Only an artist's rendering--but how wonderful if it could be true.....The Fountain Of Youth.

Dear Ether,

“24 is my age limit for girls.  And truthfully, that’s even a bit old.”  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from my 20 year old cousin.  A girl my age was too damned old for him.  I had actually hit an age where I was considered a grandma to boys.  Look, the truth is, I wouldn’t want to date someone 20 (unless he was a Vanderbilt and BUILT) but I had never thought that I was excluded because I had a few smile lines and could legally drink.  In fact, I thought it would be a bonus that I could buy booze!

As you all know I’m not looking to date a poor student–and lord knows I’m NOT looking to date my bloody cousin.  But I’m freaked out about aging.  Hearing these words was just another slap in the face that there is no fountain of youth and that I’m not getting any younger.  There’s going to be a point where I’m going to be too old to wear certain clothes and hairstyles.  Shit.  Will I be too old to turn up Jay-Z full blast in my car also?

So, I have to accept that 20 year old boys look at me and think I’m a old broad rather than a hot tamale.  That’s tough to stomach.  I feel like I was in University and 21 not too long ago.  I felt like I could have anything and be anyone and now things are closing up for me.  Options are becoming more limited.  Many of you will think this post  is really immature and that I’m pouting about something trite.  But for me, this is like seeing a first gray hair (thank god that hasn’t happened yet).

I never thought I would ever be this age.  I never thought I would be strapped down in a relationship filled with problems.  I never thought I’d be saying good-bye to my twenties.  Truthfully, I thought I’d die my my twenties.  I really did.  Don’t ask why I thought this.  I just always had this premonition that I wasn’t meant to live past a certain point in my life.  Screw premonitions, huh?  (That sounds terrible–like I wish I was dead.  Please don’t misconstrue…)

I know most of you reading this would think the thought disgusting, but it makes me sad that I’ll never be able to kiss a teenager again or experience college love for the first time once more.  And you know what’s weird?  Movie stars from the film “Twilight” are the new generation of cool and desired and that “hotties” of my era are celebrating their 40th birthdays.   Robert Pattinson is too young for me, and yet, when I see him on the big screen, I find him quite attractive.  How odd. How odd that I am no longer able to have these crushes realistically (well, I was never going to snag a movie star—but you get my drift).

I cannot change my birth certificate.  I cannot change my experience.  And you know, a huge chunk of me still feels the same way as many 20 year olds.  But it’s off limits.  Very weird.  Very weird indeed.  I know you can’t change time, but I sure wish I had appreciated being young.  And I know many of you will think that I am ruminating on something stupid and repeating the same mistake that I wish I hadn’t done when I was 19.  But, I guess we can only live and feel in the now.  And right now I’ve never felt older.

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!

A woman scorned...tsk tsk. But there is a first for everything. And my short, little tale will tell you the time that I SHOULD have looked more like the girl in this picture, but in my timid youth I allowed myself to be stood upon. No longer. My big mouth might get me into trouble sometimes. And things may be rocky with English gent. But every day I aim to NOT be a woman scorned ever again (fuck you Mr. X).

Dear Ethers,

When I was in College in the States (which I HATED and subsequently made me move to England) I was invited to a dance.  I was really young when I think about it now.  I had just turned 18, I had never had a boyfriend.  I mean, this was BIG.  The school I went to was old for American standards, being from the early 1800’s (it even had a slave tunnel that ran underneath it for underground escapees!) and it was done up in a beautiful gothic style.  Trust me, it was THE ONLY endearing thing about the place.  The dance was black tie and was to take place in one of the old halls that had probably seen balls and banquets where ladies and gents had gotten their tails and hoop skirts out before there was TV, an iPod or the Polio vaccine.  

