AUGUST Savannah, GA
free!
skirt!is
www.skirt.com
Take one last taste of summer this month. One last juicy bite of freedom before saying hello to carpools and pool closings, farewell to a
Friday frame of mind all week long. Wear your darkest movie star shades before the sun sets off on its world tour. Let homework hassles be a distant dream while you study the ice melting in your drink. Find a dive and rock the joint. Dance to the jukebox like the girl you used to be. Dress like Frida Kahlo under the Mexican sun. Postpone and procrastinate.
Practice being sultry. Surf your own couch through the perfect wave of a dappled green Sunday morning. Purr in a patch of fading sunlight. Befriend your freckles. May the grass kiss your bare feet with abandon before you have to buckle up and buckle down. Cover copy by Nikki Hardin, art by Traci Daberko
“When summer gathers up her robes of glory, And, like a dream, glides away.� Sarah Helen Whitman
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AUGUST
Publisher
Nikki Hardin publisher@skirt.com Art Director
Caitilin McPhillips caitilin.mcphillips@skirt.com
skirt! is all about women... their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. skirt! is an attitude...spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate.
National Editor
Margaret Pilarski margaret.pilarski@skirt.com Savannah Editor
Elena Fodera elena.fodera@skirt.com Advertising Director
Jane Townsend jane.townsend@savannahnow.com
CALENDAR SUBMISSIONS
Sales Executives
Send information elena.fodera@skirt.com, or mail to skirt! Savannah, 1375 Chatham Parkway Savannah, GA 31405
Cinda Baker cinda.baker@skirt.com Belinda Draucker belinda.draucker@skirt.com Graphic Designer
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Britt Scott britt.scott@skirt.com
All letters must include the writer’s name and city/state.
Intern
WRITERS & ARTISTS
Colleen McNally Rachel Regan
Our guidelines are available online at skirt.com. Submit artwork or essays via e-mail to submissions@skirt.com.
Photography
Nick Chiapinna Amy Moore Office: 912.525.0740 Sales: 912.525.0740
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The Lessons Issue FEATURES
Profile: Regina Rahimi
Author and Advocate ������������������������������������������������������������� 13 Profile: Carrie Christian
912.525.0746
An Artsy Atmosphere ������������������������������������������������������������ 14 skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the greater Savannah area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication. Unsolicited manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Letters to the editor are welcome, but may be edited due to space limitations. Press releases must be received by the 1st of the month for the following month’s issue. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2012, Morris Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher. SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
Profile:Tammy Smith Women make more than 80% of all purchasing decisions.
Teaching for the Turtles ���������������������������������������������������������� 16 skirt! In the Kitchen
Kelly Yambor................................................................................... 18 Women spend almost 2 of every 3 healthcare dollars.
Great Expectations
Heather Carliri............................................................................. 24 Horse Laugh
Amy Vansant................................................................................... 27 Women control 2/3 of the nation’s disposable income.
Women influence 80% of all car sales.
What My Preschoolers Taught Me
Kat Richter....................................................................................... 28
IN EVERY ISSUE
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THE UNITED SKIRTS OF AMERICA
The United Skirts of America was founded on the blood, sweat and estrogen of our foremothers, who won us the freedom to choose...to break
Traci Daberko Traci Daberko received her education at the University
FROM THE PUBLISHER
The Lessons Issue I read an interview with Rachel Maddow recently and was surprised to learn that she has suffered from recurrent bouts of depression since childhood. Super confident, no-holds-barred Rachel Maddow?! Given her
The Rules, to wear
public persona, it seemed such a brave thing to put out there, and her
combat boots or high
description of how she copes with self-doubt and anxiety was inspiring.
