cake.

a song to set the scene // pretty girl rock by keri hilson

It all started with a look in the mirror and a call out into the living room.

“Hey! Do I have a nice cake?”

For those who don’t know, a “cake” is a reference to one’s ass, behind, rear, tooshy, badonkadonk, butt, however you’d like to refer to them cheeks.

Historically, I have always believed that my “cake” resembles that of a very thin, very flat, pie.

Whilst I was gifted with other generous assets, I went about my life truly believing that I was always gonna be that girl with a bottom that doesn’t exist.

But, you “grow” through life’s changes and the other day, I looked in the mirror and would you look at that: I had a nice cake.

Initially, my concerned gem asked : “Umm why do you ask?”

Probably assuming that I was looking for assurance that my cake wasn’t a deflated balloon (which I’ve referenced it as before), I proudly said: “I have a nice cake.”

Confidently checking myself out, turning this way and that for a glimpse at my very fine cake, a feeling of guilt quickly washed over me.

It’s a familiar feeling, especially in reference to one’s appearence and self-esteem.

Because as high as I was, those feelings of awe and admiration faltered.

Old insecure thoughts snaked their way into my subconcious.

How dare she think that about herself?

Memories of comments and insults about having photos of myself as my screensaver flooded me:

You must be really conceited.

Who do you think you are?

Decades of guilt, embarrassment, and belief that thinking positive things about oneself was considered selfish, narcissistic, and egotistical, appeared.

Years of attending a school that lambasted individuality and bullied those who strove to stand out haunted me.

And once upon a time, I would’ve deflated. Would’ve talked myself out of believing I had a nice cake and walked away, sad and tired.

“Butt”, like I said, you “grow” through life’s changes, and with physical growth also comes emotional growth (both puns intended).

I was lucky to be born with physical attributes that made me stand out. Being the tallest woman in the room always drew eyes my way, and as easy as it would’ve been to shrink to the standards of society, I chose instead to take those comments and insults and build them as a part of my tall girl armor.

I have a nice cake. I also have legs for days, curvy hips, voluptuous boobies, luscious lashes, and thick hair. I am emotional, kind, and have a dad’s sense of humor. I love all those qualities that make me who I am and as much as I want to backspace those compliments because a part of me still feels it’s selfish to think that about myself, I won’t.

I know there will be times when I falter, when those insecure thoughts threaten to rupture what I have built, and I accept that. But I think as often as those insecurities appear, it’s just as important to embrace those times when your eyes don’t deceive you and you truly see yourself as you are: beautifully built.

Rupi Kaur once wrote that “… the trillion dollar (beauty) industry would collapse if we believed we were beautiful enough already.”

And maybe we can change the beauty standards, push that the beauty industry should focus on enhancing what’s there, not making us believe we’re not good enough. Challenging the idea that beauty is achieved through changing who we are to fit someone else’s idea, I believe that true beauty, real beauty, is inherent, and comes from within.

It’s confidence, self-love, and damnit, it’s embracing that cake.

Shop Girl.

The first shop I ever worked at was called “Fashion Fever.”

It was circa 2004 and I was in grade school.

My playroom, appropriately dubbed Barbietown, had an impressive population of over 130, and Barbie and her friends had to shop somewhere.

I mean, Barbietown simply can’t exist without a boutique.

Have you seen Barbie and her magnificent closet?

As I played in the statuesque Swan Lake castle, pretended Barbie was a double agent (whenever I was watching the hit series Alias), and putting Barbie to bed on top of a tissue box with a vintage hanky as her bedspread, I felt like my imagination had no limits.

Barbie and her friends danced at the club as I beat boxed the music, tore through town in their blue 2000’s Volkswagen Beetle, and kept me playing for hours.

I’m talking hours.

But my favorite spot in Barbietown was “Fashion Fever”, for it was here that I really got to be creative.

See, ever since I was a little girl, playing with Barbies and playing dress up in my mom’s splendid closet (talk about an inspiration, my mom once had over 80 coats in her desirable closet), I’ve always dreamed about being a shop girl.

Dressing mannequins up in the latest fashions, counting change back to waiting customers, and helping put together outfits for Ken when he needed to buy something for Barbie’s birthday was a dream, and I played endlessly with the idea that someday, maybe I’d have a shop of my own.

Then middle school came around. Though my Barbies went into boxes when we moved from the old house to the new one, I held on to them tightly, and that dream of working at “Fashion Fever” never left me.

And then I started working at “Curtain Call Consignment”, which my mom and a friend started to raise money for our local theatre group.

Of course it was volunteer, so I didn’t get paid, but that didn’t stop me from coming home with clothes.

There’s a reason I like playing shop girl: I adore shopping.

But I also learned to love processing, researching, tagging, displaying, chatting with customers, and bagging up treasures.

It was like, all those years in “Fashion Fever” were happening in real time, and I was Barbie behind the shop counter.

My experience in retail didn’t end there. I worked in college at “Ted Baker”, so while I was learning about textiles in the classroom, I was simultaneously getting to educate curious customers about breathable fabrics.

And then there was my time in Francisco, and my memorable stint at “Relic Vintage”, my beloved vintage shop located in Haight Ashbury.

I was a customer there first, but when I had the opportunity to work with these priceless garments and learn their histories and share them with equally as adoring vintage lovers, I really fell in love with retail.

And I got to dress up.

Expressing oneself through style is my love language, and this was a match made in heaven.

So when I sit here, in “Ms Elsie’s Vintage Boutique”, a shop I opened in my hometown just about three months ago (my very own business!), I think back to “Fashion Fever” and all those experiences in between then and now and think “it all led to this.”

Every article of clothing I priced, tagged, steamed, and presented to the community, every time I fan-girled with a customer over that gorgeous silk dress, or helped zip someone up in an epic 70’s Gunnysax dress, I was unknowingly gaining experience that would someday lead me here: to this shop counter I now sit at and operate as owner and curator of.

I didn’t plan this. I didn’t go to fashion school with the intention of running my own store someday. But all those choices I made, all those jobs I worked, all those clothes I brought home and put into my very own Barbie dream closet led me here.

It was my calling. And when they call, you answer.

Sure, I get to deal with real life anxieties like bad sale days, making my rent, sorting through HVAC systems, and paying taxes, but I also feel like I’m playing again:

10 years old, running down to the playroom, flicking that open sign on, and sharing “Fashion Fever” treasures with Barbie and all her friends.

I often tell people that the work I do in here doesn’t feel like work. That being inside of “Ms Elsie’s” feels like being in an extension of my home. What they don’t know is that “my home” is that playroom at my old house, where I get to share my real life treasures with real life Barbies and all their friends.

Isn’t that the dream?