Impacting Journey » Me Fashionable?

Channeling my Inner Hawaiian Tropic Girl

eL. — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 15:03:00 +0000

Several months ago I wrote a blog called The Bikini Transformation. Here’s an excerpt:

In my heart, I’m a bikini girl. When I think of myself at the seashore, I’m always the Hawaiian Tropic model in the strings and seashells. Maybe not seashells, but you know what I’m talking about. In my fantasy, I’m lying on a towel soaking up the sun rays, spreading oil over toned muscle and beautifully bronzed skin. I play volleyball with my girlfriends and roll around getting dusted with sand.

Snap out of it. (Yeah, I’m talking to you!) Here’s the reality: I’ve had two kids and other than the occasional Mystic Tan, I’ve been “the white girl” all my life. I’ve got a decent figure, but I wouldn’t exactly describe it as toned and the only way I will ever be beautifully bronzed is if my freckles multiply and run together.

Fast forward to September.

With a complete mental breakdown ready to knock down my door any day, I decided to pack up my bags head to the sunny beaches of Florida with my friend Bridgett. She and I both deserved some serious R & R. The plan was simple: Corona, limes, sand and the sun. For one weekend, we were going to be completely selfish and satisfied and I was hell bent on looking good while doing it.

We all deserve to be just a little bit shallow from time to time, right?

I was determined to channel my inner Hawaiian Tropic girl, so I booked my first ever airbrush tan. Airbrush tanning is like “reality Photoshop”. The difference is that you have to do it with your arms up over your head, standing in front of a fan wearing only a hairnet.

The entire process took about a half an hour. The first fifteen minutes was spent in the (nearly) nude, arms out, and legs apart as an “artist” hosed me down with an ice cold mist that choked me like tear gas every time I attempted to breath. Wouldn’t you just love to have that girl’s job? I mean, that’s like right up there with being a bikini wax girl.

The second fifteen minutes was literally being “hung out to dry” in front of a fan. I couldn’t touch anything or look anywhere but straight ahead because OMG I could get creases! I quickly understood why the receptionist greeted me with a glass of champagne upon my arrival. Have you ever tried standing for 15 minutes with your arms out like you’re on a balance beam? I think I had a teacher in elementary school that would use that as punishment, but she may be in jail now (or should be if she’s not).

It’s a funny thing being one color when you wake up and a whole different color when you go to bed. And the tan would’ve been rockin’ if my feet didn’t look like this:

(No, those aren’t really MY feet, but they could’ve been.)

I solved the problem by just keeping my toes buried in the sand, which was part of the original plan anyway.

People can go to some crazy lengths to feel better in their own skin. For one day I got to be a slightly brassy Hawaiian Tropic bronze.

Anyone else out there made any desperate attempts at fleeting beauty? Any of them worth trying? I’m all ears! LOL

The Bikini Transformation

eL. — Wed, 14 May 2008 02:04:00 +0000

Today I bought a bikini.

OK… I bought half of a bikini.

If you’re a regular reader, you know that I’ve been looking for a bathing suit for quite some time now. This is one of life’s worst punishments in the world of being a woman. I’ve come to grips with the reality that I’m not going to find that one perfect swimsuit. I’m going to find something wrong with all of them because I always find something wrong with the ME that is in them.

In my heart, I’m a bikini girl. When I think of myself at the seashore, I’m always the Hot Tropic model in the strings and seashells. Maybe not seashells, but you know what I’m talking about. In my fantasy, I’m lying on a towel soaking up the sun rays, spreading oil over toned muscle and beautifully bronzed skin. I play volleyball with my girlfriends and roll around getting dusted with sand.

Snap out of it. (Yeah, I’m talking to you!) Here’s the reality. I’ve had two kids and other than the occasional Mystic Tan, I’ve been “the white girl” all my life. I’ve got a decent figure, but I wouldn’t exactly describe it as toned and the only way I will ever be beautifully bronzed is if my freckles multiply and run together. I’ve NEVER worn a bikini in front of another human being in my life, but I have a confession to make.

I want one really bad.

