation to guys, young and old, and way old!

The sexuality of a “Ginger” (not a fan of this term, personally) has always been a hot topic. Why it’s always on the discussion board, I’ll never know for sure. Jonathon Swift once wrote, “It is observed that the red-haired of both sexes are more libidinous and mischievous than the rest, whom yet they much exceed in strength and activity.” (From Gulliver’s Travels, part 4, A Voyage to the Country of the Houyhnhnms,), using the stereotype to his advantage, for sake of his story. In my personal experience, I am more adventurous than the other women my age around me, but I’m not sure it could be attributed to my hair color! Marilyn Monroe was born a natural redhead, and couldn’t seem to shake off her natural sexiness! Where did this rumor originate though? Catherine the Great, of Russia (royalty from 1762 until her death in 1796), is rumored to have been killed, after a harness that held up the horse she had sex with broke, allowing the horse to crush her. Yes, you read that right! Supposedly this woman had a horse hoisted above her bed, and she had sex with it one day, killing her in the process. Very big rumor, I’m aware. But these rumors are what have led to the image that surrounds redheads today, believe it or not!

George Washington was a redhead as well, although he has no sexual rumors following him that I know of! As was Winston Churchill, again no sexual rumors! There have been many red haired men in history that have added to the redhead image, as well as women. Some were leaders, such as Washington and Churchill. Some have been royalty, like Richard the LionHeart, and the current Prince Harry is even a redhead among us! The men have definitely added to the story of redhead’s history. More than likely, adding to the “Fiery temper part!” General George A. Cluster being known as a redhead as well!

While there are many rumors, myths, and images that redheads have trailing them in their lives, each redhead is a unique one! Some have freckles, some don’t. Some have a bright orange-red, while others have a deep auburn color. We’re still a rarity, definitely a minority of sorts! The Oxford Hair Foundation conducted a study in 2005 and found that redheads could be extinct by 2100!

Since less and less people are redheaded, there will eventually be a point where there is no more red hair! Currently, only 4% of the world population has red hair. Many have started campaigns following this finding, declaring, “Save the redheads!” I doubt though, that many redheads are choosing other redhead mates, based specifically on hair color. The gene that produces red hair is the Melanocortin 1 Receptor, found on the 16th chromosome. This gene is a mutation of another gene. This single mutated gene is responsible for producing red hair, and is also a recessive gene. Meaning that that both parents would have to give the child one Melanocortin 1 Receptor Recessive gene to produce a child with red hair. So, perhaps redheads will be extinct soon?

Redheads have many different rumors surrounding them. From temper, to sex preferences! Redheads have always been a point of interest for most. Some people seem to despise Reds, while some tend to fall head over heels for them! Why these myths and feelings about redheads are, or where they came from, we’ll probably never know for sure. So, if you’re a redhead like me, I say enjoy being unique!

I am always amazed when my husband says he thinks I’m beautiful. I look at my body and wonder just what it is that he’s been drinking lately because he certainly can’t be seeing the same thing I see.  For instance, I see stretch marks from a pregnancy with twins. I see the bikini cut scar of an emergency C-section. I can’t help but notice several scars from tubes in my body during a month when I was hospitalized. Perhaps the hardest thing for me to deal with is the 9″ scar from an incision that was done for two surgeries.

I look at my breasts and mourn the fact that for years I went braless as much as possible, for now they hang and look horrid. I look at my body and regret all the times I chowed down on chocolate and potato chips now that I am trying to take that excess weight off. I look at my fingers and sometimes cry that I can’t find pretty feminine rings in size 12.

However, my husband looks at me and see things differently. He sees the marks of a woman who bore his two children and suffered through a pregnancy that was high risk for both her and the kids. The bikini cut scar reminds him that I carry with me the reminder of what I went through to have those children for both of us. The marks from the tubes in my abdomen and the 9″ scar remind him that he almost lost me when a gall bladder surgery went bad and over five liters of bile built up in my abdomen and almost poisoned me to death. When he looks at my breasts, he doesn’t see the sags as much as he sees the opportunity to play and have fun. While he knows I’m frustrated with my body shape and size, he never belittles me, but only encourages me to do my best.

I see the flaws – he sees the memories and rejoices in the fact that he still has me in his life.

