I swear to god, I think some of the rich assholes I've come across in my life, would, if they were sentenced to die, end up requesting a bespoke chair like this. They wouldn't DARE touch another filthy heathen's death throne let alone sit in it without it being a brand name. The people I've seen come and go throughout my life have been so superficial that when I couldn't measure up to their spending habits, they judged me not for who I was as a person, but who I was when I got dolled up or knew the right people. As soon as my credit card got maxxed out, so did our friendship. I keep falling into the trap of meeting these people partly because on the outside I look a certain way, but also because of the profession I'm in. This is why I keep my distance from people. Because at the end of the day, these fuckers will die peacefully in the electric chair as long as their shackles have shiny brass LV hardware emblazoned on them. The worst part is, they aren't even deep enough to care that they are about to sizzle. They'll just be pleased as punch to be going out in style.

Dear Ethers,

 My pal, uber celeb shoe gal is having a party tomorrow night and English gent cannot come. He’s about 2 weeks behind on a project that he’s doing freelance work for in the UK and it’s due Monday.  He simply doesn’t have an hour, let alone an evening to spare.  I’m really nervous about going alone.  Shoe gal has on her guest list people like Angela Basset, Johnny Depp, Halle Berry (and hopefully her man….grrr), Annette Bening and Warren Beatty.  She also has a lot of Beverly Hills elite (blechh) and very chi-chi designers, business people and friends (hopefully the normal people) coming as well. 

I really like shoe gal.  She’s fun to hang out with—alone.  But when she is in her element amongst the rich and fabulous she acts her role and it makes me uncomfortable.  I also don’t know a single person going and feel like I’m going to be the poor schmuck who is unemployed, not wearing Cartier and living at home with her parents.  

I’ve felt like this a lot in my life.  I went to extremely expensive and elite private schools from 12-21.  The kids were all children of directors and actors, CEO’s of major companies or huge real estate guru’s, or people that were serious investment bankers.  I always hated becoming friends with them because even though by global standards I was doing pretty damned well financially, in their circle I was always the poor girl who could never keep up.  I was never able to go out for $15 drinks, take taxis, shop at Barney’s, give expensive gifts, buy the pricey make-up.  They made me feel insecure and embarrassed.  And to be honest, it really wasn’t my fault.  I was proud of myself for putting my foot down, not spending money I didn’t have and never pretending to be someone I wasn’t.  They were the jerks who couldn’t understand the concept that maybe there were some people who didn’t fly in their Concord lifestyle.  By then, they dropped me—I supposed it was a good thing because they probably weren’t nice enough people anyway.  But, it always hurt because the process in dumping me was humiliating. 

My shoe gal knows that I’m just a freelancer but I think she assumes I have money.  I wear very expensive handbags (all bought for 50% off when I worked as head of copy and content at a very exclusive department store in the UK).  I wear expensive clothes (again, either bought on sale and then again marked down with my discount, or through my clever eye at TJ Maxx, outlet malls, mega-sales and savvy shopping).  I don’t think I’ve bought anything full price in years.  I’m starting to get the problems I have with her that I’ve always had with the other rich friends I’ve acquired.  She wants to go out to eat to places where the bill comes to $120 because she ONLY drinks Champagne and sparkling wine.  She shops on Rodeo Drive (she lives about a block from there) and she never even looks at the price tags at Chanel (she has a personal shopper there who knows her by name and brings her, yes, her favorite bubbly while she tries on $5,000 puffer jackets). 

Here’s what you should know about her.  She is 43, so almost 14 years my senior.  She was first and orthopedic surgeon and then became one of the top shoe designers, at least in America.  She came to this country at 8, fleeing from war and speaking no English.  This woman is brilliant and has made the American dream happen for herself.  She is a successful businessperson and she has worked damned hard.  She should reap the benefits of this—I’m not taking that from her.  But, it’s just getting hard to keep up.  I don’t want to lose her as a friend.  But when she calls me up and says let’s meet for a drink, she’s not talking about the local pub.  She means The Four Season’s Hotel. 

I have NEVER allowed ANYONE to treat me as a charity case.  I’ve had these rich friends offer to pay for me and I have always said no.  There are two reasons why.  1: I never want to owe someone because then they feel that they own you in some way. 2: I feel it has to damage the relationship somehow because the friend might start feeling resentful that they are being used for their cash.  

I had a terrible incident happen to me in London.  I had an extremely rich girlfriend of mine who came to visit from the States and wanted to go to the Light Bar in London.  A drink there is 15quid.  She was staying with me and wanted to take a cab and I told her that it would cost 40quid and the tube was free.  She was really angry and offered to pay for the taxi.  I finally gave in but was really uncomfortable.  She then got us into the Light Bar and kept ordering us rounds (there were two other friends she knew from London there as well).  I said to her that I could not afford more than one drink, but she kept ordering anyway and told me she’d pay.  I was gutted and miserable the whole night.  When the bill came, it was almost 1000 pounds.  All 3 of them took out their credit cards and I was the only person who couldn’t pony up the cash.  My “friend” explained, in a stupid, drunken manner, that I didn’t have the money to afford the drinks and could the three of them cover me?  I was devastated.  I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the next day and thank goodness that evening she flew home.  She and I speak on occasion, but the friendship really died on that night.  I swore NEVER to let that happen again. 

The problem with the business I’m in is that I’m either interacting with people who have large expense accounts or who are very wealthy.  I don’t actually hang out with fellow journalists all that often.  It’s not easy NOT having the green.  I want to be friends with my shoe gal, but I don’t want to have the talk with her that I’ve had with so many that has made me turn crimson—that I just can’t afford to go out with her.  