heels, to run for office
Sure, we’re living in an era when we all know the brand names of half a
or run a marathon,
dozen antidepressants, and many of us have been in therapy at one time (or have a friend or family member who should be!), but it’s still hard for me
of Nebraska at Kearney and
to form our own
started her professional career
rock groups instead
how debilitating it can be. Our culture places such a high value on being
of being groupies, to
relentlessly cheerful, optimistic and Facebook-friendable that it’s just sort
1995, Traci co-founded
shatter Glass Ceilings
of embarrassing not to be that person. God knows, I’d love to wake up
Cyclone Design. During that
and Glass Slippers, to
in Seattle working for several prominent design firms. In
time, she received national recognition from many design
shoot hoops instead
to admit out loud how much I struggle with depression periodically and
every day in a cupcakes-and-kittens state of mind, but there are mornings when I’ll settle for an emotional weather report that is partly sunny with only a 30 percent chance of rain. As much as I thought I’d always been
industry organizations and
of settling for hoop
honest about this lifelong battle I seem to have inherited, I realized from
publications. In 2001, Traci
skirts. The ones who
Maddow’s interview that I’m often still apologetic to myself and others
came before us made
about the times I get taken down by what Winston Churchill called the
was selected as one of the judges for Communications Arts Magazine Design Annual.
it possible for our
She also teaches an advanced
daughters to dream
typography course at the School of Visual Concepts.
bigger, to have the
Currrently, Traci has more than
chance to grow up to
15 years of professional design
be President and turn
experience and has worked with a diverse range of clients
“black dog.” Her courage made me realize that I still have so much to learn about the difference between being broken and being broken open to become more human. Thanks for the lesson, Rachel. I promise to keep doing my homework.
Nikki
publisher@skirt.com
the Oval Office into
from across the country.
the Ovary Office. In
FROM THE EDITOR
Constantly seeking out new
the United Skirts of
The saying goes that “experience is the best teacher,” and on many levels, it is true. Experience
America, every day is
lends richness to life that goes far beyond facts. But literally, when it comes to “the best teach-
challenges, she is now exploring other visual art forms that include fine art, digital media, consulting and product design. daberkodesign.com
Independence Day! VISIT US ON SKIRT.COM
er,” everyone has one who comes to mind: that woman or man who impacted your thoughts, opened your mind, changed your life. A single teacher can be the difference between knowledge and understanding. I’ve been blessed and inspired by more than one. My high school AP English teacher was known for her stern adherence to grammatical law and a piercing stare that turned many a student to stone. But when it came to literature, she turned positively giddy. She lit up with joy as we discussed Jane Austen and Flannery O’Connor. I thought to myself, here is someone whose passion inspires her. More than the historical implications of The Scarlet Letter or social satire in The Canterbury Tales, even more than the definitions of 100 rhetorical terms that I’ve not forgotten to this day, what I learned from her was that if you are in love with what you do, it will
Teacher’s Pet
never feel like work.
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elena.fodera@skirt.com
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Teach Me
Regina Rahimi | Author and Advocate Armstrong professor Regina Rahimi is the woman behind a fascinating—and troubling—new book, Pervasive Vulnerabilities: Sexual Harassment in School, focusing on the harassment to which girls frequently fall victim in middle, high school, even college. “Teaching diversity and ethics, I’m interested in schools’ social climates. But my interest in this topic came personally from my own high school experience: I was bullied and harassed myself,” Regina explains. “I was driven to education because I thought if I could help one student, one girl, not to have that experience, it would be worth it.” Co-authored by Delores H. Liston, the book exposes the issue through research and interviews with victims, harassers and the educators and adults who often turn a blind eye. “What we’ve found is that victims often have no recourse, there’s nobody to tell. We have to do a better job,” she urges. “Women have to be advocates for one another.” Photo by Amy Moore
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Teach Me
Carrie Christian | An Artsy Atmosphere When Carrie Christian started teaching art lessons while finishing her degree at Savannah College of Art and Design, it was something she had never done before, but soon she learned a lesson of her own. “I discovered that I loved everything about it,” she recalls, “So I started doing lessons out of a tiny little studio, and it just grew by word of mouth.” Now she teaches students ranging from pre-K through adults at her own Scribble Art Studio. “We push that art is not just about drawing or painting; it’s also about collage, sculpture, mixed media,” Carrie explains. “Everyone learns differently—there is never just one way of teaching something. Being flexible is without a doubt the most important lesson.” That, she says, comes in handy in more ways than one. “You can’t just work, you can’t just play. You have to find a balance, and art has a way of helping.”
