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Serene. Angry. Overjoyed. Panicked. Guilt laden.  Those are the emotions, in  order, that washed over me the morning I found out my husband was nominated for an Emmy Award. I was sleeping away. Happy as a clam ( I am from Cape Cod so happiness always involves clams) when the phone rings. I am pissed, cursing the person who has the nerve to call at 6AM. Then I am whooping it up. An Emmy nomination!  My husband deserves this nomination, this award. Then it hits me. I am 38 pounds heavier than I was the last time I went to a black tie event. That’s where the guilt creeps in. I’m worried about my weight at this moment? I feel like a jerk, but, what the hell am I going to do about a dress?

It was the 2002 Academy Awards (Oscars), British Academy Awards (BAFTA), and the Golden Globe Awards. My husband was nominated for the first two and his movie was nominated for the third. There were parties as well. I had a lot of shopping to do.

I was a well rounded size 12  plus sized model represented by the Ford Modeling Agency appearing in Target and Kmart ads and being hired for various other, mostly non glamourous, plus sized modeling gigs.  After searching for dresses in numerous boutiques and being told at each one that they didn’t “carry dresses big enough to fit me”. I went the custom route.

I looked great. I felt great. My husband won the BAFTA. His movie won the Oscar and the Golden Globe.  It was a dreamy few weeks.

Now here it is 8 years and 38 lbs later.  I am now a well rounded size 14 pushing 16.  I know that finding a dress will be an impossible feat. Here in Los Angeles, many stores don’t go above a size 10.  The current styles seem impossible for women, like me, with curves. Mini skirt length bubble skirts. Ah… no.  Long and lean empire waist gowns? Empire waist on my 5’10 inch frame hits me right under the armpits. Not a good look.

I order a few dresses online. I can’t bear to go to a store just yet so I delude myself into thinking I will order something and get lucky. I soon discover that I am in between size categories. A regular 14 just doesn’t cut it. A plus sized 14 is too big in the bust and back.  The styles change from sexy to frumpy from one size category to the next.  None of the dresses I order fit. My six year old daughter was kind enough to point out that I looked pregnant in all of them. Ha ha ha…hey. There was an idea! I’ll just shove a pillow into the waistband and go to the awards like that. I’ll tell everyone I am pregnant. I seriously considered it.

My husband reminds me that when I spent the obscene amount on the custom Academy Awards dress eight years ago, I promised I would wear it every time we went to a black tie event for the rest of my life. So, I dig it out of the closet and think, what the hell. Maybe it can be let out or maybe, just maybe I gained all the weight in my butt and the skirt will somehow hide it. It’s a floor length midnight blue taffeta with an iridescent lining that peeks out from the hem with a slight fishtail train.  It is long and slinky and the dress of my dreams. I slip it over my head and pull it down. Is it caught on something? Yes it is. My behind. It is now a backless mini dress.  The only part of the skirt that gets past my hips is the fish tail. Four feet of taffeta is scrunched up around my waist. It’s backless because there is about eight inches of me between the two sides of the zipper. The tightest girdle invented wouldn’t get this thing closed. 38 pounds? Who am I kidding. This is 50+ pounds. I pack up the dress and start searching online again.

I find an amazing dress and I can tell it will fit but it’s not available until two months after the big event.  It’s on the website of a department store so I decide the next morning to go see if by some miracle there is one in stock. Well, they don’t have it.  But there on a sale rack. Flawed with a huge ragged snag in the fabric and labeled with a tag that was obviously reattached when it was returned, is my perfect dress.  It’s a size 14. I walk it to the dressing room muttering to myself, “Please. Please let it fit. I need this to fit”.  I enter the harsh lights of the fitting room. I turn my back to the mirror,  strip down, and slip the dress over my head. It flows down my torso, over my legs and pools on the floor like warm hot fudge was poured over me.  My daughter gasps, “Mommy. You look beautiful!”  It fit like it was made for me. Ok so it was supposed to be loose and flowing and on me it was tight, but it worked and I bought it.

I went home and hung it up for three weeks and didn’t look at it again. I was petrified it hadn’t really fit after all and I didn’t want to know. I waited until the night before the event to try it on again. It still fit. The jagged, horrid snag in the fabric was right there on the front of my thigh but I didn’t care. I’d wear the thing if there was a ketchup stain down the front.  

The day of the Emmy’s it was 80 degrees in Los Angeles.  I did my make up and hair, took a deep breath,  and shoved my size 14+ body into a pair of Spanx that fit my six year old like a pair of leggings. I maneuvered myself into a stick on backless bra comprised of two silicone “chicken cutlets” with a snap in the middle.  I then pulled my boobs together and snapped them in place.  Next was the tape to hold the straps of the dress onto my shoulders. Lastly,  I slipped into my completely flat sandals with a rhinestone bumble bee on each of my big toes. I was determined to have one part of my body not pinched, compacted, and in pain. We took a few photos and waited for the limo to arrive. All the while I was plotting how I was going to be able to bend the middle of my body enough to get into the car without splitting the dress or popping the hideous bra thing completely off, taking someones eye out.

