Life at the Top

This will be a short post, as I am traveling (again) in Chicago for another photoshoot for Artful Home. In the old, pre-recession, big company days, a photoshoot often felt like a combination of hard work and glamour, with all the trappings of travel, producers, caterers,people assisting people, etc. Today is a different story, with just two of us from the company doing everything from driving the truck to unloading, from art directing to producing, from soup to nuts, with great people back at the office wearing just as many hats in the process. Did I think this is what life as a CEO of a small company was going to be like? I'm not sure. The crazy thing is, I like this a whole lot better. OK, full disclosure, if the air conditioning in the truck had not decided to die and our hotel had actually had the room we reserved, I would have liked it even better. But the hands-on nature of the work now, the ability to control and say that the buck actually stops here with no one else accountable or to blame, is empowering and liberating. And now I know I can drive a truck as well!

A Spectator to Her Life

I must admit it: I have raised a full-blown fashionista. At 21, my daughter, Zana Bayne http://zanabayne.com/collection/ is at the beginning of her career in the world of fashion, and it is an absolute trip and pleasure to be a spectator to her life.

From the time she was quite young, Susannah (as I still call her) had a distinct sense of style, one which would often make me shudder and joke that she had to promise never to tell anyone that her mommy worked in fashion. Yet this young child could walk into a store and instantly point out the poor color choices, the bad design, and offer up ways to improve styles. When I used to bring her in to work with me, people would at first begrudgingly let the boss' daughter hang out, and rapidly figure out that she could be quite an asset in the design room or with catalog spreads, asking for her to return to help out as frequently as possible.

I never wanted Susannah to enter the same business as I, as she had such strong artistic talent and was so smart that I wanted her to soar higher than I ever had or could. And yet, she is a natural in the business. With her eponymous accessories business, her blog http://garbagedress.com, her day-job, and her extraordinary networking skills, this young woman is blazing a path on her own. Now that her designs are being used in international magazines and her profile has been written up in numerous fashion blogs, I am beginning to get used to being referred to as "Zana's mom" - a label I wear proudly.

RIP Prada Bag

It is time to finally lay my great leather Prada bag to rest. Although I collect shoes with ease and frequency, handbags are another story. Given my preference, I would buy one about once a decade at most. This particular bag has so much history with me that it is hard to say goodbye to it. It is, alas, time.

First, the story: When I made the decision to uproot from Seattle and start my career and life again in California, I got the sweetest note from my favorite saleswoman, Paula,at Barneys, in which she said "Say it isn't so". (Yep, that's how much shopping I guess I was doing at the time!) So I went in to say goodbye to Paula and also to try to use my existing store credit (since there was no Barneys in SF at the time). I arrived at the store in the last hours of the last day of the winter sale, just as a distressed saleswoman was putting out a whole group of atypical Prada handbags which had been misplaced, never put in the sale, and so now were marked down from $1200 to $275. My credit was for $300, so I essentially ended up with an amazing leather bag for free!

I used and abused this bag for about 6 years,never switching it out, watching it become more and more mellow and Lisa-shaped. I got many comments on it and loved telling the acquisition story. It's Prada-ness was never its appeal, as in fact it is logo-free and not at all characteristic of the brand - it just was me. And then it started to fall apart, and I knew it was time for me to begin to search for a replacement, which I eventually found.

Every once in a while I pull that bag out of the back of the closet and give it another try, and really, its life is over and I must let it rest in peace. Of course, I see a metaphor here with my marriage, to which I was dedicated and with which I was associated for so long until it was no longer alive and breathing. And while I tried to resuscitate the marriage, there was inevitably a time to call it quits. The thing I am learning from both my experience with this bag and with my marriage is that perhaps there is another way to preserve a great thing without running it into the ground. Give it a break sometimes. Don't count on it being the one and only in your life. Recognize when it is going downhill and call it, act on it. OK - enough with the metaphors!

The Beauty of Great Design

I am currently at a photoshoot for the apparel and jewelry in Artful Home's Fall 2010 catalog. As usual, we have hired two beautiful models, women who, when photographed, will convey a sense of grace, confidence, and individuality that resonates with women of many shapes, sizes, and ages.

It is a always a sign to me of great design when a piece looks equally great on a 20-something model and a 50-something non-model - and when both wearers respond with equal passion about the piece. I have a strong belief that women develop their personal style early in their lives, and though it evolves over time, it is exactly that, an evolution rather than an abrupt change in style. That's why I find it so frustrating to look for clothes, because so many purveyors of clothing for mature women assume we have turned frumpy just because we are older. And why I find it so exciting to discover an artist/designer like Lynn Mizono, whose architectural take on clothing manages to express individuality,flatter and forgive, and who doesn't want that?

Teach Your Daughters Well

I had an experience this weekend that brought me back to the phenomenon of middle school "mean girls" (and yes, this will eventually get around to 50/50)and really blew my mind. It seems that the ex-girlfriend of a man I am dating has created a pseudonymous blog about dating in her 50's, and chose to dedicate one post to me, or as she put it, her "ex's next". While I'm interested and amused that she thinks I'm so important in this man's life to be worth commenting about, needless to say, it was not a flattering post, and in fact, reeked of language and behavior that can at best be described as classic 7th grade mean girl queen bee nasty. Immature? Yes. Wounding? Not really.