Photo by Amy Moore
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Teach Me
Tammy Smith | Teaching for the Turtles Just as the rest of us wind into summer vacation mode, Tammy Smith, project coordinator for the Tybee Sea Turtle Project, has a big job to do. From May through October, volunteers patrol the beach each dawn for loggerhead sea turtle nesting activity—females dig nests and lay their eggs at night. “It’s been a great season,” Tammy says, “This year we may break 2,000 nests.” 60 days after being lain. Beginning in August, thousands of baby turtles hatch and make their own journey to sea. But the beach can be treacherous, and even one bright light can distract a baby from its path. That’s why it’s important to observe “Lights Out” May 1-Oct. 31 and keep the beach clean. “They’ve managed for millions of years without us. We probably need them more than they need us,” Tammy says. “But it’s our job to protect the waters and give them the opportunity to keep doing what they do.” Photo by Amy Moore
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SKIRT! IN THE KITCHEN JUNE
Kelly Yambor
Executive Chef, Elizabeth on 37th 05 East 37th Street Savannah, 912.236.5547
Photo by Amy Moore
Photo by Xxxx Xxxxxx
elizabethon37th.net
Shoes I wish I could wear in the kitchen:
Best compliment from a diner: [ In reference to her black-eyed pea patty served at an event in NYC.]
“...Chef Daniel Boulud told me it was his
favorite course. ”
Just-got-off-work indulgence:
Staying up late with my husband and 4-year old son, Leo.
How do you unwind after a long night? This one is easy: red wine.
Customers rave about: Red snapper and clams with royal trumpet mushrooms and lemon butter.
What word best describes you? Hardworking!
Most admired foodie: Daniel Boulud.
Favorite dish on this season’s menu: Chilled sweet pea soup with roasted chicken.
I always wear my favorite comfy shoes. Favorite kitchen gadget:
Cast-iron skillets.
Go-to ingredients
Favorite cookbook: Daniel Boulud’s Café Boulud Cookbook
Most ordered appetizer: Pecan-almond tart with bourbon caramel.
Oyster mushrooms and Davis tomatoes.
My favorite thing about the restaurant’s location: I like that we’re a “destination.”
Must-have local ingredient: Local seafood, especially Half Moon River clams. Why I love my job: I’ve worked here 16 years and finally have the perfect kitchen staff! They are the most talented, hilarious, hard-working guys ever, and I love the people I work for. Most ordered appetizer: Georgia shrimp tacos.
Most popular brunch menu item: Crab cakes benedict.
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Your favorite dish to prepare: My grandmother’s chicken cacciatore.
Best dessert for the table to share: Pecan-almond tart with bourbon caramel.
Favorite cocktail, wine or champagne served at the bar: Pario and Krug.