When we arrived I maneuvered myself out of the limo. In the process the tape on my gown straps gave way from the sweat that was pouring down my body and I exposed one side of my bra to the waiting, though completely uninterested in me, paparazzi at the entrance. We stepped onto the red carpet. It was hot, crowded, and we had 10 minutes to get to our seats or we’d be locked out of the theater.  I made a quick trip to the ladies room. Desperately tried to re-tape my gown to my body and hide the waistband of my Spanx that was peeking out of the top of my backless dress.

I made it to my seat with a minute to spare. Ten rows up in the center, on the right.  The show was to be three hours long with no break. “So settle in and enjoy!”  I was nervous for my husband. He really deserved to win this award.  

It was a beautiful stage. Everyone looked so glamourous around us. Celebrities were everywhere. The creative people behind the scenes were all around me.  My nervousness started to transform into excitement. My husband might really win this award! The first Emmy is given out. Look at that thing! It’s huge and gold and shiny. That beautiful woman’s body with lightening- bolt wings languidly stretching towards the sky holding a globe.  It would look so cool in my house.  I can’t believe this is happening! The suspense is too intense.

Two hours into the show. The category is called. I grab for my husband’s hand and squeeze it.  A mobile camera crew comes over to us and sticks a big television camera right in my husband’s face. Poised to capture either the moment of victory or the moment of pretending you are happy for the other guy who won your award instead.  All the weeks of waiting and getting ready. The guilt of me worrying about my dress washes over me. This is the important moment.

Here it is… and there it goes. The presenter reads names I have never heard.  A group of people I have never seen trot to the stage and collect the sexy gold statue that was supposed to come home with us. My husband turns to me and smiles and says, “It’s OK”.   I try to catch my breath. My heartbeat slows back to normal. I let out a big sigh and stare at the snag in my dress. I have to sit there for another hour until the show is over, day dreaming about what it would have been like to see my husband up there on the stage.

We still had a great time. The after- party was beautiful and extravagant.  It was designed to look like an otherworldly  starry night. Lights of zodiac constellations patterned the walls.  Disco balls spun to create shooting stars.  There was a  bar made completely out of ice. There was even swag. Boxes of specially made Duncan Hines brownies on each of our seats for us to take home. I scooped them up for my daughter and guarded them from the brownie poachers who were sneaking around all night looking for unattended boxes.

Around 10 PM we climbed into our limo, took a deep breath, and wound our way home through the city. Sure I felt disappointed. But really, it was an exciting evening and  I was grateful for that.  Feeling a bit deprived, I looked down at the fancy platinum boxes of brownies resting on the seat next to me and considered, how many brownies can a six year old eat anyway…?

Elizabeth Vienneau is a former Ford plus model, photographer www.aphotofable.com  and dear friend from Los Angeles.

Continue reading Plus Size Beauty Goes to the Emmys, a guest post by Elizabeth Vienneau

 

 

 

 

 

 

                               

I’ve always been reluctant to share certain experiences without sounding like a name-dropping gossip, but I decided my perspective and experiences living in Boston, NYC, Los Angeles and Durham, NC might be of interest.

During my tumultuous childhood there were times we lived well and just as many times we could barely afford a newspaper. During one of those more fortunate times, I had the opportunity of a lifetime for a star struck, “chubby” thirteen year old from Brookline. As a reward for getting all As and probably to escape the hyper critical grip of my current step monster, my mother whisked me away to California in 1970. Our first stop was two weeks at La Costa where I worked with an encouraging tennis pro, dined on spa cuisine and watched the filming of the boorish “Doctor’s Wives”. On one occasion I was dumbstruck by Dyan Cannon’s nakedness in La Costa’s locker room as I eyed her toothpick limbs and grapefruits. Wow, is this what’s hot in Hollywood? Ursula Andress and Sophia Loren were far sexier with their voluptuous curves. I guess I can blame Dyan for creating the trend of big bobble heads with teeny, tiny bodies and huge boobs like Angelina Jolie.

Although I didn’t lose much, I felt firmer, stronger and I became enchanted by California’s strangeness. Everyone looked so relaxed their eyes seemed at half-mast while they breathed in hypnotic winds fragrant with plumeria. Everything looked so new, not like the chipped paint on houses in Boston with centuries of crud.

After two weeks at La Costa, my mother hired a driver to take us up the coast to the Beverly Hilton Hotel. As we were approaching Beverly Hills, the driver suggested taking us to see the house where the Tate-La Bianca murders took place the previous year. Although I felt sickened by the suggestion of the macabre tourist attraction, I remember thinking how different this place felt to me and how even the natives understood the public’s insatiable curiousity with anything related to Hollywood. I had just read Nathaniel West’s “Day of the Locusts” and this moment reeked of it.