I think sometimes that we need to look at others much the same way that my husband looks at me. As we see their flaws, we need to look beyond them to the person inside. I think of the woman who has rough dry hands because she’s spent years working to provide for her family. The woman who has a not-so-fashionable haircut because she uses that money to buy her child clothes and food. There are those out there who can’t have a new wardrobe every year or add to their wardrobe, because all of their money is going into supporting a family member or simply meeting the basic needs of life.

Starting with myself, I want to encourage us to look at beauty not as just an outward thing but learn to look at the “flaws” and “scars” that others might have and recognize that some of the most beautiful things do not come simply from looks.

HIV affects millions of people worldwide. As of 2009, it was 33.3 million. There are 33 million men, women and children, everyday people just like you and me. The woman walking her dog on the sidewalk, your friend from college, the ex-lover you met at a book club. The fact is 1.2 million of those people live in the United States; those affected do not just live in poor African countries, in fact, that only accounts for about 2/3 of HIV cases.

For this reason, it is important that we educate ourselves and the community about HIV. We need to teach our children how to protect themselves, make condoms more readily available, and not be ashamed to demand safe sex. The fact is, this terrible disease will not go away on its own, and we as a community, a nation, a people need to band together to fight this.

Personally, I was never really taught about HIV. My parents were never open about sexuality to begin with, so it never came up in my household. I remember associating what I had heard about HIV with shame, lots of promiscuous sex, and bad people. I figured that those who had the disease were afflicted because they had too much sex or had sex outside of marriage. It wasn’t until I was 15 that I really became critical about social and political issues and started to read voraciously. I picked up a book called Quicksand: the truth about HIV/AIDS that caused me to really start to think more about this issue and educate myself. I soon picked up even more books from the library on this topic and realized that the only reason there was so much stigmatization around the issue was because it was related to sex. And sex, as we all know, is bad and wrong and dirty. (sarcasm, of course.)

I want to now educate others about this important issue, for those who face the same ignorant environment that I once did. Let them know that hanging out with someone that is HIV positive is not a bad person and that by doing so you CANNOT catch it. One of the most ludicrous myths about HIV out there is how you can contract it. Actually, it is very simple. You can get the disease in only four different ways: From sex or sexual activity, from breast milk, from blood, or from childbirth (that is, from the mother’s blood and vaginal secretions when the baby is being born, but precautions can be taken to prevent this). You can’t get it from sharing a toilet, you can’t get it from kissing, you can’t get it from sharing food or water.

I think that even from this simple fact alone a lot of negative attitudes about HIV can be dispelled. For example, those who are HIV positive are often shunned in society, a direct result of people believing they can contract it from them in everyday circumstance. If people knew the truth then those with the disease wouldn’t be treated so coldly. Also, this could lead to people being more open about sex in general. If they are more aware that everyday people are affected by this, they would be more willing to be open and accepting of others. This is exactly why I have written this article. I hope you have been affected in a positive way and have been inspired to share this message- HIV is just a disease. One that we can prevent with education and acceptance.

Source: http://www.avert.org/america.htm

For many people, holidays are not joy-filled or fun. They don’t feel like laughing, and they don’t even want to be around others. Instead, they fight depression, on a seasonal or even daily basis.

I’ve struggled with cyclical depression for years and have learned some tips that I use now whenever I feel a bout of depression coming on.

• Give yourself a limited time to rest/run away from others. I allow myself one day to lay in bed and hate everything about my life. Sometimes this is enough to help me start feeling better because I was overtired to begin with.

• Make sure you’re drinking enough WATER. It is easy to drink sodas, and coffee, and tea, and energy drinks, and that is fine. But your body also needs water, and if you don’t get enough fluids it can make you tired and help you to feel drained.

• Eat three meals a day. When I’m depressed, the last thing I want to do is eat, and I will often forget to eat. I have to force myself to eat three good meals and not just snack on sweets or salty items.

• Get outside for at least 10 minutes per day. There is something about the fresh air (and hopefully sunshine) that helps to pick me up.

• Listen to music that is upbeat and you enjoy. I like to put on something with a beat and try to make myself do a bit of oldies. Other times, when I need to rest, I like to listen to instrumental hymns and praise music, because they help me to calm down. Find something that works for you, whether it be music or movies or tv shows.

