- Chrissy Teigen Gives Zero F*cks At The Grocery Store Just Like The Rest Of Us
- There’s A Disney Fine Jewelry Line For Adults And It’s Pure Magic
- Photos Of Record Snowfall In Paris Are Just As Dreamy As You’d Expect
- A Message For My Racist Family Members
- What To Do When Your Child Starts Seeing Ghosts
- 8 Skin Care Products For People Who Suck At Skin Care
- It’s Never Too Early To Start Talking To Your Kids About Sex
- ‘Saggy Boobs Matter’ Is The Hashtag We’ve Been Waiting For
Posted: 08 Feb 2018 07:44 AM PST
Chrissy Teigen at the grocery store is every mom, everywhere
Any mom will tell you — there’s absolutely nothing glamorous about grocery shopping. It’s also collectively agreed upon that next to endless laundry, it’s our least favorite necessary activity. Even for celebrity moms.
And it just so happens our favorite celebrity mom, Chrissy Teigen, just shared a photo of her shopping with daughter Luna, and it basically proves she’s All Of Us at the grocery store.
The only thing missing from her shopping cart? All of the fucks she doesn’t give.
“I used to assume people who got photographed in grocery stores weren’t really buying stuff they like and were getting paid for something,” she writes in the caption. “But turns out the paps actually come inside the grocery store and capture your most intimate grocery cart items. This is a travesty.”
Open any tabloid magazine (located, somewhat ironically, at the grocery store) and you’ll see dozens of photos of celebrities doing their Whole Foods shopping. They look put together, they’re buying their $17 kale chips and organic toilet paper, and they’re smiling for photographers. Take these photos of Reese Witherspoon and Eva Longoria, for example.
It’s natural to assume those photos are #sponcon, because who really shops like that? They’re beautiful women and we love them dearly, but we can relate to Chrissy on a more spiritual, “just throw it in the fucking cart” level. After all, her baby is sucking the life out of her. Can anyone blame her for buying every sugary cereal she sees?
While she no doubt has plenty of people who go out and buy things for her, she showed up to get her groceries herself — with toddler in tow — and the picture she shared is so familiar to moms everywhere. Hair up, toddler pulling things out of the cart, a box of Cap ‘n Crunch, a carton of eggs sloshing around toward the bottom, and produce just strewn about every which way. That is real life. (Minus the super chic, probably super designer coat.)
That Cap ‘n Crunch isn’t found at Whole Foods. And we love her for it.
Posted: 08 Feb 2018 06:52 AM PST
These Disney inspired jewelry pieces will make you feel like royalty
If you never turn down an invitation to a princess tea party in the playroom and still find yourself practicing Ariel’s signature hair flip every time you’re in the pool (guilty), prepare to let out your best princess gasp. There’s a new Disney-inspired jewelry line that’s full of gorgeous baubles, and we didn’t even have to ask a fairy godmother to make these pretty pieces happen.
The Enchanted Disney collection from Zales has rings, necklaces, and earrings themed to our favorite Disney princesses and characters to help you feel like the royalty you are all day every day.
This ring ($299) is perfect for those of us who don’t feel fully dressed without a tiara.
If you’re a Disney Mom who’s always counting down the days until you’re “home” again, this key necklace ($199) was made for you.
These rose gold rose earrings ($499) are gorgeous. Plus, unlike fresh blooms or that cursed one the Beast had, these will last forever.
Forget the pixie dust. A ring inspired by Tinkerbell ($299) is its own happy thought.
Unless your name is Snow White, an apple a day is good for your health, especially when it’s formed by diamonds ($399).
This Rapunzel-themed stunner of a ring ($3,000) looks like something straight out of a fairy tale.
Cleans all day long. Never hears the words “Thank you.” Has nothing to wear for a night out. Raise your hand if you feel like Cinderella. We may not meet a fairy godmother than can fix all our problems, but we can wear this gorgeous necklace ($1,300).
Or if shoes are your first and forever love, these glass slipper studs ($299) may be what your heart’s been dreaming of.
Because every queen deserves a crown ($800).
You don’t have to sing “Let It Go” every time you wear this necklace ($299), but no judgement if you do.
If reading all the books, shutting down pompous dudebros, and crushing on men with beards sounds like you, this ring ($499) will complete your transformation into a modern day Belle.