My mother took me to the Whiskey-A-Go-Go where I had my hand stamped “No booze for youz” and saw Sha Na Na perform. Later that evening we discovered a huge multi-level nightclub with swinging chaises. We were there only a day or two when my mother announced she’d met a producer who was able to acquire tickets for us to attend the Governor’s Ball (party) for the Academy Awards. This was so extraordinary we had to have something special and very Hollywood to wear. Through some Boston research, my mother settled on the Sunset Blvd. boutique of Holly Harp, a former art student at Radcliffe and well-known for her hippie chic style and romantic designs in matte jersey and vintage fabrics. Holly was famous for dressing everyone from Ali Mac Graw’s antique shawl look to Barbra Streisand to Stevie Nicks. Both Holly and husband, Tom were warm, very southern charming. Although it wasn’t easy to find something in my size 12/14, we settled on a vintage print prairie skirt (with a drawstring) and an ingenious blue silk blouse with a removable high collared vintage lace “dickie”. (The dickie is now infamous due to Zack’s fake turtleneck in “Dinner for Schmucks”). Once the dickie was removed, it converted to a classic v-neck. My tanned mother wore a beige matte jersey two piece top and long skirt that draped elegantly and she wore an “updo” like a Greek goddess. To accessorize the look, Holly sent us to a store for antique handbags.

Liz and Dick at the Academy Awards, 1970

Unlike today, everyone went to the Governor’s Ball in 1970. I recall stepping aside when I felt the whirl of people shifting towards the door, cameras popping with each shot. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton entered the room. Amazed by the peach pit-sized diamond radiating from her ample bosom and the surrealness of the moment, I was awestruck by her charisma. To this day the only other woman I’ve seen carry herself with Taylor’s brand of glamorous sexual confidence is Beyonce. It’s like she relishes her femininity the way a drag queen does, masterfully polishing and maximizing her beauty potential.

I glanced over at Barbra Streisand fixating on her creamy, porcelain, graceful hands. As we moved to our tables, I found myself seated between Caesar Romero best known as TV’s The Joker and Katherine Ross (The Graduate, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid). I was so overcome with seeing the many famous people in one place, it became this delightful blur of a memory that seemed to take a milisecond as I danced near Jon Voight.

Years later I realized movie stars were just people, some nice and some truly horrible. But for a special time in 1970, I lived a California dream.

Continue reading California trip, 1970

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who do mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind”. Dr. Seuss

Sex and the City inspired me to discontinue my lively internal monologue and finally embark on some serious blog posting about girlfriends. No other television show in history made us realize the value of our girlfriends and their impact on our lives.We spend so much time trying to find our soulmate we forgot how difficult it is to find the special girlfriend connection. As Samantha exclaimed in Sex and the City 2, “You are my soul mates!” Every friendship I’ve had has taught me invaluable lessons about character and loyalty.

I grew up in an atmosphere similar to “Slums of Beverly Hills” with my divorced mother and sister. I was the only overweight member of an unholy trinity of jealousy and treachery. I learned as early as 8 the only way I was going to thrive was to develop friendships outside with girls of a similar, gentle nature. I had best friends who shared the same weird sense of humor, passion for writing, reading, art, fashion, music and film. We learned an emotional shorthand as a result of the deep empathy we felt. Girlfriends offered me the normalcy of a nurturing relationship, believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I gained faith that somewhere in the harsh world exists an oasis of acceptance and love.

When I was 15 I attended prep school to escape a step monster. All the girls had names like Muffy, Buffy and Molly, clear complexions, perfect long legs and straight blond hair. Not only was I one of two overweight girls in the entire school, but I was one of five Jewish students and not rich. The stark contrast of my plus size appearance along with my other differences set me worlds apart and deepened my feelings of isolation. I carried the burden of a dark family with a simmering melancholy while these girls sparkled with lightness and confidence. Then I met a girl named Kathi who “got me” instantly. She sang Elton John on the piano while I drew and wrote poetry. Somehow we were living in the same key during our adolescent angst.

My girlfriends became mother and sister to me during my formative years. As I reached my early twenties in NYC I became attracted to friends that amused and entertained, pursuing more superficial friendships until I met Algy (Algeretta) through an eccentric neighbor she was dating. I met one of the most influential people in my life-my best friend. With her strong Mid-western work ethic, pioneer woman stability, and expansive heart, she taught me lessons about coping with life’s curve balls. She showed me that real friends are there for you during the broke times and when you’re doing the not so fun things like moving or getting a divorce.

Some things I’ve learned in the pursuit of my friendships with WOC (women of character) who can become your soulmates:

In order to have a woman of character as a friend, you’ve got to be a WOC (woman of character).