It is not so many years ago that I abruptly resigned (with no future job in sight) from a cushy position because my female boss, the CEO of that company, exhibited classic mean girl behavior, taunting me and verbally harassing me, and I refused to be pushed around by this bully who was determined to demean me based on her insecure competitive nature. My sense of self esteem, particularly in the professional world, was strong enough to recognize damaging behavior and refuse to get caught up in this bee's nest. This is pretty different from when I was in middle school, when one withering look or nasty comment could send me running away, ready to compromise my behavior in order for the alpha girls to accept me.

So what does this have to do with 50/50? One of the original concepts of the business was for a significant portion of the profits from 50/50 to be used for development of and/or support of programs fostering self-esteem in middle-school girls. The very idea of a women's clothing business which recognized the clothing needs of mature women while nurturing future mature women seemed complete and holistic. I still believe in the concept, and if I should ever open this business, it will be a critical component.

But I realized when I read this nasty post from "Emma" that all the programs in the world are not the answer. This woman, this bright, well-educated, professionally successful mother of a daughter is probably feeding her daughter with all the right words, books, and programs to teach her to be a good strong woman when she grows up, just like Mommy. But the role-modeling exhibited by this grown-up mean girl must be, sadly, delivering quite the opposite message to her daughter, and no program will wipe out the messages fed to her in mother's milk. We comment with outrage over teenage girls being driven to suicide by bullying online and off. Sadly it is no surprise from whom these bullies sometimes learn.


For more reading on grown up mean girls http://www.amazon.com/Mean-Girls-Grown-Afraid-Bees/dp/0470168757/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1275879037&sr=1-1

Clothes wearing the woman ?

"Are you a large ring person?" asked a manfriend (MF?) of mine when I was sporting this very large ebony ring given to me the other day by a gallery owner in San Francisco. I know that I would never have purchased this ring for myself, nor any other ring which spanned two or three fingers as this one did. I would normally say, "Wow" and move on, but since this had been a gift, I decided to try wearing it for an hour so I could answer my friend's question - am I a large ring person? - and if not, why not.

Earlier in the same day, I had been in a similar situation in the designer section of Nordstrom. I'd been on a hunt for clothing to use in an upcoming photoshoot, and thus was searching and trying on a number of pieces for consideration. My very helpful saleswoman decided to bring many clothes to the dressing room that I never would have selected, and since I was in a good mood, I decided to try them on. So, had my MF been with me in Nordstrom earlier, he might have asked, "Are you a daring Helmut Lang dress person?"

The reason I am dwelling on this is that questioning some of my assumptions about myself - what I have always done vs what I've just plain been scared to do in the past - is one of my approaches to life right now. I am finding that there are many experiences which I had never tried or had shut out of my life for decades which I am thoroughly enjoying adding to my repertoire. Just as shoes with high heels and dresses with tighter fits have entered my wardrobe, so too have Pilates, Zumba, and late-night escapades.

But for the most part, I really do know who I am. I'm not looking to redefine myself. That's one of the great joys of being in my 50's - knowing and feeling confident. So I really can answer my friend with a "No" - as the big ring feels like it enters the room before I do, and the Helmut Lang dress feels like I'm pretending to be 21 again. Neither of those are me.

Thinking of Al and Tipper, In Sickness and in Health

I got sick this weekend - really sick. It's a recurring illness that has haunted me for the past 20 years, reappearing unpredictably in frequency, but unfortunately always hovering, ready to pounce and attack me. When it happens, I feel not only like I have the worst flu ever, but I also feel terribly vulnerable.

The illness first appeared 10 years post-cancer, and scared the life out of my then-husband, Steve, and me. That initial bout was life-threatening, it turns out, but I recovered and Steve and I weathered it just as we had the cancer. In subsequent outbreaks, often on much-needed vacations, sometimes on business trips out of the country, Steve was a peach - FedExing me meds to Europe and Hong Kong, ministering to me when he probably would have preferred the originally-planned vacation. For whatever reasons, this particular illness sends me off the ledge emotionally and my inner baby makes a major guest appearance.

Though separated, Steve and I remain amicable, close enough that we still live in the same house (though it's now separated into two apartments), sharing his car and our dog when I'm in town. While it was very much time to move on from the marriage, the bond of 33 years remains strong. Knowing I was sick, Steve called this morning, asking how I was doing and offering to bring me groceries or anything else, and it meant the world to me.

I thought about this when I read about Al and Tipper Gore separating. From what they are saying, it sounds like it is an amicable parting, like it was time to move on from the marriage. They, too, have weathered illness and the worst of tragedies, the death of a child. I only hope that they can remain there for each other in their equivalent of my recurring illness, in sickness and in health, even if the promise of staying married until death becomes untenable.