Tinkerbell may be little, but she takes crap from no one. This pendant ($299) is a pretty way to let people know that you’re not one to be pushed around.
This bow statement ring ($1,500) shows your love for all things Disney without Mickey ears getting involved.
The collection even has options for the Prince Charming ($1,400) in your life.
Unless you’ve got a genie in a lamp, the jewelry’s a splurge for sure. But if bling and Disney princesses are your jam, you can start dropping hints now so there’s time to plan for your birthday, holiday, or anniversary gift. Wishing on a star couldn’t hurt either.
Posted: 08 Feb 2018 06:43 AM PST
These pictures prove Paris is perfect any time of year
For many of us, this winter in particular seems like a never-ending abyss of darkness and cold. But for those in the City of Light — not so much. Because if these recent photos are any indication, Paris in winter is downright heavenly.
Paris isn’t typically a very snowy city, even during the coldest winter months. But after receiving a record snowfall yesterday — a whole six inches — the familiar cityscapes we all know and love from old movies and postcards are completely covered in snow for the first time in a long time. While Paris averages about 15 snow days a year, it hasn’t seen a heavy snow accumulation since 1987, according to The Mercury News.
Though the city itself was somewhat unprepared for the “petit blizzard” of sorts, that didn’t stop Parisians from coming out and enjoying the whimsy of their city covered in snow.
We’re sighing looking at these photos because they’re honestly just so dreamy.
The French may not be as crazy about their most famous landmark as the rest of the world, but how can you not just love everything about this?
Don’t you just want to grab a glass of wine and take a stroll? Why doesn’t snow look like that here, dammit?
Not to sound like a pretentious ass, but I’ve been to Paris (please know I was painfully broke and on a much-discounted college trip with my journalism class that I paid for myself). These pictures bring tears to my eyes even now, 12 years later. It’s truly such a special, magical city.
Are we sure this isn’t the cover of a romance novel? Or a desktop screensaver or something? LE SIGH.
For a city that hasn’t seen more than a dusting of snow in over 30 years, Parisians are handling it exceptionally well (full disclosure: French people are lovely, happy, and just…relaxed, all the time).
There are grown adults in the Everlasting Tundra that is the Northeastern region of the United States who won’t leave their front stoop when it looks like this outside.
Take this woman, for example. Just nonchalantly riding her bicycle in the middle of a snowstorm donning a wardrobe that could easily be found within the pages of Vogue.
Or these people, taking full advantage of all the romance and winter wonderland Paris has to offer. Maybe they were like “it may be the middle of the week, mon chérie, but let’s get married in the snow.” Who could blame them? This photo is gorgeous.
So much applause for this gentleman, who refuses to wait another 30 years before being able to ski on the streets of Paris.
Natives and tourists alike took to social media to share their own photos of the breathtaking scenery.
You know what else is dreamy? Pretending you can afford anything on any given shopping street of Paris.
Is there anything more sigh-worthy than an actual castle covered in snow? While this particular castle, Chambord, is about two hours outside of Paris — it’s too lovely not to include.
Same goes for this guy:
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
This letter has been a long time coming, and I bear the burden of responsibility for not having written it sooner because I had the privilege not to. I am accountable for not having written it the first time I heard you use the n-word at a family holiday. Issuing a simple, "It's not okay to use that word in my presence," or even leaving was not then and never has been enough.
I am accountable for not having written it the moment I began to understand that you weren't simply ignorant of the world around you or insulated from others unlike you — you willfully choose to practice bigotry as a daily devotional. I had to have been about seven or eight years old when I first heard you jokingly refer to the fact that "every southern family got a n*gg*r in the woodpile cause we used to own ’em."
As if the inter-mixing of the black and white races through rape and slavery were an embarrassment to the family because it sullied the family whiteness rather than because our family and white racial legacy was a shattering horror.
What's even worse is that you choose to be associated with whiteness in this context; I have yet to see any evidence that anyone in our family has ever actually owned slaves. Our family were poor Italian and Acadian immigrants to rural Louisiana and, later, San Antonio, Texas. Our family was too poor to ever own slaves; yet, the fact that some white person somewhere has ever owned some black person somewhere is somehow a point of pride for you. You brag on white supremacy using the proverbial “we.” It's something deeper than pathetic.
