Trenchcoat (I don’t have one, but have always found it romantic to look like a Cold War spy, so I’m excited.)
Time spent this month: 62 hours, 12 minutes
Dollars spent this month: $262.69
Jim’s least favorite activity: The Evaluate Your Marriage exercise
Jim’s most favorite activity: Eating Art Smith’s Ground Turkey Shepherd’s Pie
Words that stuck: “The best part of all of this is thinking of you when watching Oprah and thinking ‘Oh, man, poor girl has a lot of shopping to do.’ ” — Comment made by Margaret Hicks on Living Oprah blog
I’VE BEEN shopping my butt off.
I felt confident back on February 20 when I watched a style segment and heard from Oprah’s lips, “Here are the ten things every woman needs to have.” I was certain if the items on the list were must-haves, then I must have most of them already. Nope. Turns out I’ve been dressing in the Dark Ages. Luckily, Oprah and one of her style experts have offered fashion advice to civilize me. Although I’ve been attempting to acquire the required clothing, I’ve not been having the best of luck. I’m not good at scavenger hunts, but the grand prize of this shopping spree is a transformation into Oprah’s image of a well-dressed woman, so I’m trying really hard.
Here’s my list.
Trenchcoat (I don’t have one, but have always found it romantic to look like a Cold War spy, so I’m excited.)
Turtlenecks: one black, one white (I don’t have either; need to get.)
Black trousers (I have a pair that needs to be tailored.)
Tunic top (I don’t think I have one but I’ll look. One question: What’s a tunic top?)
White jeans (Why? To wear to the Guns N’ Roses concert in 1987?)
Dark jeans (I thought I was covered here but was informed I had only a medium wash, so back to the drawing board.)
Black dress (Had two; neither fit.)
White denim jacket (Huh? I rewind the VCR tape to make sure I heard correctly. Is Oprah in a hair band? I wonder if she’ll
want me to sing a power ballad on the hood of a Camaro next.)
Black skirt (Again, I thought I was all set. Then Jim sees me trying it on and tells me it’s way too big, and it is against
tailoring and clutter rules to own something that doesn’t fit me. He’s right. I’ll either have to get it altered or get a
new skirt. I’ll try to do whichever is cheaper.)
Cashmere sweater (Thank you, Marshalls, for your great deals.)
Flats (Leopard print was recommended. I laugh so hard, I cry.)
An oversized bag (Don’t have. Got rid of these last year since it’s not great for my back to carry a lot of weight on my shoulder.
Just a thought: If I was allowed to wear cargo pants, I might not need such a big bag. I’d have pockets.)
Here’s the funny thing. Until I started writing this book, I never realized they snuck two extra items onto the list. I just shopped for what I was told I needed without counting.
I started my fruitless excursion into retailatopia at the end of February and it feels never-ending. Shopping in actual stores, not online, falls somewhere on my discomfort scale between being put on hold by the cable company and a bikini wax. Because of my lack of desire to shop (sorry, misogynist comedians, not all women love to spend money on clothes), I know much of this year will be a challenge for me. I have friends who think this will be the fun part of the project. Due to their exuberance, I try to convince myself that buying new clothes can’t be that painful. The trouble is I have a pretty long history of feeling guilty when I spend money on myself. It seems like there are always better, more practical ways to spend my hard-earned dollars than on clothing. But this is Living Oprah, not Living Okrant, so I tell myself to suck it up. I eat a healthy, hearty breakfast, and armed with the list of 12 things I need to have in my closet, I hit the sidewalks with my debit card burrowing for safety within the confines of my wallet.
When I finally find some clothing that is in my size and price range, and Oprah-appropriate, or Oprappriate, as I start calling it, I head to the dressing room with my fingers crossed. One thing I did not expect was the reaction I had to seeing myself in the mirror while wearing these white jeans, white denim jacket, bright red tunic top, and black oversized bag. I grimace at my reflection: I look like an inside-out Santa and can’t peel the clothing off fast enough. I’ve seen it on makeover shows, the moment where the recently transformed guest cries out in shock, “That doesn’t even look like me!” I always thought that sounded a bit overly dramatic, but now I can say I’ve had the exact same experience. I feel much like I do at the initial fitting for costumes for a play. Nothing fits quite right at first, and I am faced with wearing the projection of how a designer interpreted my character rather than seeing the reflection of what I imagined would be perfect for my role. If I’m ever going to get comfortable in these Oprah-advised clothes, these clothes that everyone is supposed to be wearing, these clothes that make me feel like less of an individual, I need to make a major mental adjustment. But it isn’t going to happen in this moment, with price tags dangling from my armpit. I return an armful of ill-fitting clothing to the dressing room attendant, feeling guilty that I’ve doubled her workload for the day.
