My Big Fat Bare-Arm Summer
As I got dressed this morning, I thought about how the start of the semester is pretty much here and summer is all but over. I put on one of my favorite skirts and a summery top. I spritzed myself with perfume, checked my look in the mirror, and smiled. Then I went downstairs to have my coffee and get a few words before work.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Aurora, this is not blog post material.
But here’s the thing. (There’s always a thing, you know.) The top in question is this super cute cowl neck in dark teal. And it’s sleeveless.
Cute top; arm pooch.
I spent most of my thirties, all of my twenties, and the better part of my teens refusing to bare my arms in public. I aspired to sundress arms and was the queen of little cardigans. (Just ask Carsen Taite).
No more, I say. No more.
Cue the top. All the dresses I would only wear to work with sweaters. And that flirty polka dot one one from ModCloth I got to wear to my first country concert.
All without a cardigan.
What started out as a vacation exception a year or two ago expanded to include what I would wear to fancy events and exercise class. Weekend outfits finally gave way to the holy grail of staid sensibilities: What I Wear to Work.
If you read my post about being single, you’ll remember my revelation about life being too short to hate one’s body. While this applies to things like sex and doing burlesque in public, it also ripples through these more mundane aspects of life. Arm acceptance.
Now, I’m not going to lie. Barre has given my arms the teensiest bit of definition. And I’ve spent enough time outside that I’ve got a hint of the sun-kissed and freckled thing going on. That helps. But at the end of the day, I’m rocking a goodly dose of flab.
Operative word: rocking. Owning it is fun. It makes the sun feel good on my skin. I swear–irony of all ironies–it makes me feel more confident rather than less. And we all know what I’ve learned about anything resembling confidence.
I love that saying that goes: if you want a bikini body, put a bikini on your body. I’m not quite there yet, but who knows? I mean, I did stand on a stage in nothing but a garter belt and a pair of pasties. Anything is possible.
Let’s love ourselves, friends. All the lumps and bumps and bits and pieces. Life’s too short not to.