Five Restaurants on your Bucket List
Peter Luger’s, Brooklyn, NY Baronessa, Taormina, Sicily Café Ba-Ba-Reeba, Chicago, IL Mozzarella Bar, Rome, Italy Portland Lobster Company, Portland, ME
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Illustration by Monkey Mind Design, Unique Paper Expressions. monkeymindesign.etsy.com
AUGUST
2
5
AR
Mingle with local lovers of skirt! for light hors d’oeuvres, drink specials and the first peek at our August issue. 6-8pm. The Melting Pot. facebook.com/skirtsavannahhhi
Seersucker Live hosts Happy Hour for writers and friends at Abe’s on Lincoln each first Thursday of the month. Don’t forget your notepad and pen. 5:30-7:30pm. seersuckerlive.com
Join the Friends of Animals of the Coastal Empire for 60s-themed fun at “Woof-Stock,” their 14th annual auction. 7-11pm. Savannah Station. $45. friendsofanimalscoastalga.org
2 MEET PEEPS
3-18 LAUGH LOUDER
2 ALL IN
6 EASY BEING GREEN
Connect with other female entrepreneurs! Share challenges and stories at this month’s StartupChicks Roundtable. 4-6pm. ThincSavannah. savannah.startupchicks.org
The Collective Face Theatre Ensemble performs the bawdy comedy Joe Orton’s British Farce with three show times each weekend. Muse Arts Warehouse. collectiveface.org
10 STAND-UP GUY
Comedian Jim Gaffigan makes a stop at the Johnny Mercer Theatre on his stand-up tour. 7pm. Savannah Civic Center. savannahcivic.com
18 ON A ROLL
Watch the Derby Devils face off against the Dames of Greenville, S.C,. in the Martin Luther King Arena. 7pm. Savannah Civic Center. savannahderby.com
10 SEWN TOGETHER
All ages are welcome to try their hand at a game of cards with the Queen of Spades Club. 7:30-9pm. The Sentient Bean. 912.660.8585. sentientbean.com 3 TUNE IN
The Savannah Folk Music Society hosts the 16th Anniversary “First Friday” with live tunes by Alberto Puentes, Bill DeYoung and Wooden Nickel. 7:30-10pm. First Presbyterian Church. savannahfolk.org
Support the Economic Opportunity Authority in a recycling fundraiser with FundingFactory. Donate your empty cartridges, used cell phones and other small electronics. dwproperty@aol.com, fundingfactory.com. 9-26 BAY WATCH
For a ride off the main street, don’t miss this unique musical Avenue Q by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx. Bay Street Theatre through the 26th. baystreettheatre.org
Loop It Up’s “I Am the Beloved Community” collaborative story quilts exhibit opens, created by the city’s students and seniors. 10am. Jepson Center. telfair.org 18 HOP TO IT
25 KISS MY GRASS
Celebrate 93 years of the beloved Leopold’s Ice Cream parlor at the block-wide sock hop party, complete with costumes, dancing, music and ice cream for only 93 cents! 11am. leopoldsicecream.com
Savannah Arts Academy and Fleet Feet Sports are sponsoring “Run Dirty Saturday” XC Kickoff Classics, a 5,000-meter grass course open to the public. 7am. Daffin Park. fleetfeetsavannah.com/xc 31 GO FIGURE
The Golden Dragon Acrobats show off breathtaking moves in this traditional Chinese tradition that never gets old. 8pm. Arts Center of Coastal Carolina. tickets.artshhi.com
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Illustration by Monkey Mind Design, Unique Paper Expressions. monkeymindesign.etsy.com
Skirt of the Month Santiki Embroidered Coral Skirt Washed Ashore 23 E. River St. 912.234.6100
www.skirt.com   augustw2012savannah  23
My daughter expects only success.
Heather Caliri
O
n the way home from the park, my daughter paused for the twentieth time, bent over, and picked up something. Could have been a daisy, penny, pillbug or bead. She stood up, her face alight. She held out a piece of white quartz, plucked out of a sea of sandy-pink gravel. “It’s a sparkling jewel, Mama,” she said. She was quiet for a while. Then she jumped into the air. “I know what I’ll do,” she said. “I’ll have a stand and sell my special rocks. Like when I sold lemonade.” I sighed. My daughter would do a lemonade (or rock, or jewelry, or artwork) stand every day if she could. But I dread them. Even if she’s old enough to run the stand herself, her sister is not. And watching a toddler on a busy street while keeping her from spilling the merchandise is not my idea of a peaceful afternoon. Generally, then, I say no. But with a few lemonade stands under my belt, I know there’s a bigger reason I sigh every time the subject comes up. I’m afraid. It makes me squidgy inside to watch my daughter broadcast her excitement publicly. I worry about her confidence, her blithe assumption that people will be interested in her rocks, her lemonade or her art. I worry she’ll be rejected or that people will find her silly. I worry about the smackdown that comes when you put your passions out there. And here’s where I have left the realm of talking about my child. People are almost uniformly kind to my kid. They are almost uniformly encouraging of young entrepreneurs. The worst reaction she’s dealt with is someone ignoring her, which isn’t all bad. But my heart is still in my throat every time she sets up her little table and asks me to help her letter a sign. As a kid, I spent an afternoon once gathering desert wildflowers, bundling them into nosegays no bigger than my six-year-old palm, and waving them wildly at passing cars. I worked together with some neighbors. We had big plans for our flower bouquets, and imagined splitting the profits when they started rolling in. I remember being pretty hopeful that someone would stop and purchase these lovely creations. No one did. We all abandoned the wilting flowers on the roadside and headed home for dinner strangely disappointed.