I accept that this will be a process, but I have my doubts I’ll ever get used to leopard-print flats. I feel so lucky I didn’t have to waste… er, I mean spend too much money on them as I found them in the clearance section of a major brand-name discount store. Oprah’s guest, stylist Lloyd Boston, said, “When you do leopard, because it goes with nothing, it goes with everything.” It was said in such an authoritative tone, with Oprah in total agreement, I believed it to be true. But today, as I slide them on my feet, I feel more like an ass than a wildcat. Who makes up these rules? Who gets to decide what’s beautiful? In subsequent days, I see that the flats indeed look cute on other women, but I still feel like an impostor. This assignment is way out of my comfort zone.
While I shop, I can’t shake the feeling that I am being watched. Judged. I think a lot of this sensation stems from a television phenomenon I’ve witnessed on Oprah, as well as other TV shows in the past decade or so. It has become totally acceptable to cross boundaries and personal space to ambush people we feel are in need of makeovers, makeunders, new kitchens, new financial plans, and new housekeeping tactics. This is one of my biggest fears. If I was walking down a sidewalk in Chicago and was suddenly faced with the lens of a camera and a perfectly dressed, made up, coiffed TV personality spun me around so everyone in America could see the flat “ass pancake” created by my ill-fitting jeans, I might melt into a puddle of humiliation on the concrete.
But do I avert my eyes when I see this sort of thing done on a talk show? Do I start a letter-writing campaign to end reality television? No way. I hate to love it. I held firm to my moral ground for many years, refusing to partake of this type of exploitive entertainment. Somewhere down the line, though, when I was working from home as a freelance graphic designer, I “accidentally” began watching a reality show called Starting Over* on my lunch break. All hell broke loose and I got hooked like any other junkie. Because it starred actual people in a dramatic daily format usually reserved for soap operas, the line between human being and fictional character became fuzzy. I felt a little gross when the end credits rolled, but I still tuned in and talked about the people on the show as if I knew them. This was like peeking into the window of my neighbors’ home, spying on their drama, but even better because it was edited for time and I didn’t have to change out of my jammies. I even got online and lurked on message boards where fans discussed the show. I wondered if I was learning from my voyeurism or merely being entertained from a seat of removed superiority.
These days, you can’t throw a rock at the television without hitting an ambush makeover show. I call these reality-based programs my guilty pleasures, as if there is something intrinsically and embarrassingly wrong about my choice to view them. It feels sinful to derive entertainment from others’ struggles. Sure, most of the shows have happy endings, but they wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without the human trauma and drama to kick off the plot. And hey, everyone else watches reality television, so why shouldn’t I? I hear Mom’s voice in my head when I begged her to let me shave my legs in the fifth grade because everyone else was doing it. “If everyone else jumped off a bridge, would you?” No, Mom, but if everyone else watches an Oprah episode about a woman whose hoarding disorder has caused her family so much mortification that she’s being ambushed on the show, will I tune in? You bet your silky, hairless legs I will.
If anyone can help the hoarder lady, surely it must be Oprah. Oprah’s clutter expert, Peter Walsh, is sent to the rescue (I can’t imagine Oprah stepping into that before picture of a home), and the horrified but willing homeowner surrenders to televised guidance.
Oprah seems particularly enamored with the ambush makeover formula, and I’ve seen many of them on her show. Here’s what I’ve learned from watching: Before a person can be healed, she must be surprised, sometimes embarrassed, and in extreme cases, shamed — brought to her knees publicly. After the TV-viewing audience is given a chance to gasp or laugh, then the truly entertaining healing can begin. I try to remember that there is something to be learned from every situation, and it’s my choice how to react to these infotainment shows. Oprah frequently reminds her guests and audience that her tell-all shows are not pulp entertainment, they are for our education. I do take her warning to heart but think that if this is something we must constantly be reminded about, maybe a different format is in order.
