rm | sundries

Last night, I think I had vertigo in my sleep or something. I woke up (from a dream about Inception because er somehow (i.e., I got asked on Twitter) I'm cosplaying Arthur for a photoshoot at Gally) at about 3am, over-heated, itchy, and feeling like I was going to throw up. It got a little better when I took the eye-mask off, and much worse when I put it back on. It was weird, and sort of frightening, and the room was a bit spinny. Eventually, I fell back to sleep and feel fine this morning. What the fuck? And yeah, "use it in fiction," I know.

Right, so, Arthur. Mostly because I can phone that in. Own the clothes, more or less, don't have to fret about my slight build and angular face. It'll rock. Although, I'll tell you the truth, it's Eames's ridiculous wardrobe I love the most, but as much as I could actually pull that off (because, my dears, I can do anything), it would be a lot more work, for a character I don't particularly identify with (not that I identify with Arthur either) and hence, am uninspired. So hey, Arthur!

I am toying with two really different, really odd ideas for this week's WIAD. Not sure what'll happen.

Hey, if I say it in public, feel free to address it in public. Y'all know that's how I work, yeah?

Patty showed me this one of the other day.

damned_colonial's multi-fandom vid, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman is completely awesome, particularly evocative of all the best things about the recent Marie Antoinette, and makes me wish I was better at being a woman, because I want all those dresses and wigs, I do.

In Portland? Duchess is having a sample sale. And, I believe my new shirts are arriving today. V. excited, and, as ever, slightly emotional.

Meanwhile a tailor who makes house calls and blogs has run afoul of the Savile Row tailors he claims as his peers. And, oh yeah, article has a long digression that makes me want to get into an argument with all involved parties about the meaning of bespoke, because no, wrong.

Mystery of the Bermuda Triangle solved. I can't quite explain my emotional response to this one.

I will deal with closing out

graduate_maria auctions tonight. Thanks all! Totals and news soon.

Should food be a right?

Paul Krugman on the economy, the politics of the economy, and the streetlights going out.

Oh man, do I miss poptarts. Poptart flagship coming to Times Square.

I miss the UK so much, I actually care about the Underground Rebel Bingo Club.

More random notes on my WIAD story this week: The narrator may or may not be Llinos, the only other named member of the 1941 team. Maybe Llinos is there in 1939, maybe she's not there yet. Maybe this is a different girl or boy who is dead by the time Llinos joins the team -- I did want the story to work with either gender narrating, and I think it's a sad, suffocating story either way, just differently.

1939 is also pre-rationing. Some things were surely hard to get by then, but Jack's actions probably feel somewhat bizarre in a number of ways to the rest of the team, but there's a war coming, and it's Jack, so what are you gonna do?

Jack was also a freelancer during this time. I had wanted to find a way, but couldn't find an overt way, to make it clear that with the war coming, suddenly, he actually wants to spend a lot more time around Torchwood than usual, that he is doing these things not to run his own scam, but to offer what kindnesses he can.

Weird crap I researched for this, much of which didn't make it into the fic including the invention of and commercial sale of the biro, a subject which I now know way too much about. Additionally, that summer, specifically July, remains the second rainiest on record in Cardiff. I obsess because I care.

Last night on Buffy: Coup d'Etat! Coup d'Etat! This whole return of Faith thing is the first time I've really liked her. And you know who is amazing and is leadership all over? Dawn. Probably can't make a military plan (okay, none of them can, but even in the world of the show, she can't), but damn, she's totally the head office, kicking Buffy out.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

rm.livejournal.com

You are being awesome.

Because I went to an all-girls school growing up, misgendering by accident or on purpose (as a way to say "you're ugly") was a very big deal.

I find it nearly impossible to enter the men's sections of department stores, even when shopping for gifts for men in my life, because it feels like such a declaration of my own supposed awfulness. Now, I am too slight to wear men's clothes off-the-rack (and too long-limbed for boys clothes to work well), so it's not too essential an issue, but I will sat that even if I could wear off-the-rack men's clothes, I'd probably, mostly continue to go with Duchess and the like, simply because it means I do not have to trespass and deal with my damage about it.

From:

trinker.livejournal.com

You are being awesome.

Thank you, I try really hard on this one. I did a lot of social justice homework before I was ever certain I was going to have children of my own.

As I said below to

sevendayloan, I'm also concerned about encoding "male is better" if I avoid femme-ing up my daughter. I'm concerned about the effect of other little girls, and makeup and manicure parties that I'm seeing advertised.

I'm sorry that going to the men's section is such a source of discomfort for you. When I was a teen, there was a delicious sense of naughty, and I loved buying men's clothes from the thrift stores. I inherited a lot of my dad's clothes when he died (I was 16), and wore his short-sleeved button downs and ties (not together!) for a long time. Duchess has gorgeous things, and I wish their page worked better on my display.

Growing up in the 80's was a fantastic thing for exploration of gender, for me anyway.

From: (Anonymous)

I've been lurking for a little while (and I'm not on LJ myself), but I really felt I couldn't not respond to your comments in this thread.

