Image courtesy of Vedran Lanc

Well, the festive season seems to happen earlier each year. I always find a shopping outfit the trickiest of beasts. Here in the UK warmth is of great importance, but going in and out of well-heated stores can result in steamy unpleasantness. Thin layers, teamed with easily removable scarves are the way to go, and I opted for a thin thermal vest under a black fitted cashmere jersey, tucked into high-waisted skinny jeans and my faithful caramel flat calf leather boots. Rather than a bulk coat, which can impinge your ability to squeeze by the rotund lady in her 50s who spotted that must-have Hermes scarf moments before you did, a couple of well-placed scarves, mixing silk against the skin with a rough knit wool over the top, allows warmth and maneuverability.

Gifts purchased, work done, I’ve had ample time this month to catch up with friends. It was my dear friend LB that got me thinking over green tea and nostalgic music from our youth one evening as we got to talking about love. LB’s recent romantic disappointments have left her despondent, and we discussed where we thought we’d be as we headed towards 30. This generation, more so than any other, seem to be settling later, opting for career advancement over procreation, world travel over wedded bliss. But are we happy? Is this almost petulant independence creating true fulfillment? Financial freedom is certainly empowering, but from my experience many young women still crave the affectionate dependence that a relationship tenders. Having both, it seems, is the dream of most 20-somethings. But is it possible in a world where dedication and commitment are more regularly associated with job loyalty than love? In a world where world travel is so often a part of a vocation, working long hours, weekends and holidays are part and parcel of “making it,” is there really room for a mutually fulfilling and satisfying relationship?

Later in the month, I had the chilly experience of attending an outdoor Winter Wonderland-themed fashion show (necessitating a gigantic fur hat and floor-length plum coat with thick black patent leather cinch belt). Spending the evening with one of the freelance photographers I regularly cover events with, RH, talk of a recent job offer had the topic of success once again rearing its uncomfortable head. She had been offered the opportunity to work in the Far East for a while, much to her boyfriend’s dismay. Having been together for three years, co-habited for two, their relationship was plodding along quite satisfactorily. But since when has satisfactory ever been adequate? These days, dizzying, dangerously delicious love has become the baseline to which all else is measured. Comfortable partnerships are quickly dismissed as boring or unfulfilling. But this hasn’t always been the case. In a world of profligate and decadent consumerism, women expect fireworks, and anything else has us impatient and complaining. I wonder if this will make us happy in the long run.

Until next time, stay beauty-full, ladies!

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“Life is like a masquerade ball. Baroque masks replace authenticity; fancy facades take the place of character and the clinking of glasses substitutes for sincerity and depth. But then the clock strikes midnight and our Cinderella fantasy fades. But what if we could just skip the charade? I think we could all use a little more authenticity in our lives. Maybe, by making a pact with the world and with each other, we can once and for all exchange glib for compassion. We can exchange resignation with inspiration and hope. And maybe… just maybe we can make this world a little brighter.”                                                                                                            — myself

Recently a friend reached for my leather bound journal and asked me to “quote myself.” Despite being an avid journal writer, I have rarely reread a single line that I have written. Rather I have fantasized that one day when I’m ninety, I’ll reach for my coke-bottle glasses and thumb through the story of my life. But until then my life’s adventures have remained crystallized in a beautifully bound journal that is filed away at the back of my closet with the rest of the memory keepers.

Until today. The “quote request” jostled my curiosity and for the first time ever, I peeked into the already-forgotten cursive filled pages. When I looked into my journal, I caught glimpses of emotion, confessions of the heart, faint fears, and insecurities scribbled like a child. There was something foreign about the words, like a mystery movie where the antagonist has a letter written in her handwriting, with no recollection of having written it. A part of me shied away from the pages. It felt voyeuristic. I was looking at the inner caverns of my head and my heart. Rather than hearing my voice, I read accounts from an uncensored, idealistic, hopeless romantic– jotting down song lyrics interlaced with intellectual inquiry into the state of the human experience. There were moments of masterful confidence, brilliant eloquence, splatter painting of four letter words, childlike vulnerability, ironic pessimism, surmounting faith justifying my latest disappointment, seventh grade crush confessions, and my wildest dreams whispered to my silent confidant.

My journal is me, my guts splashed on a page capturing every layer of who I am. How do we know who we are or what we stand for if we never ask ourselves? How do we begin to understand this life in all is complexities if we don’t take time to reflect on it? I scribbled notes, I drew pictures, and made up new symbols desperately trying to make sense of what life means, or who I am and why things work out the way they do or don’t. Then I refused to look back.