In an attempt to keep my project as transparent as possible, I blogged several months ago that when I took a clutter quiz on Oprah’s website, I came up with the result “Uh-oh. Looks like you’re a hard-core hoarder.” I was pissed. I would have been in complete agreement if it said, “Uh-oh. You are really messy” or “Girl, try a filing cabinet for all those papers.” Sure, I have a couple doors closed in my home when guests come over; sure, half the socks in my drawer don’t have a partner. But really, a hoarder? Isn’t hoarding a psychological problem that should be diagnosed by a specialist rather than an online quiz? Feel free to imagine even more self-righteous angry remarks here. Luckily, like a golden retriever, I am unable to hold a grudge and I forget all about the test results for a while until seeing today’s show. To me, this woman is hard-core. I’m totally soft-core. But still, here is an opportunity that I believe Oprah would want me to take: to compare my issues to those of her extreme guests. To see the similarities, rather than get caught up in the differences. To view the hoarder lady less as entertainment and more as a catalyst to change my own life for the better. And in this way, I am able to validate my project as something Oprah herself would likely respect. Living Oprah is hard-core.
Later, after I slip into the only white jeans I could muster the courage to purchase, I photograph myself, and upload the unattractive picture to my blog. I think I look ridiculous but decide not to delete the image. There’s nothing original about embarrassing myself publicly. It’s done every day on television. For some really weird reason, this gives me comfort. It’s not a question of why I’m willing to pour my guts out on line. The question is: Why haven’t I done this earlier? Viva la humiliation!
Where’s my makeover?
When I was a kid, fitting in was a battle. I didn’t look anything like my classmates, with my big head of frizzed-out hair, my style of dress inspired by Madonna and Michael Jackson, and my over-the-top theatricality. While I wanted to be part of the crowd, I couldn’t bring myself to try to fit in in any more than a halfhearted way. Frankly, I don’t think I even understood how to make it happen, but I might have gone whole hog had I figured out how to look and act trendy. Eventually, I just embraced my taste and my priorities and felt proud to march to the beat of my own drummer. With much hubris, I began to think that I could remain unaffected by the social pressures faced by other women. Ah, denial. It ain’t just a river in Egypt.
On the topic of conformity, one of the most frequent pieces of criticism I hear is that Oprah’s audience members are automatons who dress alike, read the same stuff, regurgitate quotes by Dr. Oz and Suze Orman, and defer to Oprah as the alpha gal in their pack. I’ve heard more than one “woe is me” from male friends regarding the way their female partners fall into line according to Oprah’s dictates. The word “Stepford” has been applied frequently, and I’ve enjoyed countless impressions these men have done of Oprah’s “Favorite Things” audience members. And while I believe there is truth to their theory that many of the women we see in Oprah’s audience seem to fit into a very specific type, can’t we say the same thing of Jerry Springer’s talk show? Or Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon listeners? There is a certain amount of contentment to be drawn from surrounding ourselves with people who have points of view similar to our own. And while I’d like to think I’m a free spirit, the down and dirty truth is I know I find comfort in certain moments of conformity, too. For instance…
During March’s endless clothing debacle, I am in the Gap to find the dark-wash jeans that Oprah believes every woman should have in her closet. While I walk into the store with trepidation, I am soon thrilled to see how great a pair of mass-produced, mass-marketed jeans looks on me. Of course, part of this is because, a decade ago, I was too heavy to fit into Gap clothes, so that’s a victory unto itself. My point is, as I stand barefoot in the store in front of a full-length mirror, I realize I am wearing the same outfit as the mannequin in the front window. No lie. Before I am able to experience horror over this, a salesperson looks up from her supernaturally deft T-shirt folding and assures me I look fantastic. Of course, she’s dressed almost exactly like the headless mannequin and I are. And I’m surprised that I don’t want to run for my life. Instead, I feel like part of the club. I assume it’s a sensation similar to what some kids who wear uniforms to school experience. No need to try so hard to express my individuality or worry if I’m being judged for fashion faux pas. I now look like the rest of the women who have a closet filled with must-haves. How easy is that? But much of the direction I’m taking from the show this year is making me feel like less of an individual and this upsets me. There is an inner battle taking place inside this wannabe nonconformist who doesn’t want to admit that being Oprah’s poster girl is the least bit agreeable.