I felt silly thinking we could be a success. My daughter expects only success. She is surprised when someone drives by without waving. Last lemonade stand, she would call out to passersby from across the street to alert them to her business. After a few minutes, she turned to me and said, “Stop that.” “Stop what?” I said. “You keep laughing when I call out to people.” She was right. It was a kind of genuflection, an ironic distance from her enthusiasm. I was appalled. And the next time she called out, I did it again, like Pavlov’s dog. The truth is, I admire my daughter’s chutzpah. I keep examining my arguments against the lemonade stand. Because I know that part of my reluctance is this discomfort, this embarrassment. Perhaps I should figure out a way to make it work. Surely I could distract the youngest long enough for the shop to happen? Perhaps I could deal with being out there for an hour? Surely her creative, entrepreneurial spirit needs to be encouraged. I want her to live in a world where she is confident enough to dream big dreams. To put them out there, and the hell with the consequences. I want her to shush the people who laugh at her, rather than listening to them. I want her to find a way to make money creatively, to be entrepreneurial and wily. I want her to be her own boss. Each time I encourage my daughter’s boldness, every time I swallow my fear, I sense I’m learning a lesson. When I stop protecting her from even the possibility of rejection, I inoculate myself against that people-pleasing timidity. When I let her take risks, I learn to be bold, too. Last weekend, my daughter set up another lemonade stand, this time to raise money for a cause we all supported. My husband stood out with our daughters for an hour while I prepped food in the kitchen. The window was open to the glorious June sunshine, and I could hear almost every word the three of them were saying. My daughter sold at least 10 cups of lemonade, and chatted with (to my introvert’s eyes) half the neighborhood. She met moms and commuting businessmen, people walking their dogs, runners. She told each of them about the service project the money would go to, her sales pitch growing more polished with each person passing. For once, instead of looking at my daughter and wondering how long that passion and openness and trust in others would last, I started looking at the people who were walking by. At first, I was surprised. Their faces were alight, their eyes relaxed. They weren’t annoyed by her, or put off by a kindergartner’s shakedown. Instead, they looked joyful. As if the real treasure on offer—my daughter’s infectious enthusiasm—was well worth the asking price.
Heather Caliri is a writer living in San Diego, California. Her work has appeared in Literary Mama, Brain, Child, and Harpur Palate. She blogs at heathercaliri.com.
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No one wants to be a quitter. But not every cause is a winner.