Our family is no shining example of what “whiteness” should be, even if such a concept were valid. I recently changed my last name from the German last name I was given at birth to my paternal Grandmother's maiden name because: (a) the paternity of her children (my father included) is in querulous doubt, and (b) I want zero association with the patriarchal systems that led me to inherit a German name meaning "king" that I have nothing to do with in genetics, ethnicity, or spirit.
At the vehement insistence of yours, Dad, and against my own nausea, I left my son's last name yours when I changed mine so that you could die knowing you had some form of legacy (changing my last name didn't bother you because I am only a woman, after all). I wanted to keep the peace. However, part of taking accountability for my role in perpetuating systems of racism and patriarchy (two sides of the same coin) is taking action against it. Not only refusing to participate in the existing systems, but creating entirely new systems where the old systems have no influence.
The first step I can take to remedy my role in the perpetuation of racism and patriarchy in our family is to change my son's last name to my last name. A name I chose from you, Grandmother — a woman. I acknowledge that you inherited it from your father; however, I am the first woman in this family to choose her own name rather than take the one she was given and the first to create a matrilineal familial structure moving forward. My son will have two progressive mothers who are equally dedicated to eradicating the forces of racism and patriarchy through action, presence, and entrepreneurship.
I know there are those of you in our family who do not subscribe to this bigotry, but you are married to those who do and you allow it to represent you. I encourage you to speak up with me. To stand with me even against your own husbands. Some of you were the first to extend your loving support of my partner and I when I came out to our family as a queer woman — but only because she is white (even though you didn't say that, it's a fact).
I feel the need to point out that — unlike a hobby that can take up a small portion of your personhood without defining you — bigotry, even if it's just partial or just “about some things,” is utterly personhood-defining. You do not get to be only a “little” bigoted. You are either a bigot or you are not. Whether our presence or example as a couple changes your minds on bigotry or not though, we will continue to show up.
I struggle with the concept of changing closed minds. My hope in allowing you as my extended family to “change the topic” when the discussion about race or politics around the holiday table got too heated each year for the last decade was that perhaps you'd later thoughtfully consider what I had said. I thought I could shift the needle on your intolerance incrementally if I articulated my resistance to it in small enough portions.
I assumed that conflict with me about these topics would only push you further from the ideas of love, acceptance, and grace. That my job was to be an example of love to you even if it meant choosing sometimes to stifle my own repugnance at your ideology. However, my desire to be a positive example for my son in how to walk through this world outweighs my desire to be “pleasant” in the face of racism and patriarchal sexism any longer for the sake of your personal comfort or my misguided notion of how to express love (I realize now that love is not expressed through silence; it expressed through honesty and vulnerability).
My son is old enough now to take note in how I navigate social situations and is constantly absorbing the information I present to him in the form of my actions. I am sorry that it took his awareness to motivate me to finally draw a hard line in the sand with you that I will not tolerate racist, sexist, misogynistic, patriarchal rhetoric or action in my presence ever again, no matter how innocuously or nonchalantly it is presented.
You've all known where I stand since I was old enough to speak, but I haven't insisted that you hear it every single time I see examples of your racism and patriarchal beliefs because I grew exhausted by constantly having to explain and defend views of mine that are actually just human decency. But hear me and hear me now — from this point forward, I will go to bat with each and every one of you every single time you have the gall to be either obnoxious or subtle about your savagery. Every. Single. Time.
Your niceness in other ways and your “good intentions” are not enough to offset the effects of the systems you are perpetuating with your language.
I will call it out it in front of my son. I will allow him to see for himself exactly what you are until you are wholly something else, and I will show him what it means to stand against vitriol even in one's own family so that he knows how to stand against it in the world at large. Though a white male, my son will have every opportunity to explore his own gender expression, interests, and advocacy free from the incipient poison of white supremacy. He will not be subject to your ideas about the inferiority of Black people and Hispanic people and women. He will know that your entire current worldview is immoral and barbaric. He will know that you didn't actually earn what you have, and that is why you are so fearful for it to be taken back. He will know that you are cowards who shield yourselves with the comfort of white supremacy to avoid facing the sad reality that you are incapable of true love and connection with anyone who doesn't look like you because you are shallow and fearful of vulnerability.