While the pressure of making the wrong choice is lifted from my shoulders, following a leader and constantly trying to live up to the standards of others takes a lot of time. The jury is still out on whether it’s worth it. On one hand, from the outside, things in my life are probably looking better: I’m dressing in a more stylish and trendy manner (according to Oprah and her style experts), I’ve slimmed down a bit from the regularity of my Best Life Challenge exercise, the readership on my blog is growing steadily (I’ve had a shocking 13,675 visits to my site), and I’m getting a bit of press about Living Oprah. But inside I’m feeling tired and stressed. Living life in this manner is like an endless run on a woman-sized gerbil wheel. I have a feeling I’ll never catch up, I’m never going to be enough. The weight of knowing that I have 291 days left of this experiment and the seeming impossibility of it leaves me feeling destined to fail. It’s just too much. I now understand why some of us look like we’re caught in a time warp of fashion. At some point, we just throw in the towel and place our priorities elsewhere.
Knowing that so many of us give up and allow ourselves to get buried under the lives we’ve created, Oprah focuses much of her show on helping us pull our heads out of the sand and get clarity in all aspects of our lives. This reality check extends from our health to our finances to our spiritual lives to our homes, and beyond. Of all the experts on her show, I’m particularly fond of Peter Walsh, the master of clutter, although I am chagrined that we’ve evolved into a culture that needs clutter specialists. We’ve got no money these days, we have no time, but we sure have stuff. It’s coming out of our closets, it’s bursting from our drawers and making us into crazy people.
Walsh and Winfrey push the point that our homes are an outward display of our states of mind. I waffle on whether I think the two are entirely comparable, but as a yoga teacher who firmly believes in the mind-body connection, I’ll remain open about the possibility of a mind-stuff connection. Of course, I do see a certain irony in the fact that when I have finished cleaning out my closet according to the advice given by Walsh, I have to fill it back up with the 12 things we “need” to have in our closets. It reminds me of when I was in my early 20s and would go on those detox-cleanse things to fast out my toxins in 30 days. I’d celebrate the end of the month by eating a pizza and smoking a pack of cigarettes. Or two. This is just a classier version of my old behavior.
Oprah thinks we might all benefit from Walsh’s expertise and tells us to acquire his most recent book. Boy, have I learned a lesson. If I want something that Oprah suggests, I should buy it immediately or risk facing back order. This morning I waited several hours too long before getting online to order, and what do you know, it was out of stock at my regular Internet bookstore. The book was released last year, but when Oprah gave it her seal of approval today, it flew off the virtual shelves. From now on, I’ll sit with my cursor poised over “buy now” if Oprah gives any hint that she’ll send us out to make a purchase.
I keep hearing people joke about Oprah receiving a cut of the profits a product that she’s endorsed on her show earns. I highly doubt this is true. While some of my more cynical friends and readers might disagree strongly, I think Oprah’s advice is given in good faith. But I was recently struck with a thought that if we all followed her guidance to a T and every suggestion she offered actually worked, there’d be little reason for shows like hers to exist. Her empire is built on teachings that help us live our “best lives.” But if we were living those lives, there would be no demand for the gazillion women’s magazines on the shelves or the countless self-help-based talk shows. If we fulfilled her hope for us to spend our time building our relationships, focusing on our passions, and unplugging from the constant stream of electronic distractions, as she’s urged us many times, we might never turn on her show again. There would be no need. Most of the sources that encourage us to improve are also expecting us to fail. Even the January issue of O had a cover story called “If You’ve Gained Back Every Pound.” The editors projected our diet failures and were ready to offer us a helping hand.