• Start a gratitude journal and list at least three things every day that you’re thankful for. Sometimes I’m just thankful that the day didn’t go worse than it did! But I find that having an “attitude of gratitude” really helps me to get my mind off myself, and it helps the depression to lift at least a little bit.

• Don’t pull away from others. This is probably the hardest thing for me to do – to reach out to people and say, “I need help”. I have friends who will contact me if we haven’t talked every week or two, because they know I have cyclical depression, and they want to make sure I’m ok. By being honest with them and sharing that I have this, they sometimes recognize the signs of an “attack of depression” and will reach out to me before I’m ready to work towards overcoming it.

Living with depression isn’t easy and you can’t always get over it with a few simple steps. Sometimes you need to add medication to your life, or receive help from a counselor.

I’ve learned that I can work my way through a depressive episode somewhat faster if I follow these steps.

Yeast infections are the bane of a woman’s existence. Anything can cause them. Getting rid of the infection is a nuisance and can put a damper on your sexual activity anywhere from a day to a week, depending on the severity.

Antibiotics are the first to be suspected of causing a vaginal yeast infection; too much sugar, bread, potatoes, and tight-fitting clothing are next in line. It’s a dark, moisture-laden place that doesn’t get a lot of fresh air unless you live on a nude beach or walk around buck-naked while you’re at home.

We all know the classic symptoms of a yeast infection: itchy, red, irritated vagina that begs to be scratched off into oblivion. And we know how to cure them: a simple at-home treatment with a vaginal suppository or a little pink pill from the doctor clears it right up.

But, have you ever heard of having a yeast infection on your skin? When I was first diagnosed, I was baffled. I’m clean. I don’t sweat a lot. I wash my clothing often and never wear anything that is damp or rain-soaked.

My doctor initially suggested that I was allergic to something, he didn’t know what, and we couldn’t find out because I have been uninsured for my entire adult life. Allergen tap tests are not cheap, and I would have to be tested for about thirty different, albeit common, allergens. To confirm his belief, he took a pen and ran it down the center of my upturned forearm. It turned bright pink and puffed up a little bit. He simply shrugged his shoulders and suggested I start eliminating things from my diet and daily regimen in order to determine what it was.

I stopped using detergents with perfumes and dyes. I went back to using Ivory bath soap because it is said to be so pure it floats. I stopped using lotions, body sprays and fabric softeners. Basically, everything that was fun, girly, or that smelled good went into the trash.

The infection got worse. I started itching like crazy around my neck and shoulders, and blooms of bacteria in the form of red, ragged circles appeared from the back of my shoulders to the tops of my breasts. I was mortified and self-conscious. Up until this point, I had perfect skin, and now I didn’t, and I couldn’t figure out what was causing it to save my life.

And my doctor sure as hell didn’t know either. He isn’t board certified in dermatology, but the man has been around long enough to know what’s what, and even he was baffled. No medical journal or text that he found could give information on what causes this, but they do know that once it happens the chance of recurrence is pretty high. He did prescribe a gel medication to apply every day, three times a day. It removed the symptoms but didn’t treat the source of the problem.

Right before the infection happened, I’d say about a month before, my doctor put me on a new birth control. It was one of the nine dollar a month generics that you can get from a couple of the big box pharmacies. I thought everything was perfectly fine. I didn’t have any mood swings, and I wasn’t having really bad cramps or anything like that. So, I never gave it a second thought. Neither did my doctor. The emotions and mood swings I was having were deemed situational, not because of the pill.

For two and a half years, I remained on the same script. I fought with the spots and did the gel treatment, and just gave up any hope that I would ever figure out what was causing the infection. I brought back all of my beloved beauty products and essentially said: fuck it. I resorted to putting makeup over the most glaring spots when I was going out in public and tried to wear outfits that would cover the majority of the discoloration. Thankfully, no one ever made leper-colony jokes or anything of that nature.

Then about a month ago, I found myself in a position where I had to cough up a little over five hundred dollars for a gynecologist visit or stop taking the pill. Unless that money fell out of the sky or grew on a tree outside of my window, going to the doctor wasn’t an option. It was an easy decision to make because my man and I are thinking of going the vasectomy route and had been discussing getting me off the pill anyway.

Within two weeks of being off the pill, my chest started to clear up. Within three weeks, the spots could hardly be seen, and now that we’re into week four, they’re completely gone. As are all of the itching and self-esteem issues I had.

