In early 2011, we thought Wouldn’t it be funny to make a Tumblr about yogurt? Like, yogurt news, maybe reviews, definitely pics and other musings about yogurt? Actually yes. Maybe only funny to us, but worth doing. She came up with the name and I set it up. She reblogged the first of many photos of large-breasted women up alongside the yogurt pics. In her mind, this made complete sense. I thought it was hilarious.
Over time, I’d say I did a lion’s share of the work on creamtop. She was a little busy with law school and a younger, more active social life. A wonderful fashion blog called broadist that she created with another friend was really taking off and we thought, for very obvious reasons, if she had any free time at all, it was more important for her to contribute there than to this one. Do your thing, girl. I got this.
Now and then she’d surprise me by putting something up here. Something that amazed me. That I would have never seen on my own feeds. Funny or beautiful or both. That’s so her.
I’m feeling so many things this evening. Mostly gutted, but thankful for the short time I was able to share with this amazing person. I prefer to keep it at that—some things are too personal for a yogurt blog. Yogurt blogs are funny. Life is funny. You never think that a stranger that you chat with in a will call line at a music festival will become one of your best friends. You never think this person will be taken away from you so suddenly. And you hear this all the time, but I promise, you will regret all the things you never say to a person.
Goodbye Roxy—I love you.
ATTN: “You look great! Have you lost weight?” is not a compliment. I know it has been the go-to praise-route towards many women since the inception of puberty, but I’d like to put an end to it. Why do I hear this like a broken record every holiday?
- You look great! How are your new jobs going?
- You look great! How is your blog doing?
- You look great! Things seem to be going really well for you lately.
- You look great! You’ve been smiling all weekend.
- You look great! I love your dress/hair/shoes/demeanor.
- You look great! You seem really happy.
- You look great! (Period).
I don’t know who started the rumor that “Have you lost weight?” is just about the goddamn nicest thing you can say to a (fat) woman. Let me assure you: it’s not. I haven’t done anything right or wrong or good or bad for appearing to weigh less than the last time you saw me. Don’t congratulate me.
Use your head. Or, at the very least, be more creative with your compliments.
- pink vintage jumpsuit: thrifted at Re/Dress
- black leotard: American Apparel
- fruity neon nails: fngrblstr
I can get pretty gushy about clothes, but this jumpsuit is hands down the best thing I own (first seen here, July 2011). I’ve been wearing it a bunch in my last few leisurely days of work-cation, getting organized at home before re-entering the college radio hustle on Thursday. Trying to envision myself at a show wearing this outfit. Actually considering it.
Hey, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve?
- suit: thrifted in Long Island
- boots: Vince Camuto
- H&M t-shirt
- tights: Uniqlo heat tech
- lipstick + eyeliner: MAC
- sunglasses: Alter
- Hand Job Academy tote bag
- hand necklace + fang ring: Vera Meat
- lion earrings: Rainbow
- Swatch watch: has been stopped for months
- snake ring: from a flea market in Berlin
- vintage pins: from grandparents
Occupation: I am an emcee in the rap group Hand Job Academy and a professional manicurist and nail artist.
What informs/inspires your style?: When I was growing up my mother force-fed me a steady diet of Audrey Hepburn, Jacqueline Kennedy, and Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. I think I first rebelled, then later accepted and subverted these influences. I like wearing black; my boyfriend calls it “East Village Black” because in the 80s and 90s everyone in NYC apparently had a closet full of black clothes. I like gold. I like to wear a lot of jewelry because rap game. I think I like accessories more than clothes. This suit I’m wearing is part of the “Rich White Woman” series. I’m only 1.5 of those things. One time, a gay black man in a store in Alphabet City saw my Anne Klein shoes and exclaimed, “Look at your rich white woman shoes!” and he said it in a way that told me he knew I wasn’t that person. I could never be mistaken for an Upper East Side lady, nor would I care to be. I think it’s a good look if you’re kinda punk rock to begin with. Dismantle it from the inside or something.
All time number one favorite thing to wear: Probably my Vera Meat hand necklace. I have worn it almost every day for the last 3 years. When I bought it I think it was Christmas and I was single and kinda practicing being my own boyfriend. I joked that the hand belonged to my imaginary boyfriend and was there for me to hold when I needed it. Then it kinda became the hand of my Higher Power. After I began the journey toward my new career as a manicurist and started Hand Job Academy, it took on a different symbology. Like it guided me into the life I was supposed to have. I remember when I bought my first piece from Vera she said something like, “The piece of jewelry chooses you.”
What’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot lately?: Art. Riot Grrrl. Pussy Riot. Chihuahuas. That I could stand to read more books and do more exercise. JUICE: my new Ninja juicer Xmas present from my dude.
Current non-fashion obsession: Well, she is somewhat involved in fashion, but I have such a boner for Marina Abramović. I assisted on a shoot earlier this year and ended up doing her nails. I didn’t really realize until after the fact how much that moment impacted me, just watching her interact with people and the way she speaks and appears to give nary a fuck. (And I certainly didn’t save the orange wood stick I used on her, that would be totally creepy. Yeah.) I recently saw her opera at the Armory, “The Life and Death of Marina Abramović,” and it was incredible. Good art makes me want to make art but great art makes me want to live my life more deeply, and this was the latter. Also, at the climactic final moment of the show the person sitting behind me violently vomited, which felt like an appropriately visceral and horrifying circumstance.