The future of self-help and women’s magazines depends on their audiences’ constant state of dissatisfaction with themselves. Yes, these publications can probably be found in every room of my home, but I’ve come to believe many of us have been convinced we are fundamentally broken by the same media that offer us succor. If American women are truly reflected in magazine cover stories and talk show topics, then we are some major sad sacks. We are definitely not thin enough, talented enough between the sheets, we don’t know how to raise our kids, and we’ll never find or keep a man. We’re a mess.
I’m struggling with this when it comes to (what else?) my weight. As I’ve mentioned, I used to be quite heavy. I wasn’t going to get a photo spread in the pages of Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but I was an unhealthy and out-of-shape 206 pounds when I stepped on the scale at a nutritionist’s office in a size 18-20 dress in 1998. While I lost weight some time ago, my fat is like a phantom limb. I still wonder if I’ll fit comfortably into an airline seat, and when I see a petite woman standing on a crowded bus, I worry I might crush her with my butt on my way to the exit. And the way I react to any magazine promising a bikini body in four weeks? I buy that thing faster than you can say “Holy crap, that woman just crushed a petite person with her butt.”
While I’d like to see a magazine all about body acceptance and stories that insist I’m all right as I am, I don’t know if I’m evolved enough to subscribe to it yet… but I believe I have the capacity to grow. If there weren’t talk shows that teach us how to keep our husbands from cheating, or how to ensure our children won’t hate us, maybe we could stop living in fear and paranoia. If we stopped seeing shows that ambush women on the street to poke fun at their mom jeans and dated makeup, maybe we wouldn’t feel so much pressure to always be our “best.” Maybe the very word “best” feels like an impossibly distant finish line to cross, and “happy” or “satisfying” is a better life to aspire to and learn how to maintain.
I believe that the reality is most of us are fine and dandy as we are. And what could possibly be better than living our entire lives feeling fine? It’s healthy to desire growth and change, of course, but not to the detriment of our own self-acceptance. I aspire to shed the fear that I’m imcomplete, but it’s easier said than done. Besides, right now, it’s taking all my energy just to fit in.
Photo © Jim Stevens
My cat, Wasabi, loves gnawing on these.
March 2008 Accounting
| Date | Assignment | Cost | Time | Notes |
| 3/1 | Read O from cover to cover. (LO) | 3h 30m | This issue is (mostly) dedicated to how to be happy. If only it was as easy as finding the answers in a magazine, I think most American women would be floating on cloud 9! | |
| 3/1 | Try compassion meditation. (MAG) | 0h 20m | I had a hard time focusing. I think it’s a good meditation, I’m just distracted. Maybe I’ll try it again when I don’t have so much on my plate I can’t (or won’t) step away from. | |
| 3/1 | Go to Oprah boutique. (SHOW) | 29.38 | 1h 0m | Was told by Oprah producers to do this after seeing the show live in Feb. I spent $15 on a mug and $11.95 (plus tax) for South African rooibos tea that Oprah had created especially for her store. I drink many cups of tea per day and thought I’d integrate Oprah into my daily ritual. More employees than shoppers at the store. |
| 3/2 | Go to Oprah.com to learn more about the red cup program discussed by Drew Barrymore. (SHOW) | 0h 10m | I think DB is so fascinating. She’s become quite a powerhouse. I’m forwarding info about this program to folks I know. | |
| 3/3 | Do A New Earth Workbook homework. (BC) | 0h 30m | This is going to be a long process. | |
| 3/5 | Watch A New Earth online class, chapter 1. (SHOW/BC) | 1h 30m | I had to download this. I kept getting booted on the actual night of the class. | |