Was it the pill? I am not a medical professional, but it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The problem started when I began that script, and the problem stopped when I ran out and it was no longer in my system. When I do the same pen test that my doctor performed on my arm, my skin does not turn bright pink, and it does not puff up like it did that day.

I am also a lot more relaxed and calm, whereas before my man described me as a ball of anxiety-riddled compulsive tendencies. I’ve gone through my first cycle after stopping the pill and my cramps are non-existent. The emotional fuckwittery is gone, i.e. crying at every commercial that gets close to tugging on my heartstrings.

And maybe allergic is too strong of a word, but I definitely see a huge improvement in my overall attitude, my skin and the severity of my period has significantly decreased. And I’m really inclined to believe it was the pill that caused all of my issues in the first place.

While my condition and reaction to the pill might be a fluke, there might also be a ton of women out there with similar issues. So ladies, if things don’t seem right, or there’s something that has changed since you began a hormonal birth control formula, it might be time to evaluate your method and see if you can’t find something that works better for you. My discovery was an accident, but I’m really glad it happened later than never.

A minor controversy ignited when President Obama nominated Regina Benjamin, who is slightly overweight, for Surgeon General back in 2009. This controversy illustrates a cardinal idea for healthcare reform, putting aside the politics of fat. Obesity costs the healthcare industry billions each year, but prejudice towards the overweight, and ignoring the dangers of being underweight compounds the damage.

The healthcare bill will likely fail to penalize those that engage in risky or unhealthy behavior, in contrast to many insurance programs. Most health insurance companies charge those seen as high risk factors with higher premiums. Smokers and the overweight take the brunt of this policy, which makes sense, to a point.

Being overweight can lead to a litany of problems, from diabetes, to heart disease, and countless pains of the body. These ailments would lead to higher healthcare costs and should thus be compensated through higher premiums. This is not a foolproof concept, however, and needs to be reformed.

To begin with, while the overweight pay more in premiums, not all health problems are caused by weight. For issues such as disease, accidents, and other ailments not related to being overweight, compensation needs to be provided. If being overweight isn’t the reason for a claim, why pay extra?

Deductibles for claims not related to being overweight should be significantly reduced in order to compensate. Regulations will be needed; otherwise the compensation could be rejected for reasons as absurd as “the car wouldn’t have hit her if she was thinner.” Such arguments sadly do occur, but are unique to the government and big business.

The concept of what constitutes a healthy weight needs to be reevaluated, as well. A study by the CDC suggests that being slightly overweight will reduce the risk of death, as opposed to being obese or underweight. That is why the criteria for judging optimal weight should be based on health, not societal norms.

Despite the underweight having a higher risk of death than those slightly overweight or normal weights, they do not pay a higher premium. Societal prejudice towards the overweight is a likely cause, as well as a disposition to think of thinner as healthier. This is not always the case, as lack of body fat can reduce resilience to diseases. The insured who severely deviate from their healthiest bodyweight should be penalized with higher premiums, the over and underweight.

Two 2003 journals from Obesity research suggest that doctors are prejudiced towards overweight patients, blaming their weight for any ailment. This prejudice adds to healthcare costs for two reasons. The first reason is because those who are overweight often postpone regular checkups because of poor treatment by doctors. This causes preventable diseases to fester and worsen.

The second reason is misdiagnosis. Skin rashes, car accident induced leg pain, and other problems are often blamed on a person’s weight. Such perfunctory analysis means the real source of a patient’s illness might not be diagnosed until much later. By then, her condition may have deteriorated, because of societal prejudice.

All pronouns that have been used so far have been she, this is not an accident. A report for the Rudd Center for Food Policy & Obesity shows that the aforementioned prejudices are more pronounced for women. Whereas a man won’t see a decline in the quality of treatment until he’s at least 65 pounds overweight, for a woman it’s only 13 pounds. Even accounting for gender related body differences; this is still a large gap.

The politics of fat have been sapping healthcare funds for too long now. Reforms need to be made to adequately address costs from being overweight, but also underweight. The concept of healthy weight should be based on how it impacts the body, not a knee-jerk belief that being a little overweight is automatically bad.  If prejudices towards the overweight continue, it’ll continue to drive up healthcare costs, and that means higher costs for everyone.

