I Didn't Stage It, These Women REALLY Said This!

I didn't stage this.

Pita Jungle healthy restaurant, 4 women friends, hummus with cucumbers for all, none of those wheat-starchy pitas for these gals!

Lori's red hair accentuates her bright eyes, creamy skin & flirty smile, and the hot pink scarf she wears screams "I'M SASSY, CAN YOU TAKE IT?!"

Tarley is sporting her hot pink, skin tight workout pants that accentuate her new 18% body fat frame; headphones around her neck have become her signature look from always coming from the the gym as she prepares for her personal goal of being in a swimsuit competition next year as she celebrates her 40 years on Earth.

Sara's blonde hair and beautiful jawline show off her ad-worthy million-dollar smile, accented by her penetrating blue eyes, while the "windows" of her slitted-shoulder burgundy top allow her soft, pale skin to peek through - subtle, like it was an accident to be sexy.

I'm woman #4 - I know I look good, fall colors, newly done hair, boots to drool over - I can't see me, so I don't really know what else to say. But hey, I'm an attractive, fit-in 4th chick at this table. If I were a man over 25, I'd be actively checking us out. If I were a man under 25, we look like a good litter of cougars.

Two of us are single/no kids, two of us are married with kid(s). The conversation makes it's way to this blog that they haven't yet heard of. "What do YOU want to focus on in 2014, Jennifer?" As I respond, I say the phrase, "Defensive-Dressing-dot-com." Immediately, they ALL know exactly what I'm talking about, although none have them have heard the phrase before today. As is the norm with this amazing, genuine, evolved group of women, they begin to spontaneously share/confess:

Lori wrapped her voluptuous, va-voom self in the traffic-stopping flirty hot pink scarf in defense to the thought that Tarley and her now-perfect ass will look amazing, so Lori's scarf will divert attention from what she perceives to be her less-than-perfect ass. Lori DRIPS sensuality, NOTHING to defend, but well done, nevertheless - it worked!

Tarley laughs and says she wore the pink skin-like pants today instead of darker ones, because she "knew there wouldn't be a lot of people at the gym today," and apparently is defensive about the way the pink ones look versus other choices. But her entire bottom half, with full booty & long legs is ENVIABLE in any color.

Sara tells us about her lamentation process at her closet this morning because she ate her way through Thanksgiving and gained some mass. So she spent quite a bit of time Defensive Dressing before lunch to find what would camouflage her perceived latest issues to defend. Finally, she settled on jeans with the top with cutouts on the shoulders... which Jen (me) had ironically noticed immediately at the table, and thought was very casual sexy and flirty while still totally "daytime wear."

I personally chose something fall, warm, colors that look good on me, making sure the sweater vest hung lower than my butt, with freshened lipstick that sets the whole thing off as an "outfit." I was meeting with these beautiful, successful women and simply wanted to fall in line, looking pretty (although also knowing I could have shown up in sweats with no makeup and they'd be just as delighted to see me).

As these amazingly powerful, sharp, beautiful women shared today's live-action report of Defensive Dressing, we were all LAUGHING at what we did, how we thought, what we assumed. We laughed at ourselves, we laughed at each other, and we laughed WITH each other at the whole nuttiness that not ONE of us was exempt - we ALL literally Dressed Defensively today before leaving the house! 

It's hard work. It takes effort, energy, contemplation, strategy. More often that not, it is done from our point of view of what there is to camouflage, to compensate for, hide, distract from... To DEFEND.. ourselves... our selfs... against certain "other" parts of... our selfs... which now that I break it down, seems about as logical as being on an inflatable boat while firing shots at the other end of the boat.  

Fortunately, it turns out there's some fun to be had in becoming aware of this Defensive Dressing thing. It's simply our attempt to FEEL BETTER about ourselves in the midst of the inner battle. I don't know that we can (yet) stop it, but in the midst of it, we can embrace it and laugh at it's silliness.

