Category Archives: Geek Girl Goes Glam

“Many men complain that women have an appalling tendency to relax after marriage…they leave their gadgets out in the open…” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man.

Lately I’ve been doing a TON of craft projects–cross-stitch, art cards, all of my letters (so many letters!) wrist cuffs, pajamas! But nobody likes a mess, Ian especially. He hates clutter, and he’s taught me to hate it too. I’ve gotten to the point where I actually make my bed. I know, like a real grown-up, right?

But let’s face it–craft projects are clutter just waiting to happen! There’s thread and fabric scraps and Mod Podge stacked all over, not to mention the books (I bought The DIY Bride the morning after my engagement, as a little present to myself). I wanted to keep things neat and tidy, so I decided that the best way was to, you guessed it, craft!

I am glam geek girl, so I took a page from my favorite video game, Chrono Trigger, and made a Lucca-esq box for all my needles and thread. I stained a basic wooden box with cherry stain and then hot-glued on metal corners from Idea-ology, then added decorative steampunk-esq gears. I cut felt flags like you might find at the Millennial Fair and also added a decorative clock face, of course.

Inside, I covered two pieces of cork board with green fabric and hot-glued them to the top and bottom. The top holds all my skeins with pushpins, and the bottom holds all my tools: tiny scissors, an “antique” felt needlebook and a pincushion in the shape of a Nu, complete with googly eyes. It keeps everything neat and contained, plus it looks AWESOME.

All Crafts Begin and End With Nu….

Second Thoughts on Chivalry

I think I might have figured out part of the reason Chivalry is dead–because some men, (you can spot them because they’re usually wearing a fedora or a bow tie; the more romantic among them might sport a ruffled shirt or floor-length leather trench coat) use it as an excuse to lash out at women when they don’t bend over on the spot. These guys (often referring to themselves as “gentlemen” or “nice guys”) believe that if they hold a door for a woman or pay for dinner, she “owes” them sex at the end of the night. This is bunk, and women are sick of it. No wonder we get weirded out when people don’t hold doors! There are men out there I wouldn’t let hold a door for me if it was leading into a room filled with bunnies where Walton Goggins and Clive Owen and Ewan McGregor were all there holding plates of tiny finger food to feed to me while I lounged on a soft couch watching 30 Rock.

So how about this, everyone. How about we ALL hold the door for other people? How about we pay for dinner if we know a friend is a little short on cash, and we help carry a pal’s luggage if it looks heavy or if the person is clearly burdened with packages. If we get to the table first, we pull out the chair.

And everyone else, let’s try to say “hey, thanks” when other people perform nice tasks for us, hmm? It’s 2013–let’s remove the gender politics from politeness. And quit expecting things from other people. Do good deeds from the heart, not because you think you might get something out of it.

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam. Tags: Always Ask a Man, Arlene Dahl, Chivalry. 4 Comments

Jul. ’13

To Make a Cake

“To bake a cake . . . bake the cake like the mix on the package said to do” Margie Blake, Fun to Cook Book (1955)

I Can Haz Kake?

My Gay-Gay tells this great story about her roommates at Lindenwood coming back to the sorority house from their Home Economics class with a bewildered sort of look. “We tried this new thing called ‘cake mix’,” they said. “You just add an egg and some butter, stir it up and put it in the oven to make a cake.”

So I guess I wasn’t too surprised when the Carnation Fun to Cook Book my friend Kelly got me “To counteract (my) progressive childhood” taught our young Margie Blake (Daughter of Carnation Cooking Goddess Mary Blake) how to make a cake by simply following the directions on the box. Any box will do, I guess. I was going to use her peppermint frosting recipe, so I got plain old Duncan Hines vanilla cake.

Look, I’ve tried to bake cakes from scratch, I really have. And occasionally they turn out not-terrible, like the Moxie cake I made Matthew for his birthday, but for the most part, they turn out so mediocre that it’s not worth the effort.

A cup of oil, three eggs and a little water later, I had cake mix, only some of which was on my knees. And 30 minutes after that, I had a cake, most of which will be going directly into my gaping maw. In a way, I suppose, this was progressive–not having to bake from scratch left a woman more time to attend social functions like bridge club or the Association of University Women, allowing her to get out of the kitchen and expand her horizons.

Next, of course, came the frosting. I used the “Candy Cane Frosting” recipe, because it has Carnation Evaporated Milk, natch.

And it did not end well.