I was 20 years old and working in a cubicle, when I got a new cube neighbor. Her name? Dejah. It didn’t take me long to learn she was a stripper. And it took even less time for me to get intrigued, and lose interest in being trapped in a cubicle all day. So, my 20 year old body, with perky breasts, went on stage.

I remember my first dance like it was just yesterday. I had three songs. By the end of the first one, I had to be topless. By the end of the second, I had to by down to my g-string. I was walking around to get to the stage, and I heard it.

“Hey! A new girl! And she’s got meat on her. I like meat on a girl.”

I was 5 feet tall, and weighed 125 pounds. Not nearly as skinny as most of the girls there, but I felt good about myself. I certainly didn’t think I was fat. Or meaty, as the man had said. I climbed the stairs to the stage, and did my best not to trip and fall out of my 6 inch heels. I was nearing the end of the first song, and needed to be topless. I was wearing a short transparent robe that was only secured in the front by one button across my breasts. I reached down to undo it, and before I could chicken out, the button popped open. Was I really meaty?

About three weeks later, some of the girls had gathered up a dislike for me, for no other reason than the fact that I was the new girl, and I was getting noticed. I came in at the beginning of my shift, and the manager followed me into the back. She said “Rumor has it that you’re pregnant. Is that true?” I asked why anyone would say that. She said “They think you have a little belly on ya.” I held back tears, and said “No, I’m not pregnant.” As soon as she left the dressing room, I broke down in tears, and I had mascara all over my face when I had to go on stage. That was my last night. My stripping debut lasted almost a month.

Now, I have four kids, and I’m almost 30. I weigh 133 lbs, and I have stretch marks, a muffin top, forehead wrinkles, and some jiggle on my thighs. But I feel better about myself than I ever have. And I’m not going to lie and say I take care of my body by working out and eating right, or anything like that. Because I don’t, and I never have. And I probably never will. Because life is too short to do things that you don’t like, just so you can live up to some social standard of what beauty is.

In medieval times, they prized bigger, curvaceous women because it meant that they were wealthy, and didn’t have to do manual labor, or struggle to get enough to eat. And in today’s society, the size 8 that Marilyn Monroe wore would deem her a plus size model.  Marilyn Monroe… a plus size model. Wait… SIZE EIGHT… PLUS SIZE MODEL? In an article from the LA Times, written in 2009, it states that the average American woman is 162.9 lbs, and a size 14. In most stores, size 14 and up are in the plus size sections. So how is it that if the average size of a woman is 14, we have these ridiculously high standards about how we should look? And tell me how this adds up: At a healthy size 11, I’m too big to be a plus size model, but too small to actually buy plus size clothing.

My point? Societies standards are a crock of shit. Which is why it’s more important than ever for women to be in tune with themselves, and learn to have self confidence that isn’t affected by someone calling you ‘meaty’.

Eden Café recently ran a great piece about feminism and the problem with things like body policing . I loved this piece because it’s a subject I think and write about a lot. I am a queer-identified feminist, but I often struggle with feeling queer enough, or being told my lifestyle choices aren’t in line with someone’s particular concept of feminism. My personal theory about why some feminists systematically “call out” and one-up one another is because we long to directly “call out” the patriarchy, the media, rape culture, etc. and it’s not always safe for us to do. Activist communities may be the only place we feel empowered enough to speak honestly. But sometimes we take our frustrations out on each other in toxic ways, instead of learning to work with our differences, and recognizing that we’re all on the same team.

There’s a conversation I’ve seen played out over and over again. It goes like this: smart, empowered woman says “I don’t think I’m a feminist. I don’t like what that’s supposed to mean.” To which I reply, “All feminism means is that you believe in equality for all genders. Anything else is a personal agenda.” I’ve even had this conversation with my mom, who felt alienated from the second wave movement of the seventies as a wife and mother. If the term “humanist” wasn’t already tied up in discussions about humans vs. god, I’d say I’m a humanist. I believe all humans should have access to the same privileges, rights, and opportunities regardless of their gender.