Amy Vansant
B
efore Rocky, I’d never been a quitter. For example, I watched the first few years of the TV series Bones on DVD while doped on flu medication. After my illness, I continued to watch the series even though somewhere around season five it became a parody of itself. The main characters solidified as completely unlikable individuals, surrounded by a supporting cast so cartoonish Mel Blanc should have voiced their dialogue. Nevertheless, each week I propped my eyelids open with modified eyelash curlers, Clockwork Orangestyle, and watched. How could I quit something into which I’d invested 100 hours of my life? I didn’t watch Bones because I loved the idea of street artists morphing into computer geniuses sporting eponymous all-knowing, crime-solving “Angelatron” computers. Just saying “Angelatron” makes me want to punch myself in the face. I watched Bones to slow my own personal slide into apathy. In my youth, I committed to every challenge with a special combination of fervor and stupidity. To change that behavior would to be to admit I’d lost my edge. I didn’t want to be a quitter. Then I met a horse named Rocky. When my girlfriend asked me to take riding lessons with her, I knew, much like a cast member of Celebrity Apprentice, that I’d have to check my self-respect at the door. She and I rode competitively from third grade to ninth, but I had only been on a horse twice since then. I had no illusions of becoming a Spaghetti Western stunt double my first day back in the saddle. Largely because they stopped making Spaghetti Westerns in the late Sixties, but also because I understand riding is an art that requires muscle strength I no longer possess. My first riding lesson damaged both my pride and my legs. I wore the wrong clothes and rubbed deep holes into the side of each calf. But I wasn’t a quitter. For the next lesson, I bought high boots to protect my legs, skin-tight breeches because the world just doesn’t see enough of my ass, and a riding helmet. I felt more comfortable in the saddle, particularly once it was discovered I had mistakenly used a child’s saddle the first time. Still, my ankles and leg muscles ached after trotting just a few times around the ring. On the upside, the clear reminder of how out of shape I’d become was an excellent way to prompt a mid-life crisis. All my friends were having them and I felt left out. But I was not enjoying myself. Third lesson, my steed, Rocky, decided to demonstrate that he didn’t enjoy trotting around a ring anymore than I enjoyed bouncing around on his bony spine. Rocky threw down his head, ripping the reins from my hands, and bucked
like a rodeo horse. I did my best to hold on, but Rocky also eschewed the “quitter” label. He refused to stop until I hit the dirt. “Wow,” said my unimpressed instructor. “Rocky hasn’t bucked anyone off in like a year.” I felt honored. Dejected and dusty, I walked Rocky back to the little step stool and climbed back aboard, hissing the story of dog food manufacturing through gritted teeth. I trotted around the ring to prove my fearlessness and then headed back to the barn, but I could feel my relationship with Rocky had been inextricably altered. Rocky had my number. Next lesson, Rocky didn’t bother to pretend things between us were civil. Again he tried to buck; somehow I wrestled back control. I attempted to resume cantering. Ten feet down the rail Rocky again threw his head, splaying me across his neck. Mane in my teeth, I yanked back on the reins. Rocky stopped dead. I had underestimated Rocky’s sense of humor. Over and over we repeated this dance. Head down! HEAD UP! Stop. DON’T STOP! Head down! HEAD UP!! Flustered, I walked Rocky to the instructor and explained my dilemma. Too late, I realized I was telling another human being that I’d been outsmarted by a horse. “Use your ab muscles,” she said. “Right,” I said. “Why didn’t I think to pick those up with my new boots and helmet?” Horrified, I notice my voice was cracking. The instructor turned her attention toward my more deserving friend, still trotting around the ring like a pro. “You need more confidence,” she said, striding away. I walked Rocky back to the rail fighting tears of shame and frustration. No one had ever told me I lacked confidence. I’d always been the brave one. I could demand a different lesson horse, but I wasn’t even enjoying myself. I was trapped between a Rocky and a hard place. Back at the barn, my friend asked me if I was okay, and the answer rushed from my lips before I could stop myself. “I quit.” A peace came over me. No one wants to be a quitter. But not every cause is a winner. Many of the things I committed to finishing in the past I did so due to lack of money, to desperation or inexperience. Now I was older and in a more comfortable place. I didn’t have to commit to winning the war against Rocky. Maybe it was time to redefine “quitting” as “making a wiser decision.” Enjoy your sweet feed, Rocky. You gave me bruises, you gave me scars, and you freed me from the tyranny of foolish commitments. You miserable old nag.
Amy Vansant has been published in Surfer, Chesapeake Bay Magazine, McSweeney’s and other publications/sites. Read more at her humor blog at kidfreeliving.com or on Twitter @kidfreeliving.
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What My Preschoolers Taught Me
I look like a woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it, but as I stood in the fitting room questioning my reflection, I saw a pitifully indecisive 20-something staring back at me.
