how it fits

This afternoon I was at Davies Symphony Hall, viewing a performance by organist Chelsea Chen. She was wearing an asymmetrical dress with only one shoulder strap. The organ is a big instrument, and requires a lot of movement to play: the lifting and pulling and crossing over of arms, the swinging of legs and tapping of feet. I thought of the small tests I run in fitting rooms, lifting my knees, sitting and standing repeatedly, trying to gauge whether a skirt or dress will be easy to bike in. I wonder what strange fitting room contortions professional organists go through, stretching and bending in tiny spaces, trying to see if the fabric will tear here or chafe there, before purchasing a dress for performance.

gentlemen ladies

Ok, so I know I talked about fashion earlier this month, but I have to bring it up again, because if I was made of money, I would buy so many clothes from Marimacho. (And hey, I'm not criticizing them for charging for their craft, their goods are high-quality and tailored. It's just out of my thrift-store based price range.) See if this promo copy doesn't make you drool: "Marimacho is a masculine clothing line for cis women and transmasculine bodies. We design in-house, manufacture locally and distribute our entire line via our website. Our primary focus is fit. We make classic masculine garments with narrower armholes and necklines, shorter sleeve lengths, more bust room, etc. In this way, we offer cis women, trans men and gender queer folks the same standards of fit and style available in mainstream menswear. Marimacho is dedicated to creating classic masculine fashion that empowers people of all genders." Check out their hot, hot shop, their fun and boi-filled blog, and spread the word to your dapper-dressing female-bodied friends.  

Also, isn't the couple who runs it absolutely the cutest? Geez.

naked people have little or no influence in society

I like clothes. I also hate injustice. So this is actually a big quandary. Even if you're not as mad crazy about cute dresses as I am, you probably wear clothes. And your clothes are probably made by exploited workers in third world countries. This is one of those things we all prefer not to think about, because what can you do, right? Right. I wish I had an easy answer. Obviously I don't, but I do have a few ideas.

For one, I'm happy to have learned about the existence of the Clean Clothes Campaign.  They focus on:

• Putting pressure on companies to take responsibility to ensure that their garments are produced in decent working conditions;
• Providing solidarity support in urgent cases of labour and human rights violations;
• Raising public awareness about working conditions in the garment and sportswear industry and mobilising consumers to push for change;
• Exploring legal possibilities and lobbying for legislation to promote good working conditions and to compel governments and companies to become ethical consumers.

 (kindly note the British English spelling). I am, however, a little depressed by two things: 1) they're active in 15 European countries, but no North American ones, and 2) they've been around since 1989, and well, here we are. That's not their fault, of course. It's a lot of people's faults. Yours, mine, and most especially various governments. Because it is still really hard to buy fair trade clothes.* (And why is it so much easier to buy fair trade coffee? If you know, please tell me) I want to buy a new bra, and I thought to myself, I wonder if I can buy a fair trade bra? The internet has only succeeded in showing me these four, none of which I'll buy. Ugh.

Another thing I love (although it doesn't solve my bra problem) is shopping at thrift stores. What a nice way to op-out of exploiting labor and also not be naked! In San Francisco, at least, you can dress yourself real nice, pretty much head-to-toe (at least outerwear) from thrift stores.

Finally, I want to point out the genuine and total awesomeness of women-owned co-ops. Poking around the internet just now to see what I could find that would be positive and inspiring and action-oriented, after getting all depressed (justifiably so!) over sweatshop labor, I came across Mata Traders. They have some super cute dresses, as well as jackets, jewelry, and more. Got a couple leagues up on Ideeli, that's for sure.


And if you're all like wait, what does this have to do with feminism? Well, let's see: Women are constantly being encouraged to adorn themselves and their attention is constantly directed away from the way they're participating in post-colonial oppression of women, men, and children in other parts of the world. I'll go ahead and chalk this up to a feminist issue.


(p.s. Know of an awesome anti-sweatshop movement or source of fair trade clothing that I'm ignoring? Super! Tell me all about it!)

*And I am not even going to start on American Apparel. Talk about a wasted opportunity to be awesome. That's all I'm going to say about them.
 

cringing

The extent to which I identify with Mad Men's Peggy Olson is at times so immense that I'm not entirely convinced it's wise to write about it. That being said, I suppose I better hurry up and mention that I've never gotten pregnant, or even been a secretary - no, it's more the awkward eagerness, the determination to fit in, to do and have it all, while at the same time being so obviously stamped a square. Nowadays, I find myself comfortable in the world and with myself, but this was not always the case. She makes me feel seventeen again, in all the wrong ways. I keep watching.

p.s. I want this dress.

an axiom from Annabel, or: I love my home

I was out running errands on Monday. On my way home, I stopped briefly at a yard sale and bought a gorgeous vintage cardigan which looks a lot like this except that I paid $5 for it. Came home in a sunny mood to find this going on:

jubilation from Margaret McCarthy on Vimeo.

I put down my bag, whipped up some guacamole, grabbed a bottle of wine and joined them. All-singing, all-dancing. Everything became an instrument. It went on for hours. In the words of my new housemate Annabel, violinist and children's orchestra instructor (seen at one point in the bottom right, scraping cups rhythmically and vigorously shaking her head): 'sing, dance, and play everyday.' What a motto. Of course, as I am more parts child than musician, I have a slightly different interpretation of the third stricture.

on to bigger and better things

This just in:
Obama to quit the presidency, become Armani model



Said the soon-to-be-ex-President, "I'm tired of Michelle getting all of the fashion press. I've got a unique sense of style, and I really don't feel that I'm given enough opportunity to express myself, clothing-wise, in my current job."