So, the body hair thing. UGH. Wasn’t this dealt with in the 70’s? Haven’t we moved on to LEGITIMATELY IMPORTANT issues? Apparently not. In early October, I presented a paper (you can read more about it here) at the Moral Panics of Sexuality Conference, at Arizona State University in Phoenix, Arizona. I presented about feminist strategies for menstrual suppression (another loaded topic), on a panel about body panics, with Dr. Breanne Fahs, one of the conference’s organizers. Dr. Fahs presented a paper on body hair and heteropanic, which I believe she is also developing into a book. She spoke about how she asked her female students to grow out their body hair for 10 weeks, while male students were asked to shave theirs as an extra credit project for her women’s studies classes. I was a little put off by this assignment, because it did feel like body policing to me. And ironically, one of the most interesting people I met at this conference was one of Dr. Fah’s students who is a committed feminist, but chose to have laser body hair removal in the past, and therefore couldn’t participate in the project. I don’t think that makes her any less of a feminist.

However, once Dr. Fahs explained that in Arizona (and many other conservative areas, no doubt) body hair is a huge deal – participants in the experiment dealt with backlash from family, friends, partners, employers, and even strangers yelling homophobic slurs – I understood a little better why body hair politics matter to her. I’m used to living in urban areas where hairy female armpits are a non-issue, but in Phoenix, refusing to shave might cost a woman her job or her relationship. That’s a seriously depressing prospect in the 21st century.

Nonetheless, I don’t think that choosing to shave your pubic hair (or vajazzling it, or getting it waxed into a heart shape, or whatever you do with your lady parts) makes you a puppet of the patriarchy. Think of it this way: if you refuse to shave your body hair in direct defiance of the patriarchy, rather than considering your own preferences, you’re still letting the patriarchy run your life.

A little background: I started shaving my pubic hair almost as soon as I was able to grow it (in my early teens – I was a late bloomer in this regard). This was in the early 90’s, before Brazilian waxing was a requirement for porn. (This was the era of the “landing strip,” the pubic mohawk that served as an awkward era of transition between the carefully manicured pubes of the 80’s and the completely smooth aughties.) I was already shaving my armpits and legs, so I figured I might as well shave everything. I am a natural blonde with very little body hair to begin with, so I only need to shave once or twice a week to maintain. A friend described a full month’s growth of my armpit hair as her “five o’clock shadow.” So, I guess you could say I was an early adopter. I like how smooth and slippery it feels, and I’ve never had an impressive enough bush to want to grow it out and flaunt it.

(As an aside: I’ve always felt vaguely annoyed by people who eschew pubic shaving because it looks “childlike”. If you truly believe that an adult woman’s shaved vulva looks like a pre-pubescent child’s genitals, you are creepy as fuck. Okay, maybe that was a little judgmental, but so is telling me I am promoting pedophilia with my grooming habits. If you are a woman who believes this, I sure as hell hope you don’t shave your armpit hair either, because guess what – that’s technically pubic hair, and little kids don’t have that either!)

However, I recently decided to grow out my body hair for the first time in years (interestingly, I made this decision about a week before Dr. Fah’s presentation). Not as a feminist statement, because my body hair is not political issue for me. I decided to grow out my body hair as a grooming experiment, and see if I liked it. I got sick of my prickly legs in a week, and decided to keep shaving them, but I was surprised to discover that I kind of like having armpit hair and pubes. I am letting my pubic freak flag fly, and I enjoy feeling like a freakadelic hippy sex goddess. I know pubic hair is natural and shouldn’t be considered a “bohemian” novelty, but after years of shaving, it’s kind of neat to go au naturale just for fun. And I’ll probably go back to shaving at some point, but why should it matter either way?

I recently saw a picture on Fetlife of a lady with a luxurious bush dyed the color of red velvet cake, and it looked so delicious and delightful! My pubes are freakishly pale, so I decided that dyeing them might be a fun way to increase their “visibility”, so to speak. I had attempted this sort of experiment with blue manic panic as a teenager with mixed results, so I was excited to learn that you can now buy foolproof pubic hair dyeing kits on the internet! I can’t wait to have a neon pink bush! Masturbation guru, Betty Dodson, allegedly once told Tristan Taormino (and I paraphrase) that shaving is a great thing for women to do, because it means they’re spending time getting in touch with their vaginas, instead of living in fear of them. You don’t have to shave your pussy to show it love, nor do you have to dye your pubes hot pink. But you do have the right to groom your “lady garden” any way that makes you happy, without facing judgment from others.

dancing on the walls: You see it in commercials for feminine products of all shapes and sizes. A woman with long flowing hair and clothes–usually a twirly skirt–and limbs spin under godrays on some sort of wall. A natural stone one on the beach, or a cliff, or the crumbling wall of some old, forgotten village.