Specifically, when I take my son's last name I am taking from you the last vestige of your “legacy,” Dad, because it seems to be the only thing you value more than your own hyper-masculine self-image as a superior white male. You will have no one in your lineage passing down your name. You will have no one in your lineage passing down your views. You will no longer have anything in me or my family that represents your dogma.
If your racism and bigotry has never cost you anything before, let it cost you this.
This isn't a call for accolades. It's a warning to you as my family as we continue to share holidays and events together, an apology to the society I live in for my role in perpetuating patriarchy and racism, and a hopeful step towards redemption through action in my immediate family and beyond.
If you're reading this and could have written one yourself but haven't… Do.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
I have a three-year-old with a speech delay. Her vocabulary has increased significantly since she started a special preschool program, but she’s not talking in fluent sentences yet. So when things go wrong, it’s usually a game of twenty questions to figure out what happened.
About three weeks ago, my daughter started complaining that her room was too dark at night. I knew at this age kids become more aware of the scariness of the dark so I had no issue with allowing her a small night light. All seemed well until the other day. We put her to bed only for my husband to run into the room minutes later because she was screaming like I’ve never heard her scream before.
He asked what was wrong, and Rachel pointed at her bookcase and said with a look of utter terror in her eyes, “ghost.” My husband and I both believe in spirits and ghosts so this wasn’t something we were going to brush off, nor were we going to belittle our child by saying there’s no such thing as ghosts. So my husband picked her up and brought her over to the bookcase. He pointed out different shadows created by her nightlight, but the look on her face was one of sheer panic. He brought her back to bed and stayed with her until she settled down and eventually drifted off to sleep.
After doing some research, a consensus among different articles and blogs was to have the child talk about what they saw as well as to draw what they saw. So the next morning I sat down with her and I asked if I could find out more about this ghost. She said yes, so I asked if the ghost was a boy or girl.
Without hesitation, she answered it was a girl. I then asked, “Was she small like you or big like me?” She said small. I asked what clothes she was wearing and she replied, “Green shirt.” She wasn’t able to answer what color hair she had. I also asked if the girl was always there and she said, “No. Dark.”
I then asked her if the girl ghost was a friend, and she replied stone cold, “No.” At this point, I was honestly shaken so I asked if she would be willing to draw the girl. She agreed. As she started coloring, she said “no hands.” I asked what she meant and she said, “No hands. Cut.”
I asked, “Her hands were cut?” She said yes. She then said, “No arms.”
I asked what happened to the girls arms and she said, “Broke. Boo-boo.” So not only was there a ghost supposedly in my daughters room, but a wounded ghost at that. The last addition to her drawing was an attempt at letters which she then informed me was the girl’s name. At this point, I was panic-texting my husband and I nicely moved Rachel on to another activity. Luckily this topic didn’t come up for the rest of the day.
My husband and I agreed that, for her bedtime that evening, we would both stay with her until she was comfortable. We also ended up turning on a brighter light for her. I told her repeatedly that she’s safe. I told her there are dream catchers in her room to help protect her, as well as a jade figurine for good luck. She was clearly panicky and my words were doing nothing to help calm her. So we tried to work through this the best we could.
We asked if there was something scaring her in the room. She responded, “Ghost.” We asked where was the ghost and this time, without any hesitation, she pointed to underneath her train table. My husband knelt down and told the ghost to go away. This did nothing to settle Rachel. She picked up one of her dinosaur toys and put it underneath the table, facing where she said the ghost was. I told her that was a fantastic idea!
I said, “Let’s put all your dinosaur toys around the table so the ghost can’t get out. The dinosaurs will protect you.” She then proceeded to help me put the toys all around. She seemed much calmer now. After a few more minutes, she was relaxed in bed and we said goodnight. When we left, she whimpered a little, but there was no more screaming or any other issue for the night.
I don’t know where this is ghost drama is going. I don’t know how long Ghosty plans on hanging around. I don’t know if tonight the dinosaurs are going to be enough to calm her. All I know is I’m barely sleeping. Any noise from the monitor, any slight cry from her, anything at all, has me or my husband checking her room. I can’t even stand being in her room now. I woke her up this morning and said, “Let’s get ready in the living room today.” I then closed the door and locked it.