Again, the irony is that I come from a well-off family, and I would certainly not be considered poor.  But to these people, I am broke.  A hindrance.  So, I’ll go to this shoe gal’s party, put on a big, smiley face and pretend that all is hunky-dory in my life.  But inside, my heart is thumping and all I’ll want to do is get the fuck out of there.  Can you now understand why I don’t want to be broke with English gent and why I want so badly to be a success in a career and make money so that I’m not embarrassed anymore?  I know I should be confidant in myself regardless of what others think—but realistically, the world doesn’t work that way.  You’ve got to be able to pay the bills, not matter how lovely a disposition you have or how happy or in love you are.  I NEVER want to be someone’s charity case or anyone’s poor relation.

I’ll give you guys the details about the party as soon as………..

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Sigh....the naked dressing room....an open area filled with women with all types of figures. For me, there is always the slow, uncertain unzipping of clothing for inevitably all to see. But I have to admit: For me, there is nothing more beautiful than a naked woman. It's the women who are flawed that I turn my eyes away from. And I am so scared that women might view me as flawed if I am not picture perfect. Is that why I choose a dressing room instead of remaining in the open "pen" unlike the other women who seem to not give their bodies a second thought in the naked dressing room? Read on and let me know what you think. Does one have to be picture perfect to be approved for public nudity? And for you gentleman, I've thrown you a bone (no pun intended) and included some damn sexy photos for you as a reward for being such patient Ethers

Dear Ethers, 

Have you ever been to a naked dressing room?  You know the ones—they are simply a room with a bunch of mirrors, some hooks (if you’re lucky) and a bunch of women in different stages of trying on clothes.  I dread these changing areas.  I always have.  They usually exist in discount clothing stores or warehouse sales.  I always come prepared wearing a nice pair of underwear and a decent bra, but it really takes the fun out of shopping.  

It’s really funny to see some of the different personalities of the women in these veritable pig-pens.  You get the shy ones who take their bras off under their shirts, slipping the lingerie through their sleeve.  You get the enormously fat women with cellulite you only have seen on the Discovery Channel wearing dainty thongs acting as if they were a diminutive size 2.  You get the 20 year old student types with great breasts that you wish you had and then you get the grandmas who might have once had those stellar knockers but now they are pancakes that hang to their waists.  

I think the same rules somewhat apply in the open dressing room as they do with men’s urinals.  You’re not supposed to look.  But I know as a woman I have this urge to compare myself to others and it is so rare to see real women nude so I can’t help but sneak a peek and see what’s really going on underneath clothes.  I am always so surprised at who is ashamed of their body and who could give a rat’s ass.  Funny enough, it’s the girls with the awesome figures who show shame and inhibition while the women with serious weight issues, scarring and bad shapes seem to show the world what they’ve got.  Why is this?  

I envy these uninhibited women because I’ve spent my whole life being ashamed of my body and covering up, worried that my thighs might be slightly wobbly or my bum not toned.  I wonder if you are closer to perfection if you worry more about the little things while if you are so far from perfection, you just feel there is so much to deal with you say, “Fuck it.”  

There are other reasons I hate naked dressing rooms.  I feel modest.  I’m not a huge fan of nudity, even if I did have Giselle Bundchen’s figure.  I’m okay with other people seeing me in my underwear, I figure it really isn’t different than a bikini.  But naked—nope.  I think that’s way too intimate.  Call me prude, but I don’t even change in front of friends.  I mean, I’ve had friends shower in front of me, use the bathroom while I’m brushing my teeth—frankly, it makes me uncomfortable.  So, do I have a stick up my ass?  I’m sure even in the olden days women changed in front of each other and helped one another get dressed.  So why am I a 21^st century girl with a Victorian sentiment about nudity?  

And here’s the really odd thing, and you can probably get a hint of this from the pictures I chose for my post: I love seeing beautiful women posed nude.  I love artsy photos of women with incredible bodies shot gracefully or artistically.  I envy their physiques and look at the twists and turns of their body structures as a phenomenon of genetics and of humanity.  There have been women that I have seen photographed that have had such perfect forms that staring at them has made my heart skip a beat because it amazes me that someone like that exists.  I know many of you are nodding your heads and asking yourself how a girl in the magazine industry can say these things when she knows Photoshop exists.  But I also know how MUCH you can Photoshop something and I’ve also been to many shoots and seen these women in the flesh.  These goddesses are often the real deal.  We have one shot at life and some of us are blessed and given a body like a Victoria’s Secret model and some of us are 5’1, dumpy and given a really bad set of boobs.  I guess beautiful women, to me, are like an anomaly.  Just the luck of the draw.  I suppose it would have been amazing to have had a taste of what it would have been like to have been a siren in this lifetime.  But the truth IS the naked dressing room.  It’s the majority and I guess it’s where I feel ashamed.  It’s the realization that I’m normal.  And so are the rest of the gals in the room.  And though there is nothing wrong with normal, unless you are extraordinary, I’m not a believer in showing the world everything you’ve got. 

Recently a store that I go to that has a naked dressing “pen” installed 3 private changing rooms.  Whenever I go, they are always full and there is a queue to get one. 

I guess I’m not the only modest girl who’s paying homage to Queen Vic’s protocol.

Dedicatedly yours,

 —One of 365

And may I present the women I would paste to my dorm wall if I was still in college!