I always dreamed of wearing a dress where the skirt swirled as I danced on a wall. My partner would hold my hand as I danced and giggled and laughed, and then he would pull me into his arms and hold me close and kiss me. For years, this was one of my cherished fantasies of what it would be like to be pretty.

It finally came true. While my newlywed husband and I were visiting my dad, my stepsister helped me fix up my hair, and she did my makeup and then helped me get into a dress that was too big for her and a tiny bit snug for me – but I was able to wear it and make the skirt twirl. My excitement knew no bounds because I was finally pretty, and I was on my way to the church I’d grown up in with my husband. I knew I was gonna knock them dead.

I walked down the stairs and preened for my husband and dad and stepmom, twirling the skirt and having such fun. My dad smiled because he’d never seen me this way. However, my husband blew it when he answered my “Do you like it?” with a response of, “Um..its nice..but you’re a big girl and built like an ox, and that style doesn’t really look good on you.”

OUCH.

I ran back to the bedroom in tears while my father took my new husband aside and tried to explain to him about tact and women. To be honest, it really is a shame that my husband was brought up without being educated on the finer points of tact, and how you can be honest and yet not hurt someone.

“Built like an ox….built like an ox…” haunted me for the next 30 years. It looked like I would never have my dream of twirly skirts and feminine clothing because, as my husband put it, I had “broad shoulders and a full breast”.

For the next 10 years or so, I didn’t really care about what I wore. What did it matter if there was no way I could be pretty? Who wants to look at an ox wearing a lacy nightgown – know what I mean?

Then I started reading about seasons of color and studying what colors looked best on me. I started wearing the colors that made me look better, and while I didn’t twirl my skirts anymore, I at least felt a little bit good about what I was wearing. Until I went away to college, my mom had bought all of my clothes, and they were pretty much in her styles and colors. Now I understood why I hated fuschia and loved mustard and greens, and even peach in the summer. I decided that even if I couldn’t be pretty, I could at least wear colors that I liked. I also started shopping at Cato, because they had younger styles of clothes than what I had been wearing.

I still dreamed of twirling skirts and dancing on the walls and kicking my legs out, but couldn’t bring myself to that point yet.

A few years ago, though, I did start to wear those skirts, and I started learning about what styles of tops looked great on me. I may not be dancing on the walls, but I was loving the way I looked…somewhat. But then I’d look at my grandma-style underwear and bras and think, “I wish I could look pretty underneath too.”

I joined EdenFantasys website a few weeks ago, and thanks to the encouragement of another member, I finally got up the courage to do something I’d dreamed of for years. I ordered myself a red bustier corset set that included a g-string. Wow. I’d never done anything like that before. But I love red, and I wanted something that made me feel not only pretty, but sexy, even if I am a large woman.

The day it arrived, I tried it on anxiously, and when my husband saw it, he loved it, largely because he knew I liked it. As he rubbed his hands over me, and I felt the sensual material rub against my skin, I finally understood what had been missing for me all along.

I needed sexy things for me. It didn’t matter as much if my husband liked them as it did that I liked them. I needed the sensual feel, and I needed to be able to look in the mirror and see myself wearing a lacy bra and lacy underwear.

So I went shopping and added those things to my wardrobe, along with some pretty lingerie.

I feel like a totally different woman now. Why did it take me over 50 years to accept the fact that I could be pretty, even as a plus size gal? I have no idea.

But I have learned a valuable lesson from this. They say pretty is in the eyes of the beholder. While that may be true, I think it also needs to be in the heart of the one who is being seen. They have to accept the fact that they are pretty, despite any scars or size issues, and they need to find the things that make them feel pretty.

My husband has said for years that I was pretty to him because he loves my character and who I am inside, and that makes me beautiful to him. I am so glad for his faithfulness and his acceptance and love of me. But I had to reach the point where I could finally say to myself, “I feel pretty…oh so pretty.”  Sometimes I even dance around the room twirling my skirts as I sing it to myself – because I know it is true. I am pretty.