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!

I've collapsed. I'm like a girl in a squat who just sleeps all day-- a faded beauty surrounded by things that might have once been grand. I was once useful and now I am just a drain. BUT I will wake up one day and my greatest fear is that I will be alone. I'm sorry I've turned into the girl in the picture. But I believe what was once beautiful can be salvaged again with belief and hope. Am I right, Ethers?

Dear Ethers, 

I know I was supposed to share my Valentino catwalk show with you today, but I wanted to hold off and address something that has been causing me great anxiety.  

My blog has been very negative and depressing lately.  I don’t know what to do about it.  I’m afraid what I write is redundant and dreary.  I fear it’s become a broken record.  I’m even bored hearing about my saga with English gent and Los Angeles and my woes about my career.  But I pose the question: if this blog is supposed to be real and honest—and about my daily thoughts—then what am I supposed to do?  

Maybe it was a foolish challenge to write every day.  I mean, others do it, but often they have jobs where they have fresh material that they can bring to the table everyday.  Me?  I’m just a normal person—and who really wants to read about someone else’s “normal” when they have their own B.S. to deal with daily?  

When I started One of 365 I wanted to be everything to everyone.  I wanted to be a shoulder to lean on, a smile for someone, a big laugh, a brilliant insight, a fashion guru, a beauty aficionado—I wanted to be the girl that would have impressed Mr. X and everyone else out there in the world.  I wanted to write my little heart out and have everyone relate to me in someway because I felt that I could connect the human spirit whether you lived in Uganda or the USA.  I loved to write and had so much to say and felt blogging was a dream opportunity. 

I feel like I’ve failed.  For about 2 weeks I’ve wanted to throw in the towel.  Erase One of 365 from the blogosphere, delete my e-mail address and my Twitter account and do what I feared most—-fade into the ether.  I felt like an arthritic 90 year old every time I sat at my keyboard writing.  It felt painful to type, to search for images, to feel anything.  I’ve been rubbish at responding to comments (which is my FAVORITE thing about my blog), writing to other blogs I’m a fan of (sorry guys) and Tweeting (which I also adore because of the live and clever banter).  

On the 29^th I will be a quarter of the way through my 365 days. I’ve come a long way, but still have a hell of a long journey ahead.  I know sometimes we hit potholes in life and since my blog is really reflective of my life, can you understand that I’m in a deep pothole–a deep, scary pothole?  I mean, I hope that the 4 wheel drive will kick in and I’ll get out of this and those of you who will have stuck with me will be able to see this dark cloud’s silver lining shine again.  Look, I can’t go on much longer like this either, so if you think reading about this everyday is crummy, imagine living it…. 

My point is, this blog is a journey——and I made no promises that it was ever going to be a smooth ride.  To put it crassly: things suck right now.  But even though it often takes all my strength to sit down and write this and face my feelings, I sometime don’t know what I’d do without this site.  

Will you take my word on something Ethers?  I’m really a nice person who is in a pinch right now.  I’m loving, but desperate.  Hopeful, but crushed.  Amidst people, but lonesome.  And don’t let this scare you, but sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up.  But I can’t imagine life without me in it. God knows how, but I get up with my heart in my mouth and I manage to tick each day off the calendar hoping that maybe tomorrow will be the day that the 4 wheel drive kicks in.  

I’m only 29.  But my god, I’m fucking 29.  Can you understand that sentiment?  Amelia Burr said “Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.”  I do not feel that way at all.  My dying wish is to have that inscribed on my gravestone.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365