The cookbook is geared towards seven year olds whose mom still has to use the can opener for them (recipe for soup: 1 can soup, add Carnation Evaporated Milk, heat, serve) and yet I, with my MFA hanging on the wall above where I write this, ruined the recipe.

Cake is So Damn Unpretty . . .

I don’t know whether it’s the humidity or that I’m a kitchen idiot, but the frosting turned out very watery and I now have a cake that looks like the Most Disgusting Sandwich in the World. It tastes okay, sure, but it’s not pretty.

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam, Housekeeping. Tags: Cake, Carnation, Cooking with Carnation, Fun To Cook Book. 2 Comments

Jul. ’13

Wolf Whistle

For the first time since I started this project, I got wolf-whistled today by two shirtless construction workers (oh WHAT a cliche) from about 700 feet away. But it wasn’t like I was even wearing a cute dress or high heels–I had on black slacks, a polo shirt and Laura Ingalls boots. From the 500 feet away that they were, I’m surprised they could tell I was a girl.

I suppose I was a little flattered even though I disagree with wolf-whistling on principle. I’ve been feeling a little less-than-beautiful lately; on Saturday I was visiting Pete, Eeon, Bridget and Jim, and Eeon put on some old Triangulon Home Movies from college. He had this footage of me and Jim just talking in the dining hall of the student union, and all I could do was stare at myself on screen like a big idiot. I was so beautiful! My hair, waist-long and tied back with a funky headband I made out of a pillowcase, perfectly framed my pale, sweet face, my unlined eyes, my unworried mouth. I looked like Geena Davis, and better still, I had this aching vulnerability to my movements, this strange tenderness, a shyness clearly barricaded behind the glass facade of a brash conversation about the long-closed adult video store on Amsterdam Ave in NYC.

People tell me I’m pretty now and I believe them. But for the first time in my life, I became very aware that I am growing old, and that my face, my body, are changing and will continue to change. All the cosmetics and the new hairdos can’t hide that forever; even if I could find that sweater and that hairband, I wouldn’t be able to recreate the Me that I was.

And you know what? That’s okay. I can live with that. I was just glad I had the chance to peek back at myself with all the same friends (and new ones) present, groan at my terrible Ninja Fighting skills, and once again enjoy Fighting Fish:

All that, my friends, is infinitely more important than beauty.

Eeon’s finding me a screenshot; I’ll add it as soon as he does.

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam. Tags: Beauty, Canned Laser. 2 Comments

Jun. ’13

Romper Room

Friends, I was once like you. I used to look at the romper and think “ugh, I had one of those when I was six*, what, is that like the summer Snuggie for people who’ve given up on life?”

Romper

But friends, I am here to tell you that I have changed my ways. A romper came into my life and showed me all the promised glory of cute, chic, comfort and style.

You see friends, I toss and turn a lot in the night. Nightgowns get tangled, and I have yet to find my dream pair of Liz Lemon-esq pajamas in which to work on my night cheese.

But one day, at TJ Maxx, I spotted a pink tag on a garment that would change my life forever (One of my superpowers is the ability to spot a Betsey Johnson tag from a mile away). This deep purple, pink rose-print cotton romper with a ruffled black satin trim and little rosettes was calling my name. I bought it and took it home and promised him that if it looked stupid or was uncomfortable, I would take it back.

That night, I discovered that sleep did not have to be marred by twisted shirts and baggy boxers. I could lounge comfortably with coffee in the morning. And it looked fetching with my pink satin kitten-heel slippers.

Ian called it a “gateway garment” that would eventually lead to a Snuggie and, possibly a Hoodie Footie. But friends, I am here to tell you that those are THE DEVIL’S LIES. Go out and buy one in every shade and you will NOT be sorry you did!

(This does not mean, however, that the romper can be worn outside. Then it just looks stupid and frumpy.)

*It had Rainbow Brite on it. Top THAT!

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam. Tags: Betsey Johnson, Liz Lemon, Night Cheese, Nightwear, Romper. Leave a comment

Jun. ’13

Hat Trick #3

“Hats are like vitamins–they make you feel good and look even better!” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man

Hat3 Wednesday is my day off in that I don’t have to go into the office and can dress a little more casually, but even when I’m “slumming it,” I still want to LOOK GOOD! The flower pin is from my trip to London, and this grey cap is probably the hat I wear most often–it hides bad hair days (so many bad hair days) it keeps the sun out of my eyes and, best of all, is just cute!