Friends show up in the most unlikely women. My moslem friend, Nasia shared her distrust for Jews until she became friends with a Jewish jeweler when she had mistakenly assumed he was an Arab. She shared this “aha moment” with me. Now we jokingly refer to each other as cousins because we’re really all related!

Realize some women have two faces. The one they show you and then the one they show to the rest of the world. Frenemies suck.

Any friend who makes you feel diminished by her competitiveness is not a WOC. Our true friends don’t deliver little shtecks (shitty things) for the purpose of demeaning you.

Get a backbone. Sometimes taking up for a friend challenges other relationships.
Be willing to go the distance for a real friend.

Keep your eye on the big picture. Is this a petty argument that you’re willing to set aside for all the many beautiful attributes of your friend? You should. Finding a WOC is no piece of cake, but the rewards are a
major source of happiness in your life.

If you’re holding a grudge about an argument, but realize that you really miss and love that friend, for goodness sake pick up the phone or drop her an e-mail to say
I will own my shit now and the role I played in it.
Be ready and willing to process the disagreement until the hurt feelings are addressed.
WOC forgive and have the sense to pick up the phone and say. “Are we OK?”

To this day I still feel like the odd woman out, navigating a similar world in my neighborhood where I am the fattest woman in the room, the only Jew with the big opinionated, liberal mouth. I’ve come to realize that as one male friend recently said. “You’re an acquired taste”. I still try to embrace my uniqueness despite the loneliness it sometimes causes me. As I age, superficial friendships hold little allure. I’ve never been comfortable with lukewarm feelings about friends or lovers. We either have the feeling of two souls singing in harmony or not.

Friends are the foundation of my life, enriching and creating a cocoon of love. They care about my struggles, treading gently when I need it, but also providing a reality check when necessary. I don’t need to convince them of my worth. They honor me with their devotion and I am privileged to call them friend.

Love,
Deborah

Continue reading Friendship Sex and The City Style

In 1991 I left Los Angeles to join my family at the Duke Diet and Fitness center in Durham, NC.  Many dieters consider 1991 the last great party year. Most of us lived in a “Melrose Place” residential suites hotel which reinforced a strong sense of community and ultimately became the spot for lively social gatherings around the pool with its imposing water tower and pink crepe myrtle. It was the summer of those crazy “Jerky boy” tapes, “Marky Mark” an assortment of colorful characters like wiseguys on the lam, “the bonnet lady” (who always wore a little bo peep bonnet to conceal her double chin), a Republican campaign strategist, a trust fund sociopath, and unusual hook-ups.I had the good fortune of living next door to Dom De Luise who had arrived a week before I did. One morning he remarked about the wonderful coffee smell emanating from my apartment and I invited him in and thus began our little morning “coffee klatches”. We talked about everything: food, family, celebrity, friends and film.  He had a passion for life and adored his family and friends, famous or not. He once told me his best friend was Anne Bancroft who had directed him in his only serious role in “Fatso”, a cult classic among the dieters who could recite whole passages. He was incredibly patient, indulging fans in endless autograph signings and pictures, something of a rarity in the celebrities I’ve met. He may have been a celebrated actor and comedian, but to us he was a remarkable, humble human being, touching so many people’s lives with his warmth and compassion.He had the ability to bring out the best in people and to find humor in any situation. He would wrap his arms around my waist and gesture wildly as I spoke to other people in the pool. (Remember Silent Movie?) We played this game where we would determine which animals people looked like. I remember one day when I said some Nashville erstwhile Cassanova songwriter looked like a pidgeon, he exclaimed, “You’re really brilliant at this”.  I discounted it as a useless talent, but he insisted it showed such creativity. We have a family member who had just had her face lifted and every time he asked “Where’s Betty?”, he would pull his face up to simulate her facelift. He just always knew how to make me laugh.One of the great indicators of a tender heart is someone who still has that childlike sense of wonderment at the world. On the day of my niece’s 2nd birthday, I found him lovingly wrapping her gift in the newspaper’s funnies in his own artistic way. He had an incredible connection to children (as evidenced by his children’s books) and affinity for animals.I have some lovely memories of him like watching the Oscars with him that year and listening to his acting stories. It was clear all his actor/director friends like Mel Brooks, Gene Wilder and Burt Reynolds loved being in his presence.He was gentle, innocent and full of joy and I am so very grateful for the time I shared with this extraordinary human being.

Love, Deborah

Continue reading A Tribute to Dom DeLuise

I apologize for the extended wait between blog posts.  My former hosts dropped the ball and consequently many of my older posts were lost.  In the next few weeks I’ll try to retrieve them, especially the posts readers enjoyed like the tribute to Dom De Luise, Self Esteem and Are Plus Size Women in Vogue??

Continue reading Back Again – Lost Posts!!!