I wasn’t particularly keen on the boy who asked me.  He was about 2 years my senior and I barely knew him.  He was the older brother of a girl who was in my dorm and since I really was very inexperienced with guys, I felt very anxious.  But, I was committed to the fact that this was part of what college was about and I had to go for it.  I’ve always had a very slim frame and a nice height, especially in heels.  I probably weighed about 110lbs and in my lovely red Betsey Johnson wedges (very 1940’s, Rita Hayworth) I was about 5’9.  I wore a black strapless LBD.  I had gone and had my hair done and went to Stila for my face to be made up.  I really went all out.  For a girl who had never had her dance card even penciled in, I felt it might be a full night with names marked in lead on my sheet. 

The arrangement was to meet outside of the Dance Hall at 8pm.  This was before cell phones were really popular so neither of us had one.  Lickety-split, I sprayed some special perfume my mom gave me, gave a last look in the mirror, took a deep inhale, and walked alone to see him.  I could see girls were looking at me and other guys were admiring me.  It made me feel shy.  Again, I hadn’t yet embraced being an adult yet and many of these kids were from Manhattan or Seniors in college and had come into their own—I felt like a kid.

8:15.  8:30. 9pm.

He never showed.  

I stood outside watching other couples happily enter the building where you needed a ticket to get in (he was in possession of those). I heard the music playing from inside and the loud chatting over it.  Glasses clinking.  Why did I wait a full hour? 

I had a red pashmina that I wrapped around my shoulders and walked home humiliated.  I didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the dorms because I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened.  Nowadays, oh, if I could step back into that One of 365 body and tell her what to do, that night would be SO different, but Ethers, I was crushed. 

I remember staring in the mirror at my beautifully made up face and seeing my eyes well with tears and thinking, “What a shame, my make-up will be ruined.”  But then I realized there was no occasion for it to look nice.  I slowly unzipped my dress, sat on my bed and undid the ankle-straps on my shoes.  I took the pins out of my hair, each wound up piece unraveling onto my shoulders.  I could have called home that night or spoke to a friend, but I think this was a right of passage for me.  Being stood up.  No one could console me anyway from 3,000 miles away. 

I got into bed and thought of those couples still in that old Hall dancing away.  I wondered why he didn’t show or leave a note?  Door locked, side light table on, I picked up a book and read until drowsiness stole me away and my alarm woke me for classes.  I wasn’t very popular so no one really asked how it went.  But then I saw him (it was a VERY small school).  I sort of cocked my head in wonderment with a quizzical look on my face.  He was sitting in the café with a group of friends.  I know he saw me, and he chose to ignore me. And I didn’t even know what I did wrong.  And to my dying day, I’ll NEVER know.

It was the first time in my life that a boy had hurt me.  And though he really had no deep meaning because I didn’t care about HIM, per se, it was the feeling of being jilted by the opposite sex.  We all remember our first kiss, our first “time,” our wedding and so on.   But do we all remember the first time we got stood-up?  I still have those Betsey Johnson wedges and still wear that strapless LBD.  And you know what, another guy eventually came and dipped me and put his hand on the small of my back in that outfit and I DID get my dance.  It all worked out in the end.  But I do wonder………..what WAS that boy thinking leaving an 18 year old girl standing out in the cold on that October evening?  And, 10+ years later, I wonder, has he ever thought about me?  Funny how someone can be an influence on your life, but you can make no impact on theirs.  And do you know what’s even crazier?  Even though it’s been a decade, I can still close my eyes and see myself in that mirror with fewer lines on my forehead, features less sharp—and yes—still a virgin (oh boy, sooner or later I suppose I’ll have to reveal that tale to you guys–I mean, do you even want to hear it?) thinking that 30 seemed dreadfully old.  And hearing my now 93-year old grandmother say, “It all goes by in a flash.”  My god, what a simple memory can conjure.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Dear Ether,

I’m the type of girl who normally just throws her hair in a loose bun and runs out of the house, long strands flying loose in my wake.  Often people are surprised when I unravel my tresses and see that I have extremely long locks.  “You look so much better with it down!”  Sigh.  I know I do, Ethers, but I’m lazy.  I just can’t be asked to try with my hair.  Such effort!  But after looking at hair trends this season, I’m going to get my act together and ban the bun!  It’s all about fun and creativity and I can’t wait to make the most of my mane!