DAMMIT, I SHOULDA SUCKED IN!

"UGH, MY STOMACH SHOWS - DAMMIT, I SHOULDA SUCKED IN!"

This was my instantaneous thought peering into the cell phone. I didn't say it out loud, I swallowed the words on their way out, but only because they were interrupted by the two other sound bytes. It felt like slow motion...

I heard my own thought diving at myself like a screeching hawk, as stated above: "UGH, MY STOMACH SHOWS - DAMMIT, I SHOULDA SUCKED IN!"

I simultaneously heard Lori's words wafting above us, like the vague smell of something pleasant and far away... ""You two look SO AMAZING! Oh My Gosh, LOOK at this photo of you two!!!!" She was gleefully holding the photo out to us like a beaming kid showing off her latest crayon masterpiece.

At the same time I also heard my other friend (the one in the photo with me) inches from my ear, as we were huddled over the cell phone together. Her voice rang out in a statement that shocked me given her petite frame (like so small I look sort of giant-ish in pictures with her and I'm only 5'6" & a Medium): "Oh! My stomach looks poochy!"

And I SAW IT: WHAT WE DO TO OURSELVES.

Lori is right. It's a beautiful picture. We are both dressed in white, as it's a "white" party. We are both blondes, wearing red lipstick, and we are standing in front of a red painting creating the backdrop. It's actually a spontaneous work of art & we are the two lovely subjects, our genuine smiles boosting the effect. 

And in the moment of being offered a glimpse of the beauty that we contribute to life, we IMMEDIATELY - like a predator so deeply instinctual that is has NO ability to intercept it's own flurry of fangs and claws when presented with live prey - SHRED OURSELVES. It actually makes me well up with that throat lump of tears right here at the laptop. She and I BOTH, with lightening-quick reflexes, zoomed in with laser-like precision on any weakness we could find on OURSELVES. If we were hawks, the mouse is a goner, but the mouse is us.

We are evolved women, the little band of friends that descended on the "white" party. We are kind and supportive to each other, we truly believe the others "rock," and we compliment each other with sincerity as Lori did. With other sub-sets of my women friends, it is the same. Like attracts like. 

Un-evolved women (let's call them "girls" versus "women") are "catty" - mean to each other. They pounce on each other, scanning photos for how crappy the others look, and lick their lips with satisfaction when the find the juicy nuggets of "her ass is bigger than mine," or "her extensions look totally fake." They form alignments with each other quickly, but are also quick to turn, attack each other, and create replacement alignments. I think they are featured in most reality TV shows; I refuse to watch them.

Men talk about it openly, aghast, "Wow, chicks are so harsh on each other, mean behind each others' backs." (They're talking about the un-evolved ones, which seem to be the norm, not the exception). When dudes have a problem with another dude, they throw a couple of punches or call each other an ass hole, and then go get a beer together.

What I saw is that what I'm terming Evolved Women don't go after each other - they devour THEMSELVES.  And even weirder, they do it while simultaneously defending their friends from their respective self-attacks. "Huh-uh, GIRL, you look INCREDIBLE, what are you talking about??! I wish I had your _____ (insert body part or physical attribute).  

Case in Point: Elevator in Denver. My friend is wearing shorts, her long, toned, tanned legs naturally extend up to her boobs. She's tall, so in the small space of the elevator packed with 6 women with her near the front, her legs are more overtly beautiful than ever. I speak the obvious, how amazing they are, the others nod their heads with all eyes on the legs, murmuring in agreement. And there it is - she denies it, tries to pass it off to the high-heeled wedges she has on, as if what we see is an optical illusion. I call B.S. on that out loud - I know she's a runner, and that consistent effort plus great God-given structure has produced these lovely masterpieces (If legs transformed to that in those shoes, we'd all work out in them, shower in them, sleep in them...).  I'd like to believe, for HER sake, that she DOES actually know how amazing they are, and she's just trying to be kind to the rest of us with mere mortal legs.  But sadly, I'd bet when she looks down, she really DOESN'T see what we all saw in that elevator, because I'd bet her inner fangs and claws shredded the image.