Kids seeing ghosts is a thing. How you deal with it is up to you and your family. I can tell you though, don’t tell your child not to be scared. Let them be scared, but tell them they’re safe. And if getting them to bed takes even longer, so be it. Just be patient and brave for them.
Then once they’re okay with you leaving the room, get on your computer and research how to get rid of ghosts. I hear sage works well.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
I'm just going to come out and say it: I suck at taking care of my skin. Aside from slathering some Nivea Crème on my face in the morning and wearing a foundation with a tiny SPF, I do nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch.
I'm lucky if I remember to swipe my face with one of those make-up removal wipes before collapsing into bed at the end of the day.
Now before you assume that I'm some sloth-like creature who doesn't take care of herself, let it be known that I eat a fairly healthy vegetarian diet and exercise on a near-daily basis. So, that isn't the reason.
I could say that my lack of skin care regimen is because I'm too busy, but the truth is that I could find an extra 5-10 minutes a day to slather my face with lotions and potions. Lord knows, even on my busiest days, I could find the 30 seconds it takes to wash my damn face. So, it’s not that either.
The truth is, I just don't care about skin care. I’m not sure why, I just don’t. Rubbing lubes and gels onto my face sounds much less fun than, say, sleeping. Or reading. Or watching tv. Or doing just about anything else.
That said, I recently had a milestone birthday (the big 4-0). My laugh lines are becoming all-the-time lines, my pores are expanding into tiny craters, and my under-eye circles look like I may have gotten into a bar fight the night before. Alas, it's time for drastic measures to be taken with my skin care routine, and by "drastic measures," I mean the bare fucking minimum because I'm lazy AF about this.
After some sampling, research, and lots of advice from friends and strangers alike, I’ve come up with the lazy woman’s guide to skin care. Now I know some people swear by things like apple cider vinegar and coconut oil. But look, I’m as much of an all-natural, wanna-be hippie as the next person, but I prefer to eat my food, not slather it on my face. So behold: Here are the best (non-food-related) skin care products for other skin care-slackers like me:
This daily face wash by La-Roche-Posay was recommended by several people, so I decided to give it a try. The self-described "milky" cleanser comes in normal to oily or normal to dry skin (my skin tends toward dry), and free from allergens and parabens and all that other gunk you don't want on your skin. Bonus: it's reasonably priced.
This night cream is supposed to fight aging while you sleep (yes, please!) by creating firmer and smoother skin. I actually have this lotion on my night stand, and I use it whenever I remember. Which is usually about twice a year. So perhaps the results are indeterminate at this point.
Pixi Glow Tonic is a facial toner that's supposed to clean pores, making them appear smaller. It's a little pricier than I like to spend on skin care products (which is approximately $0), but it comes highly recommended and Pixi doesn't test their products on animals, so we can feel good about the extra splurge on this.
I’ll be honest: skin masks scare the shit out of me. First, they seem like a whole lot of work. And messy too. And whenever I hear people talking about them, it usually involves words like clay and magnesium and glycerin and before long, my head is spinning and I’m out. But a friend said these sheet masks are easy-peasy, and I'm all about easy-peasy so I'm willing to give it a try.
The one skin care must that everyone echoed: sunscreen. La Roche-Posay's mineral sunscreen was recommended by several people, and it's reasonably priced. But even if it weren't, sunscreen is definitely worth the price tag because no one wants skin cancer.
Okay, so I'm still not entirely sure what the purpose of face oil is or how it works, but Tarte says its Maracuja Oil is "harvested from the best in nature to restore balance and harmony." And I love balance and harmony as much as the next person so it’s worth a shot. It can be mixed with foundation too, so it's not really adding a step to my (minimal) skin care routine, which is an extra bonus.
I've been a devout fan of my drug store Nivea Crème for the past 20 years, but I very much look my age, so perhaps some aging prevention measures are called for. The price tag on this is a little hefty (for me!), but it's filled with superfoods, 100 percent vegan, and isn't tested on animals. Phew.
Skin care minimalists like me typically shun "devices," but I'll make an exception for the Clarisonic brush since it's so damn easy to use and who doesn't like a face massage now and then.