A
Kat Richter
s the creative movement teacher at a Headstart preschool in North Philadelphia, I get a lot of questions. These range from the hopeful (“Miss Kat, are we gonna get stickers today?”) to the dejected (“Miss Kat, can you tie my shoe?”), to the just plain embarrassing (“Miss Kat, is that a baby in your belly?”). I have to explain that no, we’re not getting stickers today because we only get stickers on Friday, and today is not Friday and that no—as I resolve to start doing crunches again—
that is not a baby in my belly. Then there are the questions that arise when one of my students finds me in the bathroom. Although it’s fairly obvious—at least to a grownup—that I’m engaged in normal bathroom activities, it’s less obvious to my gaggle of endlessly curious three-year-olds. They never fail to ask “Miss Kat, what are you doing?” and when I tell them that I’m going to bathroom, they broadcast this news to their classmates with all the pride of a paleontologist who has just discovered a new species; news of a grownup going to the bathroom is a cause célèbre in the mind of a preschooler. Nonetheless, the question I receive the most often day after day, week after week and month after month is “Miss Kat, do you like my shirt?” Granted, sometimes they’ll ask if I like their skirt instead, or their shoes, or their new haircut, but the underlying meaning is always the same. They line up outside of the dance studio, point to their newest acquisition and ask with a curious mix of toddler pride and the need for my approval, “Do you like it?” When I first started teaching, I used to always say, “Yes, you look great!” Then I’d hurry my charges inside to get started with the day’s lesson. But then I went shopping. Without my mother. And I was nearly paralyzed. Keep in mind I’ll be 27 by the time you’re reading this essay. I’ve studied abroad, lived abroad, and two years ago, I quit my day job in order to pursue a career in the arts. On the outside, I look like a woman who knows what she wants and knows how to get it, but as I stood in the fitting room questioning my reflection, I saw a pitifully indecisive 20-something staring back at me. I liked the shimmery, asymmetrical dress I’d just tried on, but without my mother’s approval, I couldn’t be sure that it liked me. It’s not that my mother is some blue-blooded maven of high fashion— she’s the one who introduced me to Jomar, my bargain basement of choice, in the first place, and she maintains a rather liberal interpretation of “color
coordination”—but we’ve always shopped together. I raid her closet more times than not and without her waiting outside of the fitting room to offer her opinion, I couldn’t do it. I returned home confused and empty-handed. It was then, as I reminisced about the gorgeous frock that I’d left on the rack, that I decided something had to change. It might be too late for me, but it wasn’t too late for my preschoolers. The very next morning, one of my particularly gregarious divas-in-training marched up to me, stuck out her foot to display a pair of brand new glittery jelly shoes and inquired, “Miss Kat, do you like my shoes?” I smiled, inspected the shoes and finally countered, “Do you like them?” She froze. This was an unexpected turn of events and preschoolers aren’t exactly known for dealing well with changes in events. “Do you like them?” I repeated. She considered it for a moment and then replied, “Yes.” “Well that’s what matters!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “If you like them, then it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.” She didn’t look entirely convinced, but I was pretty sure that the wheels in her little head were turning. A few days later one of my three-year-olds showed up to school sporting a brand new E.T. shirt. Between his teddy bear looks and his freakishly impressive vocabulary, it was all I could do to keep from blurting out, “Yes, of course I like your E.T. shirt!” But I held firm. “Do you like it?” I asked. “Yeah,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Did you know that E.T. means ‘alien,’ Miss Kat?” He later informed me that E.T. was “sad at me” over some injustice to do with the number of stickers he’d amassed on the Good Behavior Chart, but I considered this a small price to pay considering all the self-confidence I was instilling in my students. This went on for weeks. I refused to comment on light-up sneakers, new haircuts, sun dresses and even graduation outfits, although I slipped up when one of my five-year-olds turned out in a linen suit for the last day of school. Eventually, however, I got so good at saying, “Do you like it?” that I no longer had to think about it. It was automatic. I decided to return to Jomar for another look at that funky silver dress, and as I scrutinized the single ruffle running down the front, I realized that if my preschoolers could stop caring what other people thought of them, I could, too. In the end, my mother loved the dress, but more importantly, I didn’t care.