Makes me wonder... Is the chick thing just a lingering deep, dusty DNA drive to compete for the best genes in the caveman pool? Survival of the species / genetically leaving a legacy would demand it. And the Evolved Women, since it hasn't fully receded from the primal programming yet, have we elevated the instinct by merely spinning the shred instinct onto ourselves?  Are we just not yet far enough out of the cave to be entirely without it? Is it a part of us that is functionally extinct but hasn't yet evolved away, like our currently-unnecessary appendix? 

All the older women in the "crone" phase of life (that's not derogatory), or the free-lover women that see themselves, FOR REAL, all the time, as "Goddesses," will assure me that my friends and I just need more self-love. I got that - it would be/will be awesome. However, if I were THERE, I wouldn't have been moved to create a blog entitled DefensiveDressing.com. I wouldn't be... Defensive. There would be no perceived attacker against which to Defend myself. If I didn't already know before this Matrix-moment, the attacker is ME.  Looks like we gals still have some fang and claw filing to do.

Reality Check of Zipping the Plaid Shorts

So I'm talking on the phone to my friend Maria today, and we are sharing experiences of currently being on a Low Carb Diet (LCD) lifestyle, as we have both done HCG in the past more than one round to lose weight (HCG is a particular weight-loss plan. That's all you need to know to stay with me here). It was effective for both of us, but neither of us sustained the loss later. Zero fault due to HCG, we just grazed our way back up the scale. 

We are both now simultaneously in search of a LIFESTYLE to stay slender that goes beyond merely "accept it" to actually ENJOY said potentially-mythical lifestyle, the one that will keep us from big fluctuations in weight. But there ARE people doing it, and they still enjoy their relationship with food (albeit in a different way than most U.S. mainstream eaters might define "enjoy"). So we have reason to believe we can get there too.

Our shared challenge: We both LOVE FOOD. She's Italian - actually lived there into her teens. That's her excuse for loving food. If you've ever been to Italy, or even read, "Eat, Love, Pray," they really ARE all about food experiences, so I am in full support of her excuse. I'm a generic white girl from California, so I don't have that excuse. No matter - we both are obsessed with delicious edible experiences, and among other commonalities, we share a deep passion for the pursuit of the perfect gelato. Even though my gene pool might not have a pull for it, I allow myself to have a daily dose of gelato when visiting Italy - yes, DAILY. It genuinely feels like research, to find the best shop, creamiest consistency, and favorite flavor. Or verify, daily, that I have in fact chosen the deserved winner, in the case of coffee flavor (Italians know coffee) at that shop in Amalfi facing the bus depot (Good thing my longest run in Italy has only been 2 weeks...)

After agreeing that the number on the scale is less important than how we look and feel, I share with Maria that I have this pair of plaid shorts that I've had for a few years, and I am using those as my most valuable measurement right now. They are not the best-looking item of clothing, or even best-looking shorts that I have - this isn't like Oprah's 1988 fantasy jeans (if you are old enough to know what I'm talking about).

It's not about that. The plaid shorts have merely been with me enough years to have sustained a couple of 20-pound round-trip journeys, and they are made of "hard lines," as opposed to any elastic - the fabric itself doesn't "give." So they are like a measuring tape without numbers, tailored to me. I have worn them somewhat baggy (bottom of the 20), I have worn them fitted (mid-20). I have a few pictures of myself in those shorts, proof that when they fit anywhere in there, I am in the "acceptable" range for myself. If they don't fit at all, I'm NOT going to like what I see in photos (a much more accurate self-assessment than a mirror, having to do with self-imposed mind games). When I started this LCD (Low Carb Diet, remember? last reminder) a few weeks ago, they were obscene and didn't actually zip closed. I didn't freak out, I just laughed (BIG GROWTH, no pun intended). "Well, haven't WE gotten uber-fluffy, Jen?? Time to turn this scale-tipper around." Yup, I was at the end of my 20-lb tether.