Well, there you have it. If you're struggling to keep up with anything even remotely resembling a skin care routine, these products are a good place to start. But I've been told that it's easy to slip into a multi-step skin care routine pretty fast, so beware: your bathroom counter might soon be overtaken by vials of lotions and potions like mine has.
Editors may receive samples and/or a share from purchases made via links on this page. All opinions are our own.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
My sons know where to find my stash of condoms, and they know they're welcome to dip into it freely – once they can reach it without a stepstool, that is.
Right now they recoil at the idea that they'll ever want to be intimate with anyone in that way ("Gross, Mom!") but one of these days, the opportunity will present itself and they suddenly won't find it so "gross" any more. And when it does – when they turn from my innocent babies into sperm-wielding teens capable of making innocent babies – they will be prepared. I know, because I've been preparing them since they were toddlers.
I'm sure to some, it seems extreme. When we think of talking to our kids about sex, we feel like we're going to somehow rob them of their innocence or purity, or that it's encouraging them to be sexual. But here's the thing: sexual development begins during childhood. And it's not going to diminish as time goes on. As parents, we can either take away the taboo of talking about it, so they're more likely to ask us the questions they need to ask – or we can make a natural development feel shameful, so they're more likely to either experiment dangerously with it on their own or seek information from someone who doesn't have any. Either way, they start asking the questions early.
It's hard to know where to begin, or how much information to divulge, and every kid is different. My oldest, who takes things extremely literally and spent his early childhood preferring medical documentaries over Disney movies, wanted to know at about age four exactly how babies were made. Not just a vague explanation, but a technical play-by-play (if it helps, people are always comparing him to Sheldon from Big Bang Theory).
So when it was his younger brother's turn to ask, I had what I felt was a decent and age-appropriate description at the ready. But based on his utter confusion after I launched into it, I learned that he probably would have been happy with a much simpler explanation. Oops. From there on out, when my last two asked me how babies are made, I answered with, "Well, how do you think they're made?" Then, when they told me, I was able to get a good grasp on what they already understand and go from there.
I always start very young, with the very basics: teaching them the proper names for their genitalia and familiarizing them with the term. (With four sons, the word "penis" feels as natural to my vocabulary as the word "nose.")
No, this isn't about sex, but its purpose is to let them know that their genitals are nothing to be so ashamed of that we're too embarrassed to even call it what it is. I teach them boundaries, that no one should ever touch them where their underwear would cover – or anywhere that makes them feel uncomfortable, for that matter – and that if it happens, they should let me or their dad know. This is not only important for them to remember, it lets them know from a very early age that (a) physical boundaries are a thing, and (b) I'm a safe place to land if they have questions or concerns.
As they get older, I try to capitalize on teachable moments. An episode of 16 and Pregnant that I was watching (don't judge) opened up a dialogue about using condoms, and I was able to explain to my sons in a simplified way how condoms work, and told them that I absolutely expect them to protect themselves and their partners because that's their responsibility. They may not be ready at this point, but they're definitely listening, and I'd rather they have the information they need before they head cluelessly into their first sexual encounters.
The hardest part about having talks with your kids about sex is the awkwardness you'll feel inside as you try to pretend you're not feeling awkward at all. But trust me, even that goes away (or at least doesn't sting as much once you're accustomed to it; like anything else, it gets easier the more you do it). I just remind myself that keeping them ignorant does no one any favors.
By teaching my kids young, I'm laying the groundwork for the more complicated sexual subjects I know we'll need to talk about when they're teens. I'm firmly establishing myself as their (open, approachable, non-judgmental) source for accurate facts; they'll know that when they have questions, I'll have answers, and they don't have to be afraid to look to me for guidance. Because I know that if I don't talk to my kids about sex, somebody else will … likely somebody whose parents didn't talk to them about the responsibility and weight attached to the act.
I cringe at the thought of sending my kids off to college without proper knowledge of how to change sheets or whip up a cheap meal – and those are minor things. How could I ever send them into the world without the knowledge of how sex works, and what their sexual rights and responsibilities are? This is major stuff. A sexual encounter can literally change someone's entire life. In a few moments that begin with sex, a person can be traumatized or form an emotional bond or contract a disease or create an unplanned pregnancy.
If I'm teaching my kids how to cook on a budget, but not how to keep themselves and their sexual partners physically and emotionally safe, then I'm not doing my job.
