I know…Nerd Alert…But I’m kind of excited about them. I’ve always been a fan of red.
Me: I don’t really wanna be a hipster. I just thought the red glasses were fun.
My friend Abe: Do you have every Apple product made recently? (Barring desktops and workstations.)
Me: I think I kinda do.
Abe: I think you do too. You’re a blogger. And now you’re working on your uniform. It’s cool. We can still be friends.
So I’m getting in on the blogging action with the #TravelingRedDress.
Last year, The Bloggess posted:
I want, just once, to wear a bright red, strapless ball gown with no apologies. I want to be shocking, and vivid and wear a dress as intensely amazing as the person I so want to be. And the more I thought about it the more I realized how often we deny ourselves that red dress and all the other capricious, ridiculous, overindulgent and silly things that we desperately want but never let ourselves have because they are simply “not sensible”. Things like flying lessons, and ballet shoes, and breaking into spontaneous song, and building a train set, and crawling onto the roof just to see the stars better. Things like cartwheels and learning how to box and painting encouraging words on your body to remind yourself that you’re worth it.
And I am worth it.
Recently, the meme has exploded. (Even Forbes wrote about it!) And thousands of strangers around the globe have been sharing red dresses, so that someone can “just be.” Because we are worth it.
I wore my red dress in October.
I had to send in my measurements back in March. I’d just finished breastfeeding. I wasn’t exactly the size I fantasize myself being – you know, “when I’m in perfect shape.” But I sucked it up, became intimately familiar with the red measuring tape, and ordered my dress – turning over the inches of my bust, waist and hips to a total stranger.
“Gee…” replied a perplexed sounding dressmaker. “Those three measurements correspond to three different size dresses…”
“I’ll take the middle size,” I mumbled. I had delusions of grandeur that I’d use the months before my wedding date with the dress to get in kick-ass shape.
Well, that plus everyone kept telling me that once you stop breast-feeding your boobs shrink, so I figured my bust would shrink and put me more in line with that center size. (This is a Bold. Faced. Lie.)
Months later, I found myself dragging the red dress to a tailor. I needed it altered.
“Make it shorter and tighter please,” I requested. I was going to rock this wedding. (And I only needed a few people to tell me, “Stop pulling at your dress. It’s *supposed* to fit like that!”)
You don’t know what it does to me,
My crimson sin intensity
I’m haunted by the mystery,
The mystery of red.
Red knocks ’em dead,
Some like it hot, I like it red.
– Sammy Hagar, “Red”
Now, in the spirit of the #TravelingRedDress, I offer it to you. Are you in need of a red dress to wear without apologies? Size 8. Email me.