Camel

The other day I made a trip over to Cognac to have brunch with a dear friend. Wanting to enjoy the unseasonably balmy weather, I waited outside and indulged in a bit of people-watching. Since the restaurant is as midtown as one could possibly get, there was an interesting mix of people. There were folks leaving the matinee showing of Shrek the Musical, looking up at the lights of Times Square with mouths agape, or heading up to Central Park in a hansom cab.

All of these people seemed like your everyday, run-of-the-mill, standard warm bodies roaming the streets at midday in midtown. But there was one who stuck out, I mean really stuck out. This young lady...and I use that term with a great deal of circumscription...in any case, this young lady was walking down the street in black leggings. No major calamity there. Who among us does not own a pair of black leggings? Let he who is without sin and black leggings cast the first stone. It wasn't that she showed up in black leggings, it's what the black leggings were showing. Her reproductive organs were there for the world to see. Everything! It's not as if these leggings were super tight, they were just thin and reflective.

Some of you are asking, "Style Therapist, why were you even looking?" Why was I looking? It's like asking someone not to look at Octomom's belly during her third trimester. The young woman's anatomy was THERE. She was just bopping down the street in her sunglasses and Urban Outfitters scarf, impervious to what was going on below her southern hemisphere. The fact that the fabric was shiny was not helping matters either.

My beautiful people, the moral of the story is to check and re-check your bits and pieces before you leave the house. Sure, some people enjoy exposing the imprint of their biology and others enjoy looking. These people are called perverts and you certainly don't want to be associated with them. Or do you?

This Little Piggy Went to Market, This Little Piggy is...Fake!

When I was in secondary school, I used to ride the bus with a grade-schooler named Jennifer. No, it wasn't the special "short" bus with the tinted windows. I attended a private school that had grades Pre-K through 12. In any case, Jennifer's people, be they her mother or older sisters, always made sure she was finely turned out. While kids in the upper grades had to wear truly appalling polyester numbers, the elementary girls had a navy jumper made out of natural fibers. Jennifer never had a hair out of place and her saddle oxfords were always well-buffed and shined.

One afternoon, during the ride home, she volunteered that she had prosthetic toes on her right foot. Of course no one believed her. She didn't look like she had fake toes...whatever that meant. Once she realized our incredulity, she propped her leg up on the bus seat and removed her saddle oxfords, then her socks...then whipped off her toes. Everyone's mouth had enough room for a swarm of flies to swoop right in. Jennifer was quite matter-of-fact about the whole matter; she'd spent her entire life with her fake toes. She said there'd been some freak accident during her delivery or it was a birth defect. I can't remember, as it's been 15 years.

The thing that impressed me the most about Jennifer (and her people) is that the prosthetic toes were painted in a beautiful ruby red enamel. Her fake toes were perfect. Of course they were. They don't manufacture faux toes with bunions and corns. She and her people understood the importance of a polished appearance, regardless of her circumstances. To put it in the punniest of terms: Jennifer put her best foot forward.

This was also the case when I interviewed for my first job out of university. It was at a prestigious publishing house and I wanted it desperately. The human resources manager who interviewed me was a lovely Blonde woman with a quiet disposition. As I recall, she had a Veronica Lake curve to her hair. When I looked down at her fingers, I noticed that all 10 weren't there. I tried not to appear obvious about it, but often inconspicuousness only leads to the opposite.

She, too, subscribed to Jennifer's school of thought. Some fingers had barely a nail. I'm talking the most modicum of matter; a scrap of a nail! But if she had a nail, there was polish. Again, that lovely ruby red color. Jennifer and the HR manager didn't opt for subtle French colors or shiny clear. Their nails made a statement.

While not everyone may be a fan of Ms. Heather Mills, it must be noted that she doesn't permit her lack of a leg to stop her either. She bops around in opened-toe pumps and sandals, proudly, in ruby red nail enamel.

My message is that there's never an excuse not to present one's best self. People with no appendages are walking around looking sharp. There's no reason why the rest of us should parade around in sloppy university sweatshirts and sneaker slides. In this new era of change, let's upgrade our personal style, too.

Jennifer should be around 25 now. There's no doubt that she's stepping out in her Loubous, leaving common girls (with all 10 of their real toes) in her dust.

The First Family (click pic)

The Muffintopitis Pandemic!

In the August 28, 2005 edition of the New York Times, William Safire described the muffin top as "the roll of excess flesh spilling out primarily in front but possibly all around." At some point within the past 10-15 years, slovenly sloppiness became commonplace. I'm not sure if the blame lies with the grunge movement, business casual, or more form fitting clothing on pregnant women.

I didn't start noticing this proclivity for untidiness until Hollywood moms-to-be started showing off their bumps. While I'm not a proponent for any kind of belly-baring (whether it's six-pack abs or layers and layers of rolls), an expectant mother gets more of a pass. Frankly anyone else exposing their gut shares the physical aesthetics of an abusive drunkard. Wife-beater anyone? Pasty-haired paunchy potbelly in a stretched out ribbed white undershirt with beer stains down the middle. That's the mental image the ubiquitous muffin top evokes.

I remain under the impression that no self-respecting woman would leave her house with her gut spilling out over her low rise jeans. Low rise jeans. Yes! They contributed to this dreadful mess of a movement as well. At the turn of this century the incomparable Sisqo bellowed "Let me see that thong!" So the young women of America obliged. Showing off their tail whale tattoos and vibrantly colored g-strings, it seemed as if ladylike behavior had gone the way of the VHS tape. Only old farts still believed in it.

Girls bought copious amounts of hip huggers in every rinse available. Britney was their patron saint. At the time she had abs of steel was able to rock the look. Tarty, but not exactly unkempt. Nothing jiggled and bits and pieces remained in their place. Then one day either the jeans shrunk in the wash or women started putting on a few LBs. Either way, they continued wearing them as if nothing had happened. How an appendix has never ruptured is a miracle. Around 2002, UGGs, the muffin top of footwear, gained momentum. Somehow a gut spilling over a waistline corresponded well with the wooly stuff at the top of the boot. Picture a volcanic eruption at Mount Etna. Add a cropped, velour zip up and a look was born. And it refuses to die!

I'm perplexed as to why the loved ones of these girls and women haven't staged interventions. Luckily, none of my friends are guilty of this most egregious of sartorial offenses. Like most of my mates, my weight fluctuates in my midsection. Depending on the time of the month or if I've had an extra hearty brunch, my tummy can expand significantly. But if I wear anything remotely close to a low-rise, I take the precautionary measures: a blazer, cardigan, or loose fitting top. When I say loose fitting, I don't mean something that will create gratuitous volume. I mean just enough to conceal that additional order of roasted potatoes.

If you (or someone you know) suffer from muffintopitis, it's not too late to seek help. Simply discard any jeans, trousers, or skirts that don't fit and allow yourself to look marvelous in clothing that's your size! If you need professional help, go to the Stanton + Williams Style Therapy website (www.swstyletherapy.com) and make an appointment. Do not mistake pride in appearance for vanity. It's self-preservation. Your appendix, large intestine, small intestine, spleen, and pancreas thank you in advance.