Posted: 07 Feb 2018 06:00 PM PST
I was reading a dear-God-get-me-through-this-next-few-days book called The Hamilton Affair this week: a Lin-Manuel Miranda spin off, basically a more historically accurate fanfic-on-paper publication. It seemed to promise bodice ripping, but no bodices were rippeth. Instead, at its raciest, Alexander Hamilton looks down to see a woman's nipple peeking out from the low, low, low-ass neckline of her dress. Hamilton realizes, in that glance, that "he had forgotten how puffy and ripe was the breast of a woman who had not nursed children."
Thanks, asshole, from all the postpartum, nursing, and once-nursing women for reminding us. Our boobs are not the boobs of yesteryear. Sure, they're still awesome, because all boobs are awesome (can I get a hashtag?!), but our boobs, if yours are like mine, have fallen a good bit.
Mine went from banging-my-chin perky to down-to-the-elbows sag. Like a tangerine in a tube sock, folks.
They're still big. But they naturally separate unless manually manipulated into cleavage. Eight years and counting of consecutive nursing will do this to a body. I fed three boys on these knockers, through elimination diets and reflux and squirming toddlerhood, through long nights desperate for more sleep. My boobs have served me (them?) well.
Saggy boobs aren’t just reserved for moms, of course. Sagging boobs are natural. Normal. We are the sisterhood of the sagging boobs.
So I was thrilled, moved, and fist-pumpingly energized when I learned about Slumflower, also known as (gorgeous) British blogger Chidera Eggerue. As Slumflower told Buzzfeed News, "A lack of representation of saggy-looking boobs when I used to go bra shopping in M&S [Marks and Spencer] [as a young teenager] made me realize that something is wrong with the way the world views women's bodies."
Because of this, she swore she'd get a boob job at age 18, as soon as she'd saved the money, to "fix" the naturally sagging breasts on her small frame. But, she says, "I reached 18 and didn't get a job, let alone a boob job, so I continued self-loathing until I reached 19 and became tired of feeling like a stranger in my own body. I decided I'd had enough and made the choice to stop wearing a bra."
She felt confident with her body, and her breasts. But she wanted to help others.
So in July of 2017, #SaggyBoobsMatter was born. Eggerue uses her own pictures, of her own body, to "help women articulate their own body image hang ups – especially slim women who don't really know where they stand in the body positivity movement."
It's helped many women, including stunning Instagrammer joannvdherik:
Others have integrated into the larger body positive movement, where saggy breasts are generally the norm. Prettyflyfatgirl regularly tags her Instagram posts with #SaggyBoobsMatter:
And hava.bear simply says,
But Eggerue has not come without her critics — particularly men — who deride her choice to embrace non-traditional beauty standards. "Overall, I think the movement has been received with a lot of sarcasm and insults from men and a few confused women, which doesn't surprise me," she tells Buzzfeed.
One woman says, on an endless Instagram comment thread, "Next time a man asks why your boobs are saggy, ask him why his balls are saggy.” HELL YES.
But then, another IG user chimes in with: "23 yr old woman breasts aren't suppose to be this saggy she looks like a 90 yr it's simply she just don't care to fix it just start working out do some self love … you don't even have kids and you just said hey this is normal it's not I'm sorry It must be normal in the UK cause they have breast exercises to help."
A Nigerian record producer made a meme comparing her boobs to a dying cell phone, which he eventually deleted, but as she says, "Cyberbullying is still cyberbullying, even if you're famous." We agree.
"Most of the responses have been horrible and disappointing," she admits to Buzzfeed, "but I've learnt to not take them so personally. Men are socialised to see women as vaginas that think, sometimes. Because of this, women's bodies are picked apart as if we only exist to satisfy."
Amen, sister. A-freaking-men!
From one saggy-boobed lady to another, keep on keeping on. Eggerue's photos are stunning — she is stunning, and yes, boobs and all. The more we normalize things like saggy breasts, the more we can feel confident in the parts of our own bodies that don't meet the mainstream standards of (industrialized Western) beauty.
Body positivity for the win, in all its forms: be it normalizing size, weight, or sagging breasts. I feel empowered just by seeing her power. Go follow her on instagram: @theslumflower. And bask in the glory that is her confidence, her beauty, and oh yeah — her breasts.
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