The young woman apologized sincerely and the door closed.

It was then that I realized that the passenger was Ivanka Trump (sans makeup by the way).

And that’s also when I went into my head funk.

I immediately started criticizing myself and told myself that I looked old and dumpy and ugly and under dressed (“How could I have been wearing THAT when I saw someone famous?!) and on and on and on…

Back in our room, I stood in front of the full length mirror and found all the ways I was inferior to Ivanka.

My husband was watching my torment and asked, “Why are you comparing yourself to a 27 year old pregnant woman?”

I didn’t have an answer.

At the time, our daughter and daughter-in-law, who are in that age range, were pregnant.  I never compared myself to them.  (I am, in fact, glad that I have firmly put my child bearing years behind me.)

So, I wondered, why did I so readily compare myself to someone famous?  Are we conditioned by media and magazines and airbrushed images?  Or, was I envious that, from the outside looking in, Ivanka has so many things that I didn’t have at 27?

A year later and I still don’t have an answer.

I do know this.  While seeing a famous person for a few seconds was a memorable and thought provoking experience for me, Ivanka has quite possibly never thought about that moment again.

So, at least I can sleep well at night knowing that I am not being looked down upon by a complete stranger with whom I have nothing in common physically, and who I will most likely never see again.

But wait!!!

As I write this, I am on my way to California, where all the stars are.  And I’m wearing the same top.  If, by chance, I run into her, do you think she will remember me?!

After an emotional and exhausting night in the emergency room, Evie learned that she was having a miscarriage.  We were in a strange city, on vacation, away from familiar faces, and trusted doctors.  Her loss spun her into a depressed state for several days.

Now I’m not one of those women who thinks that shopping cures all, but as I told Evie a couple of days later, “Sometimes, Sweetie, we need to feel pretty.”

So we went shopping.

We bought boots, jeans, and tops.  We sat for an hour at Starbuck’s talking.  We had lunch at a fancy restaurant.  And she began to heal…just a little.

And then we continued shopping, and we found it.  The perfect coat!

Too heavy for Florida winters, too expensive for her to even consider.  But when she tried it on, her entire being changed.  She was beautiful!  She felt powerful, and she began to heal…just a little more.

There was no way we were walking out of the store without that coat.  So we bought it.

Later she tried it on for her dad who uttered one the one word every woman wants to hear, “Wow!”  She tried it on for her grandmother who said, “Evie, you should be a model!”.

Evie glowed.  She smiled (the first in days), and she continued to heal…still a little more.

But that’s how it works, isn’t it?  Women are warriors.  We have losses, but from those losses, we also have gains.  We become strong.  We nurture ourselves and each other.

We heal-one layer at a time.

And we do so, sometimes, by doing mundane, everyday things…like shopping.

And through the fog, we get a ray of sunshine.  We start to feel whole again, we grow, we change, and yes, if only for a moment, we feel pretty.

“Before, it was about covering up.  So self-conscious about hiding my “flaws” — rather than defining myself.  Which is a perfect parallel for all of my life.

Hiding versus defining.  That’s really what it’s all about.

Suzette helped me see how defining myself, my style, was about me taking part in my life.  Becoming Me. Going from bland, safe colors — to vibrant, energetic colors that reflect who I really am.  Going from designs that cover up or are functional and one-style-fits-all — to defining a style that expresses ME!

Now, I feel like me!  And I find I don’t worry about it — my mind isn’t distracted by “what do I look like?”, “does this look okay?”, “is this what I want people to see?”

Because now it’s not a question — I am defining me.

I am me — looking great, feeling great, being me!”

Niffer Clarke, NYC

Pulled by an invisible thread, I approached the display of berries.  One dollar for a quart!  WOW!

As I looked more closely the berries didn’t look so great;  I resisted my urge to purchase.

As I made my way out of the produce section, my husband called my cell.  He wanted to change his incoming flight so he could beat the storm.  Could I call the airline?  Sure!  I’ll do it while shopping.

I soon discovered that I only had reception in direct sight of the strawberry display.  On hold for twenty minutes, I was able to watch an interesting phenomenon.

Women walked into the store and were drawn in, as I was.  Almost without exception, they looked at the strawberries, saw that they were less than perfect, glanced at the sale sign, shrugged their shoulders, and put the berries into their carts.

I was fascinated!  What drew them to purchase something, knowing that it was less than perfect?  Was it the sale price?  Was it the scent?  Was it the promise of something in the future?

I wondered, is this how we shop for clothes?  Do we settle for low prices and promises?  Do we justify our purchases while looking in the mirror at an outfit that looks ‘okay’ at best?  Do we hide garments in the back of our closet so we don’t feel guilty about our questionable decisions?