Many years ago when I was going through one of many life transformations, I looked like an extra from a Grateful Dead tribute video dressed in my bohemian skirt, ripped blue jeans and tank top. Everything I owned smelled like patchouli and pot. My wardrobe spoke loudly of the condition of my heart and the state of my life at the time. Needless to say, I was a mess on the inside and outside.

A “preachette” (female preacher) from London came to speak at the rehab center I was locked away in. As I listened to this refined woman speak I couldn’t help but admire her outfit. When I caught myself in the state of admiration, I was actually shocked and embarrassed of myself. This was the day that something changed inside of me. I don’t remember what the woman said, but I remember her navy slacks and jacket and how great I would look in them. I confessed this foreign daydream to my roommate who must’ve spilled the beans because on the day of the preachette’s departure, she presented me with a large box and in it was the suit. Four months later, I graduated from rehab wearing it.

Currently, I’m in another life transformation. Hopefully not AS drastic as the last, but pretty close. This time, I battle more of my demons. I battle feeling like a failure, like a bad mother and generally like I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not talented enough, not strong enough and not pretty enough.

This time, instead of a suit, it’s a bikini. I’m starting off small, so I just bought half. Yes, the store clerk cocked her head to the side in puzzlement, because really… who only buys only the top? Me.

Fake it till you make it, someone wise once told me. So I’m faking it. Until the day that I am ready to throw all my flaws out there for the world to gawk at, I will wear only half and it will look damn good under a tank top.

Bikini Marketing 101

eL. — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 00:48:00 +0000

I will admit that this blog has been spawned by a dreadful trip (dum dum dum) to a department store dressing room with an armload of bathing suits. I hate bathing suit shopping worse than I hate mornings… can I get an AMEN?

Let’s start with a little bit of history.

I am not, on most days, what I would deem as overweight. I am a pleasant size 4/6/8 depending on how smart the marketing team is in whatever store I find myself. I’m a decent height at 5’6 and tip the scales somewhere between 138 and 142. Not too bad. Most of the time this is just fine with me, except for in the TJ Maxx fitting room.

Clothing stores take note. I am going to give you some tips that I believe will drastically increase your sales during this time of the year. The economy is bad right? And I’m sure you need all the help you can get. So, get your copy and paste buttons ready for some advice.

Tip #1: LIE TO ME. And maybe in the grand scheme of things your dishonesty and my distorted body image will balance out. Did you know that a few years ago I purchased an $80 pair of Abercrombie khaki pants (on sale, mind you) simply because the tag said size 4? At the time I was probably a 10 and I KNEW that there was no way on God’s green Earth that I was a true size 4, but I proudly swiped my VISA (shh… don’t tell Dave) and WORE HOME the happy lying size 4 pants. I don’t even like khaki. Here’s the deal, my mental image of myself is much much worse than any realistic reflection is going to be. So, it’s really just cruel to be realistic with someone so irrational. If you can boost my self esteem by dropping the number attached to the waistband, I will be much more likely to buy your garment.

Tip #2: JUST SAY NO TO HALOGEN. There should be a constitutional amendment concerning the use of halogen lighting in any atmosphere. Don’t do it. Sure, it may give me a more accurate version of what my pasty white cellulite is going to look like reflecting against the water in the bright sunshine, but that’s NOT what I want to see while I’m cramming my butt cheeks into a bikini bottom. I won’t have a mirror standing on the sea shore. All I will have is the glowing memory of how lovely my silky smooth skin looked in the dimly lit dressing room while trying the suit on. What I choose to be oblivious to won’t hurt me.

Tip #3: THE MIRROR SHOULD MAKE ME HAPPY. Tilt the mirror. Good grief, tilt the mirror. There is no reason to have 19 different angles of myself all reflecting back the same sad image at 90 degrees. Do you know how slimming a mirror tilted back just a tad can make me feel? Again… it’s all about tip #1.

I’m going to the lake on Sunday with some friends. I have no interest in dressing to impress anyone, but today I still feel the need to pop another happy pill and wash it down with a half a serving of SlimFast. I will be wearing last year’s clearance suit and a cover up, thank you TJ Maxx.