Look at the turquoise and metal meshed together in this spectacular head piece from Dolce & Gabbana. It just livens up a simple center part and makes an incredible statement. No need for any jewelry with this on your head!

Embellishments for the hair, whether long or short, are in style and I am so excited about the variety of goodies out on the market.  There’s everything from ribbons made from luxurious fabrics to be tied in oversized bows to thick headbands with exotic and colorful feathers.  And I’m in love with clips bejeweled in an eye-catching array of sparkles so your hair appears as precious as if adorned with real gemstones.

This is so perfect for the "Russian Revolution" look that is on the runways of Chanel. I love the stones and the different fabrics like satin and grosgrain. This will liven up any dead-do.

This trend is a real blast from the past.  In the 1920’s flappers wore fantastic headpieces that dangled and danced as fast as they did the Charleston. In the Victorian era, women wore jet, tortoiseshell, and ivory hair combs that had spectacular carvings that fanned out in their elegant coifs.  Oh, and we mustn’t forget the days of Marie Antoinette!  What wonderful creations she fashioned for the times.  She even wore a sailboat as an adornment in her hair!

We always talk about fly-away hair. Ms. Antoinette had "sail-away" hair. Amazing!

A beautiful tortoiseshell Victorian hair comb. This one is in a fan shape. If you can get your hands on one of these in a antiques shop it would be your "crowning" achievement.

At Givenchy, models were wearing hair stick-straight with stiff-ribbon Alice-Bands in the mid-section of their heads. Severe, yet chic.  Dolce & Gabbana had luxurious turquoise gems and metal bauble headbands tied with satin ribbon onto a center part. Their hair was done up in an intricate bun in the back.  The show “Gossip Girl” has been making use of the head band with its good girl/bad girl character Blair.  She wears the most fab pieces and  many of them have gone missing (wink) after a days shoot.  Even celebs are getting in on the action.  Nicole Ritchie has been sporting the happening-hippie hair look with her self-designed “House of Harlow” chain band that conjures a Cleopatra-esque feel to it.  Mischa Barton has just come out with her own line of halo-like bands and girls like Ashlee Simpson-Wentz and Lily Allen have been tweaking their tresses as well.

Here's our girl Ms. Ritchie sporting her signature golden band that uniquely drapes around her beautifully tousled hair. I love the Boho-Chic aspect of her look.

WOWZA! Look at the selection Mischa Barton has created for her new collection! These really remind me of the roaring 20's!

"Gossip Girl" was always a-HEAD of the game when it came to adornments for the hair. Look at this array! Jealous?

I personally love the dressy version of the look.  I think it’s great to do the hippie, braided style for a casual day out, but what I think is so special about this trend is that it dresses up your hair and makes it unique.  You don’t always have to be  big and over-the-top with a black-tie look.  A little Swarovski clip in your hair is understated and elegant.  An embellished hair-tie is a perfect touch or even just tying a funky patterned bow in a half part through your hair instead of leaving it down gives it that extra zip.

If any of you are thinking, “This is a look that is too young for me,” you’re wrong!  Any gal at any age can wear her hair up in a chignon with a beautiful comb in an elegant design.  It adds to the beauty of your style, and it is certainly not too immature.  In fact, it’s a classic.  Another lovely look for a more mature woman would be a low clip holding the hair with some beautiful stones attached.  Designer hair baubles are a great way to go if you want a bit of trendiness with just a touch of bling.

This signature Chanel camelia hair comb is classic. It's perfect for any age and is timeless and versatile.

So whether you go a la Marie Antoinette and really go for a “hair-raising” experience or more subtle like old Queen Vic and keep it cool and collected, treat yourself to a little bit of sass this season.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365