What helps you feel confidence about your body, style, and general sense of self?: Entering my 30s and getting sober and finally finding an artistic and career path that I care about. I can’t feel good about myself if I have my head stuck up my own ass, so I try to help other people as much as possible. Coming back around to the style I had when I was a 15-year-old weirdo. Being around other people who are their authentic selves which allows me to be my authentic self. I think 2014 is about standing next to the smartest person in the room and dressing for the job I want, and other boardroom cliches that I plan to apply to my work and life.
What’s it mean to be a broad?: I like to replace “bitch” with “broad” sometimes. Like the phrase “bad bitch” sounds better to me as “bad broad.” Anytime there’s a photo of four of my friends together it’s like “Bad Broad Mount Rushmore.” Not sure where that came from but it’s a thing now. My dad claims that one of my great aunts was a chorus girl with Barbara Stanwyck back in the day. Now THAT was a broad.
End note: In the spirit of New Years Eve (the one night glitter is a neutral), Claire’s dishing out manicures with nail art for $20.14! Upon seeing her work, you’ll realize this sale is kinda insane. Email email@example.com for availability, appointments, and questions. Check out instagram.com/Fngrblstr for more pics and info! On a flashback-y note, I met Claire through Sue, a broad y’all met almost 2 years ago. <3
Too many young girls don’t know how to act when someone’s being inappropriate with them. They giggle or they try to brush it off. Don’t do that. Tell them to go fuck themselves - be a bitch. If someone’s being disrespectful to you, be disrespectful right back. Show them the same amount of respect that they show you.
- vintage checkered dress: from my roommate Katelyn’s kit, and altered by her, too
- American Apparel cardigan
- black ribbed HUE tights
- boots: from that same dept. store in PA
Between my mom’s two-part birthday extravaganza and Thanksgiving, I spent quite a bit of time celebrating at home in November. Of course the past week and a half have been consumed by sadness and logistics, leafing through blog archives, and drinking tea (among other more grape-based liquids). I’m still not entirely sure what to do with myself or my time but I know it feels great to talk with friends about Roxy and what we built together. While there’s a lot of pain right now I know she’s somewhere covered in glitter telling off some jerks and drawing a bubble bath.
I will have more thoughts/feelings on my homegirl pretty soon, but my computer crashed and I temporarily lost all of my writing. How’s that for honesty? I love you all. TGIF.
One of my closest friends died suddenly on Sunday, four days before Thanksgiving. As I struggle to figure out what to be thankful for during the hardest time in my life, I’m reminded of all tha…
Another beautiful piece of writing about Roxy, and so thankful for it.
I met Roxy in a way I guess I’ve met a lot of people: through the Internet. I was 16 years old and desperate to meet people with interests similar to the ones that had started to overtake me around that time, primarily indie rock and books. Roxy and I reached out to each other via a site called makeoutclub (like OKCupid but way more embarrassing, if possible) and began talking on instant messenger and obsessively reading one another’s Livejournals.
We were kind of our own support group back then as we tried to figure out what our identities were during our awkward teenage years, wishing we were anywhere but our current locations (suburban Connecticut and Santa Monica). We quoted The Hipster Handbook, introduced one another to new bands, books, and movies. She was one of the first people to teach me things about what feminism really was. A lifeline when I really, truly needed it.
In a way, I think we helped one another become comfortable in our respective skins, leaving drunk voicemails to one another when we got to college, in awe that we were finally in big cities, going to shows, making cool friends in real life.
Later, we’d mostly lost touch until a few years ago, when my good friend Caroline asked me how I knew Roxy. They’d met and were planning to start a body-positive fashion blog together. They’d name is Broadist and it’d be totally badass. It was around this time, after seven or eight years of talking on the Internet, that I very drunkenly met Roxy and her boyfriend Alexis at a show. It felt unreal, as did seeing her split a bottle of wine with my girlfriend two months ago.
What feels truly unreal, though, is the fact that she’s gone. I found out last night that Roxy has passed away and it’s crushing me. She was a beautiful soul, and I’m far from alone in thinking that. Our lives have run parallel for so long, it’s impossible to even imagine that this person won’t be around, that a person I’d seen transform so much won’t continue to do so, to be the badass everyone knew her to be.
It’s been a rough month for other reasons I’m still not ready to write about, but I’ve thought a lot about time, and about wasting it. Even with how much I’ve accomplished, how much I’ve changed, I’ve realized that I’ve spent the last few years afraid to care about anyone anymore.
Caring, I thought, just led to pain. You get burned for caring every time and we still do it anyway. My professor in college told me to “write what hurts,” and I got tired of hurting. I chose to not care. I’m done with all of that now, after this awful November.
Tonight I will go home to Connecticut and hug whichever family members happen to be there. I won’t roll my eyes at them, instead look directly at them and tell them how much I love them. There isn’t plenty of time, there’s never enough time. i’m going to seize everything, write about it all, work to do everything I’ve always wanted to do without fear of trying and failing. My beautiful girlfriend just moved into my apartment, and I’m going to cherish every minute.
I’ve avoided writing personal, navel-gazing stuff on the Internet, but losing someone I met by doing things like this ten years ago makes it all seem appropriate. I loved you, Roxy, and I miss you already. I love all of you too, whoever you are.