| 3/7 | Watch Across the Universe with friends. (SHOW) | 2h 13m | At least the music was great, but I prefer to hear the real thing, rather than covers. | |
| 3/9 | Watch the Big Give. (SHOW) | 1h 0m | Yawn. Sorry, but yawn. This could have been terrific, though — a good idea made entirely forgettable. | |
| 3/10 | Read ANE, chapter 2. (BC) | 0h 30m | ||
| 3/10 | Do ANE workbook homework. (BC) | 0h 30m | ||
| 3/11 | Download and watch ANE. (BC) | 1h 30m | I wish the live version was more reliable. I like the idea of watching along with lots of other people. | |
| 3/12 | “You need a crisp white shirt. You must have.” (SHOW) | 69.50 | 0h 15m | I originally ordered one thru Old Navy for $16.99, but it arrived with black pinstripes. Oh, the horror, the horror! When I tried to exchange it, they were out of stock. In a knee-jerk show of spending, I bought Oprah’s favored crisp white shirt from Brooks Brothers. I’m guilty and a little sick over it. Don’t want to tell my husband about it. I did find it at an outlet in New Hampshire (no tax!) for $69.50 (down from $89.50). I’m mortified I got sucked into this. I’m a yoga teacher! Why do I need this shirt? |
| 3/12 | “Keep the girls up!” said during a discussion about getting fit for a bra. (SHOW) | 49.68 | 0h 20m | My usual sports bras keep the “girls” together, not up. I’ll hit the outlets and see what I can find. Bras are so expensive. |
| 3/13 | Shop for a bathing suit. (WEB) | 78.00 | 1h 10m | I did this online with Oprah.com advice. I hate bathing suit shopping. Purchased a two-piece for the first time since I was in water wings, though. I’m not doing all this BLC exercise for nothing. |
| 3/15 | Declutter. (WEB) | 1h 30m | According to Peter Walsh on Oprah.com. Love this! (O) | |
| 3/16 | Watch the Big Give. (SHOW) | 1h 0m | ||
| 3/16 | Read ANE, chapter 3. (BC) | 0h 40m | Ego. Can’t live with it, can’t figure out how to live without it. | |
| 3/17 | Do ANE workbook homework. (BC) | 0h 20m | ||
| 3/18 | Download and watch ANE. (BC) | 1h 30m | ||
| 3/19 | “Try an awakening exercise!” (WEB) | 0h 10m | I feel inundated by ANE. | |
| 3/19 | Make Art Smith’s Ground Turkey Shepherd’s Pie recipe. (WEB) | 19.84 | 0h 40m | This was delish. Jim loooved it. It is one of the cheaper entrees on the site. |
| 3/23 | Watch the Big Give. (SHOW) | 1h 0m | ||
| 3/25 | Read ANE, chapter 4. (BC) | 0h 45m | About role-playing. Lots of this chapter resonated with me. | |
| 3/25 | Do ANE homework. (BC) | 0h 35m | ||
| 3/25 | Download and watch ANE web class. (BC) | 1h 30m | ||
| 3/25 | Download and listen to ANE theme song. (BC) | 0h 4m | 4 minutes of my life I’ll never get back | |
| 3/26 | Do ANE exercise. (BC) | 0h 5m | Stress “meditation” by Eckhart Tolle — it worked well. I will totally do this again. (O) | |
| 3/27 | Order It’s All Too Much by Peter Walsh. (SHOW) | 16.29 | 0h 15m | Shopped around for cheapest copy. |
| 3/28 | Take Evaluate Your Marriage test. (WEB) | 1h 15m | I thought I should really put Oprah’s approved relationship advice to the test and do this exercise. It was rudimentary but inspired deep conversation (much to Jim’s chagrin). | |
| 3/30 | Watch the Big Give. (SHOW) | 1h 0m |
| Date | Assignment | Cost | Time | Notes |
| Throughout Month | Take A Course in Miracles. (WEB/SHOW) | 7h 45m | Approx. 15 minutes for 31 days | |
| Throughout Month | Watch every episode of Oprah. (LO) | 21h 0m | 21 shows | |
| Throughout Month | Do Best Life Challenge exercise (BLC) | 6h 40m | 80 minutes a week for 5 weeks | |
| MONTHLY TOTAL | 262.69 | 62h 12m | ||
| YEAR-TO-DATE TOTAL | 1,639.01 | 228h 6m | ||
ONGOING PROJECTS
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| Accounting Abbreviations: LO = Living Oprah Project Task, SHOW = The Oprah Winfrey Show, WEB = Oprah.com, MAG = O, The Oprah Magazine, BC = Oprah’s Book Club, BLC = Best Life Challenge, (O) = ongoing project | ||||
Photo © Jim Stevens
It was way more expensive in the store than I expected. Even the sale items seemed a bit pricey.
Blog: Hoarding episode blog: http://www.livingoprah.com/2008/03/holy-hoarding-part-deux.html