OMFG (O Mein Faschings Gott)

I think I have to admit to a certain naïveté in my expectations for Fasching. But unlike, say, the Oktoberfest, I had never heard of it before I came to Germany, and so in perfect honesty and wide-eyed wonder I did expect something like a folk festival. The idea of Fasching (so I have been told) is to "drive out the winter." Pagan stuff, merged in weird ways with Catholicism, so that all Faschings parties are supposed to end at the stroke of midnight; otherwise, Jesus turns everyone into a pumpkin for Lent.


So, on Faschingsdienstag (Shrove Tuesday), which is the final, maddest day of them all, I went to the Viktualienmarkt, reputed to be the hub of Faschings action. If the Oktoberfest was the ultimate expression of kitsch, then I think Fasching must be the transcendent embodiment of tackiness. Really loud, really trashy popped-up versions of unexpected songs attacked from all sides. It was snowing steadily, but everyone was there, drinking beer at noon under umbrellas. Most costumes were of the 5-things-that-don't-go-together-suddenly-together! variety. Neon was dominant. The next most popular costume was "Indians" in the style of Hollywood's Golden Age (of Ignorance and Cultural Appropriation). I also saw two men in blackface. (question mark, exclamation mark, question mark, shock). Then, unlike most of Munich, I went to work.

München mag dich indeed

Munich likes you is the city motto, but today, and it pains me deeply to say this, Munich - you've really let me down.

For most of the world's Catholics, today was officially Thursday of the Sixth Week of Ordinary Time, and they went about their Ordinary business. Not here in Munich. I was promised more. Today was Unsinniger Donnerstag - Nonsensical Thursday. This was no Ordinary Time! This was something special! And strange! The last Thursday before Fasching (Carnival), which of course is the final chance to indulge in gluttony, promiscuity, and generally wild and abandoned behaviour before things get serious with Lent.

How was such a day celebrated, I asked? How to inaugurate and usher in this long weekend of wantonness? In a simple way, I was told. The women cut off the men's ties. Beg pardon? Yes, you can take your scissors, and if you see a man wearing a tie, you can cut it off.

Snip, snip. I have to wonder how such a celebration came about. After all, it's not as though neckties as we know them have been a more or less ubiquitous bit of apparel the way say, shoes have. Although it's true that men do seem to have an inordinate fondness for tying bits of fabric around their necks; consider the cravat, the Ascot. Maybe they're trying to distract you from the fact that they don't have proper breasts (some kind of repressed and transmuted mammary envy?). But when the hearty Bavarian men used to stroll the streets of Munich with those lacy bits tied up under their chin in the 1600s, did the Mädels run about with their scissors, giggling and spilling out of their dirndls? Oddly kinky. So, the women use their scissors to cut off the men's long...ties. This has to be about castration, right? And how does all of this translate in modern Munich, city of BMWs and business people?

This was something I wanted to see. Maybe even participate in.

The first obstacle I encountered was the weather. With a high of 30 degrees Fahrenheit, the men I saw wore scarves tucked in to their heavy winter coats. Who could even tell if they were wearing a tie? Nonetheless, I strolled about, hands out of pockets to help maintain my balance on the icy sidewalk. I was confident. I was excited. I had been looking forward to today all week. I wanted to witness the Great Tie Snipping!

An hour and a half later, I had more or less given up. I had seen exactly one man wearing a tie, an exceedingly dapper looking chap. I'd briefly contemplated following him to see if anything was going to happen. I reminded myself that that was creepy, and refrained.

I bought some roasted almonds to help warm my reddened, freezing hands and went to work, where none of the men were wearing ties.

This has been, by far, the most disappointing holiday of my life.

I try and I try but I don't understand

I'm not sure why it is that cosmetic surgery which is in no way medically necessary is not considered malpractice. My assumption would be that it has something to do with profit, and perhaps lobbying groups. And of course in the background everyone is singing "America's a free country and people should be able to do whatever the hell they want," which is our real national anthem.

Why anyone would want such breasts is almost beyond me to imagine. But I'll try. Some mix of self-aggrandizement and insecurity, stirred with a generous measure of societal pressure and garnished with the tantalizing knowledge of inevitable and instant internet celebrity convinced this woman that this was what she wanted. More: that this was what she deserved. She had to leave the country to get it done, since the amount of silicone she's had implanted in her body exceeds the legal limit.

This woman is married and has children. Surely they're past breast-feeding age. Assuming the claims made on her website are true, why is a woman who can speak five languages wasting her time and money on 18 different plastic surgeries? I've wondered for some time whether girls who have always been very pretty are never encouraged to pursue anything intellectual, or to evaluate themselves based on any other criteria. To feel self-esteem for any reason other than people's response to your attractiveness. I don't know Sheyla Hershey. In her photo, she looks as though without all the surgery she might actually be cute. Too bad she has terrifyingly large, potentially life-threatening breasts that overwhelm my ability to notice much else about her (and she's five foot three! It's so wildly disproportionate!). Two bronze beach balls stuck to her chest. How will she ever buy a bra? Or a blouse? Or a dress? I bet she develops back problems.

I can't imagine what they feel like.

Eisstockschiessen!

Did I mention that I learned how to play this odd and fascinating Bavarian winter sport? It's some kind of cross between bacce ball and bowling. On ice. And the pieces you use look like giant Sorry! pieces. More importantly, old Bavarian men still wear those hats on a regular basis, to the bakery, to the post office, to buy the paper.

It was surprisingly fun. I want to go again! Who's with me?!