A hat really can make an outfit. Without the hat (and the scarf, which belonged to my grandmother) this would just be a boring tank top and jeans. Add some accessories, and TA-DA! it’s a chic ensemble!

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam. Tags: Always Ask a Man, Arlene Dahl, Hat Trick, Hats. 2 Comments

Jun. ’13

Pinhead

“Men hate the sight of curlers” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask A Man

I’ve reached a critical juncture in this project–choosing between what I want and like and choosing between what Ian wants and likes. Throughout all of these different books across various decades, they have one thing in common–a woman’s job is to please her man.

The other night he sat me down and said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think those pincurls and scarf make you look like a washerwoman and it makes me less attracted to you.”

Ouch.

I did everything Arlene told me to, and turns out . . . it didn’t work. That Ian liked me better, thought I was more attractive, when I didn’t put my hair up. Even when I hid all my implements, he could still see them, and it was a major turn-off.

But here’s the thing. I LIKED putting my hair up. I liked the act of doing so, and I felt like I was just on the cusp of getting it right (and if not, well, there’s always hats). One of the things I’ve learned (and enjoyed) about makeup and hair is that it’s time for myself. Just ten minutes or so in the early morning or late evening, not enough to really write or get into a book or anything like that, just ten minutes where I am alone, in front of my vanity, quietly reflecting.

My hair has always been a minor point of contention between Ian and I. When I was living in NYC, I got it straightened, and while he loved it, I hated it. I thought it made me look like everyone else, so I went home and cried and listened to Hole’s “Awful” to cheer myself up. I want wild, curly, funky hair, and he wants something cute and flippy. I don’t want to not be attractive to him, but I also want to feel like my hair is my own to do with whatever I please. Now the next step is figuring out how to mesh both of our feelings on the subject and come up with something I like that also makes me attractive to him.

That’s the whole point of this project–to examine what vintage advice works and what doesn’t work. Ian was just doing what I asked him to do–be honest about the status of each stunt I undertook. He didn’t like this one, and that’s fine. He’s not a bad person, it’s not a control issue, I’m not going to dump him because he doesn’t like pincurls.

I’m sure he’s relieved to hear that.

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam. Tags: Always Ask a Man, Arlene Dahl, Bad Hair Day. 1 Comment

Apr. ’13

“Drinking is not a social asset, like learning to dance well. it is only a matter of personal preference. Helen Valentine & Alice Thompson Better than Beauty.

I just read that Cat Marnell is getting paid five hundred large for her memoir about being rich and a drug addict because she’s TOTES INTERESTING, YOU GUYS. I’ve read some of her stuff, and, like hanging out with your drunk/high friends, it’s utterly boring. Because, newsflash, drugs make you insufferably dull.

But I’m not here to criticize Marnell’s boring, uninteresting, faux-edgy scraps of notebook garbage. No, rather, I’m here to write about yet another problem we women have to face, and that’s the pressure to be a “hot mess.”

I’m pretty straight-edge. I drink tea and coffee, sure, and I have a glass of wine once in awhile (like, maybe once a month) I’ve never smoked or touched drugs, and I even hesitate to take prescriptions. In the literary sense, that means I am boring. I don’t know if it’s some sort of misguided attempt at feminism (GIRLS CAN DO DRUGS JUST AS WELL AS BOYS!!!) or what, but the rich-girl-on-party-drugs memoir seems to remain a trend long after the publication of Prozac Nation and Smashed (both of which were boring and made me want to hit the narrator).

At the risk of sounding old, doing drugs does not make you interesting. Being rich and doing drugs makes you even less interesting. The fact that you were strung out at Fashion Week, Ms. Marnell, does not a good story make. Instead of making you seem fashionable, it merely makes you exactly what you are–a spoiled, selfish, rich whiny tramp.

But driving to go see Jurassic Park the other night, a bunch of drunk girls staggered out in front of our car, screaming in the face-melting banshee way only drunk girls can scream. One of them, the fat friend of the group (in Oneonta, the ratio is 3 party girls to 1 fat friend), was wearing cutoff shorts crammed so far up her chubby cheeks they could be considered a g-string and a shapeless crop top with considerable flab hanging out over the acid-washed waistband of the aforementioned shorts. And all I could wonder was did she look in the mirror and think damn, I look good! And at the end of this night, when she’s puking her guts out in the garbage can of the dorm room of whatever guy drew the short straw to take her home, will she still be thinking damn, this is the best night of my life!