I’d love to sit and ponder this with you, but I just remembered that I have a quart of strawberries in my refrigerator.  I have to tend to them before they spoil.  Ugh!

I was perfectly pulled together in my neutral heels, pencil skirt, basic white blouse, slimming undergarment, artfully placed belt, and tapered jacket (with the sleeves flawlessly rolled up just like a mannequin on display).  I felt great!

However, as the day progressed, I began to feel as if I were on a challenging reality show for which I was totally unprepared.   My favorite heels were stained, my GPS was leading me astray, and those stylishly rolled up sleeves felt like a straight jacket.

Toward the end of the day I caught a glimpse of myself in a hallway mirror.  I was a mess!  My blouse was bunched up, my skirt was twisted strangely, and my Spanx® were giving me a spare tire.

I felt deflated.  My negative self-talk was getting the best of me.  I even whined out loud in the car, “I want my pj’s!”

I beat myself up the whole two hour trip home.  How could I teach this to others if I couldn’t spend one cold rainy day in the kind of clothes I was suggesting?

It’s just too hard to be pulled together ALL the time.  Is it worth the effort?

I pulled into the driveway and my husband greeted me at the door.  “You look beautiful today!”  he exclaimed.  And he meant it!

Those words instantaneously erased hours of frustration.

Is it worth it?  You bet!!

My Mom, sans purple eyebrows

My mother visited recently. She didn’t bring her makeup.

She thought she could just borrow from my stash. Which she did.

Still, I was startled later that day when I was met by dark purple eyebrows.

I should never have left her alone with my makeup bag.

But that isn’t the point–this is the point–

My niece noticed the purple eyebrows much earlier, but didn’t want to hurt her grandmother’s feelings by telling her.
Why do we do this? We see loved ones wearing outfits that are a mess, haircuts that don’t work, and makeup that shocks us, and we don’t tell them!?!?!

My request is simple; should I ever leave the house with purple eyebrows, or anything resembling a major fashion faux pas, and you notice, please tell me immediately.

Yes, I may embarrass you as I dig through my purse recovering a barely recognizable tissue. I may spit on the tissue in public and frantically wipe at my brows. I may ask you several times during the day if my eyebrows are still purple. But you will have done me a great service…

You will be letting me know that you love me.

And in the end, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

You see it all the time. Women going up and down the mall with their girlfriends. And their husbands… sitting miserably outside the store. There’s a good explanation for it, and it’s rooted in our evolution.

Why? Men were traditionally hunters. We had no need to look at all the sheep in the field. All we wanted to do was find one weak sheep, kill it, and get it away from the competition. These same instincts still drive men when they shop. They want to narrow the focus… find one thing… make it quick… and get the heck out of the store. And when they’re done shopping – they’re really done. There’s no looking back. The thought of doing so is depressing.

But women, on the other hand, were primarily gatherers. They gathered alongside other female tribe members to pick the most productive berries and the best nuts.

And today that partly explains why women love to shop so much. Why they’ll spend countless hours searching for the perfect shoes, handbag, or dress – and of course, the perfect deal.

But evolution isn’t the only explanation for this. There’s a biological process at work here, too. It involves hormones. Women stay energized while shopping, because it gives them secretions of serotonin. Serotonin is a chemical in the brain known as a “neurotransmitter” that regulates mood and reduces anxiety and depression. The higher your levels of it, the better you feel.

On the other hand, shopping wears men out because it depletes their dopamine levels. This feel-good hormone helps to direct your thinking and behavior – and keeps you energized and motivated.

Makes sense to me! We should all probably stop taking men out shopping with us. We don’t want to depress them, do we?

He then said something that struck an uncomfortable cord within me.

He said, “You know, beautiful women come into this place…and you are a beautiful woman.”

My rational mind immediately sensed that this was a line he used every night, with every female that walked by. And, I thought it was a good one. Probably very effective. It made me smile.

My insecure mind wanted to believe he was sincere with his flattery. I immediately wanted this man who was younger than my children to think I was a beautiful woman. I wanted his line to be real.

My reaction made me laugh and brought tears to my eyes at the same time. Why was it important that this young stranger think I am beautiful? Does outer beauty matter that much? Does it define who I am? The questions just kept coming, some finding answers, some not.

I then did the only thing that made sense. I put my arm through my husband’s as we continued to walk down Bourbon Street. I had a smile on my face. I knew that the person whose opinion really matters, the person who finds me beautiful even at my worst, was walking right beside me.