Summer Must-Not-Haves: A Guide
1. Misshapen $9.95 blouse from H&M purchased without trying on and incapable of entertaining more than one breast at a time
2. Set of faded beach towels with name labels sewn in from summer camp featuring a) butterflies b) dolphins c) sunset or d) all of the above
3. Inner thigh friction and other jort-related injuries, including but not limited to severe camel toe requiring gynecological intervention
4. Stranger’s beach hair nestled gently against your collarbone for entire duration of outdoor concert
5. One hungry nocturnal mosquito trapped in your bedroom; 3.2 hours of sleep, ensuing psychosis
6. Proustian Norwegian memoirs
7. Strep throat contracted from $22 tester lipsticks resulting in $77 urgent care tab
8. Ill-conceived summer “fling” with windowless-bedroom-dweller/
9. Vintage cruiser stuck in the lowest gear: a little rusty, still cute enough to attract thieves
10. Unclouded knowledge of hot dog ingredients
Tags: humor, nina blass, shopping, summer
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About Author
by Nina Blass
Nina Blass is a copywriter in New York and tweets as @nablass. She still has seven days of antibiotics left.
Stranger's hair (and other assorted body parts) touching me is the EXACT reason that I have stopped going to concerts.
I ventured out of my cave full of cranky people and cats to go to a concert recently, and I got blonde hair aggressively flicked in my face for almost the entire concert. Also elbows in the sternum, and hips and a butt trying to push me out of the way so she could have my covetous spot. I endured all body parts with a determination born of many, many crowded BART rides full of people and their bags/elbows/hairdos/butts up in my space, but after hairflick 4 or 5 cracked hair across my glasses in a painful fashion, I asked her to stop with the hair. She laughed and continued. Argh. On the other hand, there is a part of me that admires her for being a terror and wants her to continue with her bad self.
It was with a certain sense of relief that I realized I could just stop going to concerts where I would have to stand in a sweaty throng of people. My concert-going standards now: will there be a place to sit, and a place to order a drink in a glass? I'll go. No? NO*.
*I have made one exception since, for George Clinton. That show was outside on a concrete pier where we all stood and jumped and danced shoulder-to-shoulder, on a cool night with a brisk wind off the ocean chilling our sweat and blowing it onto each other, and it was STILL worth it.
Oh Elsa is Emily, I just read a whole lot out of the archives of your blog yesterday and now you are replying to me! I feel so blessed. Or maybe #blessed.
pamplemoussi! I am just me, I just hang out here in my corner, muttering into my (usually metaphorical) glass of gin.
Thanks for reading; I know blogs are kinda last-century (and heeeey, turn of the century is when I started writing there, so that works out) and I do have a tumblr, but I usually reserve my personal writing for the blog. It just feels more natural to me.
Ha, I had almost exactly the same thought when receiving a reply from EiE (sorry if this is creepy! But your blog is charming, as are you).
YOU TWO. You know how to cheer up a broad.
I'll never forget witnessing the plumes of dandruff flying off a dread-head at a concert, highlighted by the stage lights. BARF.
I shuddered. I don't know why that was the one to give me such a pronounced visceral reaction, but it was.
It's no good; I still have to take the subway.
Ugh, itchy just thinking about it.
2. Set of faded beach towels with name labels sewn in from summer camp featuring a) butterflies b) dolphins c) sunset or d) all of the above
I have a very faded towel which has sewn onto it not only a name label, but the Kelloggs swimming badges I earned when I was about 6. It has a clown on it and is incredibly unabsorbent. Does that count?
We somehow inherited an old beach towel with Disney's Sleeping BeautyTM and her castle on it, and none of our friends will own up to leaving it at our house.
My daughter the tomboy refuses to use it, but it's still absorbent and works nicely on the dog. Honestly, it sounds much less frightening than your clown aberration.
It is slightly disturbing-looking, but I think I've had it long enough to be mostly blinded by it. The clown is sort of made up of geometric shapes/in silhouette against an orange background, juggling with a wide grin on its face under the word "CIRCUS". Goodness knows what my parents were thinking.
Towels that don't dry are a wonder.
It's very impressive. I still use it about once a week when I go swimming, even though it is very bad at its job. How can a towel be so scratchy and useless?
I'm slooooowly developing the fortitude to just throw away (or, when appropriate, give to Goodwill) objects that don't perform their narrow range of tasks well: sunglasses that don't really shade my eyes, towels that don't absorb or stay damp when hung to dry, sheets that are scratchy or won't stay on the bed.
I knew I had graduated to a new realm of self-confidence when, three days out of one week, I came home, walked in, and IMMEDIATELY shucked off [a pair of socks that kept falling inside my boots/riding-up underpants/my horrible poking bra] and tossed it in the trash. Once upon a time, I would have kept trying to make those items serve their function; now I respect my own comfort more than the inanimate objects that discomfit me. It doesn't sound like much, but it was a big triumph.