I don’t know. I’m not one of those types of girls. Maybe it’s because I never had the money or the glamour to get away with it. Maybe D.A.R.E worked, I don’t know. But one time I asked Matthew if he though I was boring because I’d never done drugs (or even been drunk, for that matter) and although he said “of course not,” I wish I could go back to that Me and tell her “Even if he (or anyone else) says yes, darling, he can go cook a radish, because you are more interesting than any angel-dusted trollop could ever be.”

Bad Hair and a Broken Heart

“The essence of great hairdressing is a clearly stated, perfectly proportioned haircut. One that is suited to the individual that with a little backcombing or setting, the hair will swing into it’s natural lines and keep those lines without artificial aid” Arlene Dahl, Always Ask a Man.

I remember my mom having two hairstyles. In early photos, just after we moved to Cobleskill, NY in 1984, she’s sporting an enormous poodle perm. In later photos and up through today, her hair is very, very short.

My mother had a total of five kids, a full time job and, during part of that, was going to school full time. She wanted “hair she could wash with a washrag” and sported a sort of k.d. Lang ‘do. The most she ever did with it was let her friend Vicky frost the tips, (because it was the 90’s, and they were dark times) and ended up with green hair.

The Pirate Ship Would Have Been Nice Too

My sister Shaun had long, beautiful dark hair which fell in waves and curls down her back, like Geena Davis in Cutthroat Island, my favorite movie at the time. Sisters Hilary and Laura both had fine golden curls, wheras I had limp hair the color of wood paneling.

I never learned how to style my hair and was always a little afraid of it. I, like most kids in the dark times of the 1990’s, sported some variation of a mullet at one time (mine was very Joan Jett-esq, for an eight year old) and therefor, just sort of let my hair do it’s thing.

The Big Boobs Might Have Been Nice Too

After my high school graduation, I cut off ten inches of hair and donated it to Locks for Love, but, in true geek fashion, got my hair cut like Faye Valentine (I brought in the action figure so they would know what to do.) My hair was not purple, or straight, and I was not a space bounty hunter, so it didn’t quite work for me.

In college, I wore Bettie Page bangs, which, when fused with my being poor and not knowing what to ask for in a haircut, resulted in me often having little brown wings sporting off the sides of my face. I grew them out eventually, and kept that long mess for years, finally cutting it all off after my stepdad left in some sort of expression of Girl Power/I Will Survive.

I never did anything with my hair because I was so, so terrified of getting a bad haircut. A failed outfit can be stuck back in the closet or covered with a coat all day, but you’re stuck with your hair until it grows out. I was not brave. If I got a bad haircut, I was convinced that people would laugh at me in the streets, that I would never get a boyfriend/my boyfriend would leave me for my disobedience. Even before this project began, I had this pathological need to make other people happy.

Worse, how the hell was I going to maintain a fancy haircut? I was watering down my shampoo to make it last longer, how was I going to afford gel and a straightening iron and things of that nature? And the time it might take? Between three jobs, that wasn’t time I had to spare.

So my hair just sort of sat there. Until now.

Pictured: Someone who is not me

My modern glam idol is Victoria Beckham. I think she balances sophistication and utter fabulousness, whether she’s wearing jeans or a cocktail dress. I flipped through the magazines until I found a cute, tousled look that I figured I could pull off, what with hating to do my hair and not having time and being totally clumsy in every way.

I did not come out looking like Victoria Beckham. Instead, I came out looking like some unholy combination of GI Jane, sad hooker Fantine from Les Miserables, and Mark Hamill.

Ian was very nice about the whole thing. Mike said I looked like Paul Dano, but in his mind, that was a compliment. Everyone at my church and in my office ooh’d and ahh’d over it. Tara, the head of ad sales, said I looked “very sophisticated” and complimented me for two straight days. And as I got used to it, played with it, figured it out, I realized that maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that. With the right outfit, it had a little bit of an punk vibe to it. I was going to have to dress a little more feminine to avoid looking like an urchin, but was that going to be a bad thing?

Will I get it again? Probably not. But did the world end because of one bad haircut? Guess it wasn’t so bad after all…after all, I didn’t keep any photographic evidence of my Joan Jett mullet.

Posted by Libby Cudmore. Categories: Geek Girl Goes Glam, Uncategorized. Leave a comment