As I share this, Maria is "um hum"-ing me, she's feelin' me here - regardless of how I FEEL my size is, the plaid shorts are a reality check. She agrees that certain items of clothing are a good marker, and she asserts that all women have a wardrobe of more than one size, because this is how the majority of us live. 

One more point about the plaid shorts that didn't end up coming out in conversation - as a result of past self-torture inflicted by pawing through my closet in my naive youth, I can only try them on when I feel both:

--A. Hopeful (as opposed to trying them on to prove to myself I am still "fat" - no purposeful beating up of self allowed), and 

--B. Positive enough to be KIND to myself in response to the fact-check. To genuinely be able to say, "Hey, you know what? It's getting better, good for you, keep it up, you're hot anyway," blah blah (but not in a WalMart kinda way. This comment will make sense soon).

(Digression: I'm feeling very on-edge while discussing this, as I alter between keystrokes and bites of Talenti Sea Salt Carmel gelato, which I am supposed to be allowed to indulge in today as my one "cheat day" per week to keep my metabolism from stalling. Oh God, Tim Ferris, I'm eating through this pint on invisible faith in you & your 4 Hour Body as one of my voices inside screams, "YOU'RE WRECKING YOUR WEEK'S WORK!!!!!!!" MMMM.... this gelato is seriously... MMMMMM....)

So today, before my Blind Faith Binge Day formally began, I tried on the plaid shorts as a reality marker. I explain to Maria that happily, although they didn't FIT, they zipped, and if I were one of those WalMart girls I'd totally be able to flaunt them today, ignoring the muffin-top spillover, the social unacceptability of the pockets bulging a bit because the fabric is pulling (no give, remember?), and the far-worse social unacceptability of the CAMELTOE that no strategic pulling can as of yet dislodge. 

(Digression #2: I wish that "muffin top" wasn't such an accurate description, because muffins used to be a really happy thing for me & the top is the best part, and I do still love to admire them in their bakery cases. By the way, have you actually checked out a camel's toe? I have, in Egypt, and the term's slang-usage accuracy is akin to that of "muffin top." We apparently have some astutely observant geniuses out there creating our English slang vocabulary for us).  

If I WERE one of those WalMart girls, I'd take today's successful zip-up, do a little waist-twist in front of the mirror, and say, "Oh YAH, they fiiiit! Guuurllll, you lookin' HAWT, you still gottit, mmm hmmm!" But apparently something in me disallows this almost-enviable optimistic view of self.

Maria bursts out laughing. "You really should write a blog. Every woman can relate to that shit right there, and the way you word stuff..." So here you have it, my sassy WalMart-ready look (insert applause here for courage to even post this pic - I look like I'm trying to put on a child's pair of shorts). 

Ironically, I already HAVE such a blog, and even the website URL to go with it. She had no idea DefensiveDressing.com had been birthed (and subsequently abandoned). I took it as a sign it was time to give it some attention, circle back. I know it was very inspired when it all came to me, I just didn't know what the heck to DO with it, got info overload by learning about blogging as a formal topic, reviewed facts and details of it, potential directions to go with it, yadda yadda, all interesting, informative, "food for thought." 

And as I keep hearing from a couple of jaw-droppingly successful guys that make a LOT of money by the KISS method (Keep It Simple, Stupid), "A confused mind is a frozen mind." People don't take action with there's too much going on in there. Moi included. I forgot all there was to do was just type out what I think, feel, and see (literally or figuratively) regarding pretty much anything remotely related to Defensive Dressing on any given day. Since I conveniently live in my human body every day, I always have fresh material at my fingertips. Or at the crest of my muffin top. Or at the toenail of my.....  Ahem. TMI.