I hope to reach that point someday! I am still at the stage where I find myself thinking, "Well, it mostly does its job; it seems so wasteful to throw it away". I feel, irrationally, like I am giving up. (Also, money. I am just coming to the end of my first year in proper full-time employment after university, and am about to start a postgraduate course and just do a bit of part-time work. But one day it should be less of an issue and I will be less nervous about buying stuff.)
I hear you on both of those: I've been unemployed for a ridiculously long stretch, broken up only by freelance writing. I will make do with an item as long as I possibly can.
But what I've been shedding is my inner sense — and probably this doesn't apply to you, it is frankly a little weird of me, though honestly come by — that there is virtue in making do with an inferior object that I already have even if I can afford a replacement, that self-denial is inherently noble.
I realized that I can enjoy buying used goods or using older objects, and recognize that they have their place in a well-balanced economic life, without treating myself in such a miserly fashion.
Having just given away heaps of old things (thanks, moving!) I am completely on board with the triumph of no longer being beholden to things that don't serve you anymore. It's so freeing.
I'm also going to be THAT girl for a second and say that Goodwill will take clothing/fabric that is no longer wearable – they sell things they can't resell to rag houses. H&M now does a similar thing where you can donate bags of clothes in any condition and receive a coupon per bag. I was excited to learn about non-landfill options for unwearable clothes and thought you might be too!
I was given an entire set for my wedding. I was to young and naive to realize it was the towels and not me. We lived with those towels for a year.
I had my Granny's old beach towel for many years. It was leopard-spotted with abundant fringe; once upon a time it must have been racy as hell. I kept it because it reminded me that my strict, prim grandmother had a little streak of hellion in her, buried too deep to excavate.
But one day I looked at it objectively and really saw it: threadbare and raspy as paper towel, fraying and faded, a tattered rag. I threw it out. And for my birthday, my sister gave me a new leopard-print towel. Awwww.
I am really enjoying the idea of a shirt "entertaining" one or both breasts. I have tried on many a dress and blouse that failed to entertain my rack at all!
I often feel like I get to choose between a dress entertaining my breasts or covering my ass. If it holds the boobies, then it stops juuuust above the ass. If the boobs fall out, then it covers my butt. NOT FAIR.
I had a good giggle over two dresses my mom found at a thrift store and mailed me, thinking they might be good for work. One had a sash at the "waist" which wrapped directly across the nipple area. (This often happens when a dress or blouse has a high waist.) The other was a sheath that had a sort of faux jacket that should have come down to the bottom of the rib cage, but in fact stuck out like an insane bib.
If I can just cobble together a good enough wardrobe to get a higher salaried job, I'm getting all my clothes tailored a la Joan Harris on Mad Men.
(Slightly) cheaper than tailoring: there are several companies that do "boob-sized" clothing. My three favorites are Pepperberry, Urkye, and Biu Biu. You can find a lot of off-season Pepperberry stuff on eBay for very reasonable prices–definitely worth looking into!
AMAZING. Thanks so much for sharing! Pepperberry's clothes are so cute, too!
Oh god that H&M one is too accurate. How do your clothes not accommodate actual bodies??
You know what's great? Their boys' department. I have been rocking several plaid cotton shirts, meant for boys ages 10-14, which I picked up on sale for $3.50 a piece. They make me very happy.
yes! it is all about shopping in the boys department! less pricey and no horrible hues of pink everywhere.
I once went into an H&M in France with a chubby friend who'd never been to the store. She asked me what Euro size I was, to gauge what she should try, and I had to tell her that I (a smallish, toned runner) was already the second-largest size. The light in her eyes died and she wandered around the store, brushing dresses lightly with the tips of her fingers, probably thinking about murder. I realized some things about thin privilege (and the absurdity of H&M's sizing) that day.
I like how its dresses assume my butt is 8-12 inches above where my butt actually is. And I'm only 5'8". And long-torsoed, but still.
I literally just briefly considered buying some shorts, looked at my options and was like NO. No infected camel toe for THIS lady.
7. Strep throat contracted from $22 tester lipsticks resulting in $77 urgent care tab
This isn't helping me want to try wearing lipstick.
Recently I flew through Baltimore, which has a very well-equipped airport. I was feeling dried out, so I went to the Body Shop and used all kinds of tester moisturizers. Now I feel a little gross about it. (They were pump bottles, though!)
Don't try it on your lips! Try it on your hands.
Sephora and makeup counters should have little test swab thingies – but I don't trust that someone hasn't been gross, so I always test it on my hand. Which maybe makes me the gross person effing it up for the hygienic swabbers but whate'er – no one is picking up anything in that case.
a-symmetrical maxi dresses and flimsy gladiator sandals adorned with rhinestones.
i just… can't.
I read "Proustian" as "Prousting" several times, and now I really want that as a verb.
Is that like Fisking, but with nostalgia rather than scorn?
"Vintage cruiser stuck in the lowest gear: a little rusty, still cute enough to attract thieves"
As long as it doesn't have COTTER PINS you've avoided true nightmare territory.