I'm a 30-year-old cisgender female and straight. I am deep-voiced and nearly 6' tall, with incredibly broad shoulders, curvy hips and thighs, long limbs, large hands and feet and large breasts. And I've been called "sir" very much more often than "miss" or "ma'am" since I was 12, despite a rather feminine babyface that gets me carded for cigarettes and hair halfway down my back.

It's been in person and on the phone; by people looking straight at me and people seeing only my silhouette; with implicit judgment and without; followed by an awkward apology or by a defensive sneer. Over the years, "sir" has made me mad, made me cry, made me laugh, made me throw my hands up in the air.

In school, I was the target of my share of gender-based taunting, and I have a body type that is not well-served by mainstream women's clothing lines. Result: I find it nearly impossible to enter women's sections of department stores or women's clothing stores, even when I need to update my wardrobe, because it feels like such a declaration of my own obvious not-fitting-in-ness. All of the other women shopping in the store know just by looking at me, dontcha know, that I'm not going to look good in any of the clothing because women's clothing isn't for me. At least when I walk into the men's section, almost always for someone else, I know that the other shoppers just assume I'm a butch lesbian; they may judge me for what they think I am, but they don't know the real deep, dark secret: that I fail as a woman because I can't dress like one the way I want to.

I have trouble finding the women's clothes I want to wear and I don't want to wear men's clothes.

Even this weekend, I was reduced to tears, agian, after a shopping expedition that bore no fruit. Standard clothing tends not to fit me; the cute, feminine cuts of skirts and dresses that I want to be able to wear make me look like I'm butch and crammed against my will into someone else's idea of 'what girls are supposed to wear'; though I have certainly put on some weight over the last few years, I'm not actually plus-size proportioned, so anything that's PS that fits my shoulders and bust make me look like I'm wearing a mu'umu'u.

I fall back on some men's style off-the-rack button-downs (sleeves get rolled up to just below the elbow, even in the winter, and the collar's always open low) and polos sometimes for comfort. But, really, how comfortable for me is it, that I have XL men's shirts hanging next to my little black dresses and tailored slacks, if I find myself staring at my (drastically under-filled) closet every day on the brink of tears.

My friends, who are all shapes and sizes, don't understand that, for me, hunting through racks and racks of clothing isn't fun. I don't relish shopping as a challenge to find that perfect piece or an unbelievable deal. It's a matter of being faced over and over again with the fact that I, quite literally, don't fit other people's image (or size parameters, or proportions) of what a woman is.

I'm not saying I have no clothing, or that I can't find quite acceptable elements of my wardrobe (see above-mentioned little black dresses, in addition to cute Levis and sophisticated business skirts, among other things). But, the cute, flirty, flattering feminine pieces that I want to wear out after work or on the weekend because, damn it, that's how I feel? No. And I'm reminded of that every time I try on clothes that I want but that make me feel like I'm in the middle of my own nightmarish farce, and every time I settle for the frumpy, stodgy or just plain ugly clothes that designers think I'll want because people call me "sir."

From:

trinker.livejournal.com

Aieee! I'm overflowing with tenderouchies for you. I went to high school with a girl who fit your description. People were so cruel to her. (She was a year ahead of me, or I'd have had more opportunity to try to get to know her better.)

Would it make sense for you to try to find a good seamstress/tailor to create custom pieces for you?

My problems are not as extensive as yours, but I've had a lots and lots of black wardrobe for years, because when I was living in the high albedo hinterlands, everything available was designed for pastel-loving Spring types, and made me look like a hideous hospital-bound undead creature. That, and I'm short statured, short-legged, long-torsoed and on the smaller end of in-betweenie. And I look ridiculous in small prints that people think belong on petites.

When I was slimmer, I liked shopping a lot better.

From: (Anonymous)

Thanks for reading my summer essay on why shopping sucks :)

I guess that custom pieces would be a good option for basic elements, but I think I'd be hesitant to try it for some of the more stylish stuff that's out there. And I'm definitely scared that I'd go through the process and still find my wardrobe distressing. But, maybe this thread is the push I need to hunt around for a seamstress...

From:

trinker.livejournal.com

Didn't hit my tl;dr, since it was well-written. Not easy to read in an emotional sense, but easy to read in terms of prose.

I don't know where you are, nor how feasible this will end up being. Because you don't just need someone who can sew, but someone with a good sense of style and what will work with your bodyshape. I hate the "What to Wear" type shows on TV because they're so...middle-class/fashion magazine normative, but there's a certain something to be said about people not having a good sense of what will work to show of their features to best effect.

If you were in proximity to me, and felt comfortable doing so with a relative stranger, this is the sort of geeking that I enjoy doing. I hope you have someone around you that you can work with like that. (I don't sew, though.)

You're welcome to e-mail me...I can be reached at $myLJusername @ ymail dot com.

From:

graene.livejournal.com

I hear you. I have a supposedly 'standard' feminine body. And I can remember spending four hours in a GAP one day in HS trying on literally every style of women's jeans they had. The only cut that allowed me small waist, hips and tush had almost a foot of extra material around my calves - and no, not boot cut or anything like it. Went through something similar again this summer dealing with post-babies body.

I hope you can find a designer who works for you, at some point, or that you find a tailor willing to make clothes to your measurements. Sewing my own skirts has become a (mostly) relaxing hobby when I have the time.