Kat Richter is a freelance writer and teaching artist who lives in Philadelphia. She holds an MA in Dance Anthropology and blogs about her adventures in online dating at fieldworkinstilettos.com.
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Sandfly Isle of Hope
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He’s So Original
David Schuman gets a kick out of coaching. David Schuman knows that when it comes to soccer, girls can kick it. “Girls are very receptive to coaching; they’re not as prideful. They’re willing to learn,” David explains. As the coach of the Coastal Georgia Soccer Association’s U-13 Shockers, he helped lead his team to victory and to the state’s Regional President’s Cup championship this spring. “They’re starting to get comfortable in what they’re doing,” David says, “We’ve come a long way since we first started together. We’re excited to see what the new season has in store for us.” What do you like about wearing a skirt? “I’ve never been one to worry about what others think. Anything that’ll get the team laughing and feeling positive to start the season off, I’m all for!” What do you like about reading skirt!? “Hearing what’s going on in Savannah—we’re a small town, but everyone seems to know each other, and skirt! supports that.” Photo by Nick Chiappina
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COMING SEPTEMBER
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FEEL GOOD AUGUST
Feel Good about what’s outside your own Front door. If travel is just too expensive an indulgence this summer, try seeing your hometown with brand-new eyes. Side Walks: A Journal for Exploring Your City by Kate Pocrass encourages you to discover the hidden and extraordinary details of your own city. Filled with unique explorations and quirky prompts, it’s the perfect place to keep track of favorite local haunts, as well as a starting point to experience one’s neighborhood in a whole new way. Get off the beaten tracks you usually frequent, and record your findings in this field guide to backyard excursions. $15.95
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Meet One Item Always In My Purse: Hot pink lipstick.
Victoria Dinatale, This spunky motivational speaker wouldn’t allow bullying to change who she was— she combines her experience and a love of helping others to deliver an inspiring message.
My Guilty Pleasure: Chocolate chip cookies— no guilt here!
Favorite Music: I’m a country girl!
Dream Date: Zac Efron.
I Can’t Live Without: A blow dryer.
My Gadget: A microphone. Favorite Restaurant: Vic’s on the River. My Pet: Junior, a naughty bloodhound! Favorite Shoes: Pumps, stacks, the taller, the better! Favorite Feminist: My sister, Professor Leah Dinatale. Favorite TV Show: The Bachelor. Words I Live By: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. My Role Model:
Photo by Amy Moore
Best friend and harshest critic, my mom! I’d Like To Learn To: Hip-hop dance. My Lucky Charm: My hair has super powers. What I’m Reading Right Now: The Bible.
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planetnikki [ a visual journal ]
The full moon last month was juicy enough to fry in a pan.
I followed it home
like a wolf stalking dinner, like a planet in search of an orbit,
like a teenager smelling pheromones, like a
lover licking its chops. There it was, hanging just out of reach. There I was, chasing
An apricot moon pie. Sailing away before I could get a sticky piece
what I can’t have, as usual.
to put under my pillow and
dream on.
The title song of Rufus Wainwright’s latest CD, Out of the Game, is my current favorite. His father, Loudon Wainwright III, also has a new CD out with two wrenching songs about family: “The Days That We Die” and “In C.” I’ve been having a Wainwright emo moment.
As is often the case, I bought this retro-looking wall hook from Wabi Sabi as a gift and ended up keeping it for myself.
Every few years, I get a craving for banana trees in my yard. Catching a glimpse of the big bold leaves out my window makes me think I’m on a desert island. This summer I planted four hoping for a little jungle instead of my usual desert-like field of sand spurs.
This knit tote by hansel from basel is the perfect size for a Mac Air, which I don’t own. But I thought that if I bought the bag, the computer might appear. Like, you know, a gift from the Nikki-centered universe.
Tokyo Milk is a brand I can’t resist because their packaging sucks me in every time. Their “Honey and the Moon” tin is one part candle, one part eye-candy. (And the title of a Joseph Arthur song I don’t seem to tire of hearing.)
Nikki Hardin is the founder and publisher of skirt! magazine. She blogs at fridaville.com.
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