Despite the patronizing request to quote myself, I admittedly spent several hours the following day hashing through years of memories. It was like a novel, only I no longer knew the author. I had outgrown her. But I became inspired by the insight. I witnessed my own process of immeasurable maturation. I experienced hilarity. I saw redemption and grace intertwined with the deepest of broken hearts; a mosaic of life’s most memorable experiences.

I wiped away the stream of tears, reliving my nephew’s birth, giggling over meaningless spats, resurrecting an old boy friend, and waltzing with the dreams that are now my reality. It occurred to me that we are in fact all our own authors. Whether you capture your story in journal form or not, you create your life and that makes you the director of your own play, starring you. Front and center. You.

My journal is a window to who and what I am and was. It is forever a glance backwards, past tense, a highlight reel of my life in beautiful snap shots. But far more inspiring than the word-filled pages are the blank ones that lie ahead. The pen sits in my hand and so does yours. We have the freedom; the choice to make up whatever story we want. The ability to create any adventure we can imagine. My story will go something like this, “there was this girl once, she believed she could change the world, so much so she wrote the greatest adventure story to date and sure enough she made it a reality.”

If only in the privacy of a leather-bound journal hidden amongst your latest reads,  take off your mask. We could use a little more authenticity in this world but it must first start with us. I’ll make you a deal, you take yours off… and so will I.

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Image of Liz Tigelaar (center) courtesy of the CW

As a little girl growing up in an adoptive family, Liz Tigelaar often fantasized about who her birth parents were. Since she was born in Washington D.C., she somehow convinced herself that her birthmother was Nancy Reagan, to the shock and horror of her liberal parents. In all seriousness, Tigelaar admits she spent a lot of her young life thinking about “the idea of who people are [in general] and who are those people out there just like me?”

Such questioning often resulted in her looking inside herself for the answers. However, it is that kind of deep introspection that, in turn, causes one to grow up a bit before his or her time. Tigelaar used such early maturity to become one of the youngest showrunners currently writing and producing original programming for network television. After getting her start as an intern on Dawson’s Creek, Tigelaar grew with the then-WB into the hip-and-now CW to act as consulting producer on Melrose Place in addition to her own Life Unexpected. 

“I feel like I’ve drawn from my own life, in that there are just those themes and ideas that run through my life as an adopted kid,” Tigelaar explains regarding the concept for a show about a teenage foster care kid who gets placed late in life with her birthparents. “But I’ve also always been really into coming of age stories. And this is a twist in that the adopted child is the one who will raise [her parents], and as [they] begin to mature and grow up, their daughter really gets to grow down, so to speak, and be a kid again.”

Tigelaar speaks of her creation with pure excitement and pride, like a young mother watching her baby take its first steps. If she is speaking from experience about being the adult when she was just a kid, she does so with the same amount of honest cheerfulness with which she approaches everything else.

Actor Kristoffer Polaha, who plays the male lead on her show, remarks that the best part of the job is working for Liz. “She’s an amazing leader and really makes us feel like we’re a part of a team,” he testifies. “We have a real feeling of collaboration [on set] and that makes everyone do their best work.”

Tigelaar is single-handedly changing the way critics look at artists from her generation. Instead of getting caught up in trends or choosing flash and style over substance, she goes for heartfelt and unique stories that are universal. Moreover, she does it while checking any ego at the door.

It takes talent to succeed in Hollywood, but her genuine love for what she does and her willingness to collaborate is what makes her one of the most sought-after, behind-the-scenes talents in television. Up-and-comers should take careful notes from Tigelaar’s handbook if they want to achieve similar success.

Danielle Turchiano is a freelance writer/producer living in Los Angeles. She is extremely excited to once again be a part of the i am that girl organization with her bi-weekly “Inspirational Women of the Entertainment Industry” column. More of her musings on film and television can be found on her personal Web site: http://www.danielletbd.blogspot.com/ If you have suggestions for who she should profile in future columns, feel free to leave a comment!

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Our San Diego chapter

Girls need girls. It’s a fact. Whether it’s ogling over our latest crush (and don’t pretend we EVER grow out of it), crying over our most recent disappointment, laughing at our absurdities, or confiding our deepest, farthest, back-of-the-closet secret; we need to be heard. Through sharing our experiences we have an opportunity to explore our own thoughts, work through our emotions and discover new kernels of truths.

For some time I thought I could figure out how to eliminate insecurities, fears and doubts for girls and women. If only I had the right formula, magic pill or workshop. I could find a way to instill authentic confidence in girls and women everywhere so they were free to fulfill if not surpass their potential and powerfully contribute to the world. The reality is that I can’t. I don’t have a cure-all that will remove the challenges and obstacles inundating the human experience. No human being for that matter has that ability.

My revelation emerged from a company meeting where a group of us were sitting around chitchatting about nothing really (like girls do). We talked about work, dabbled in politics and circumnavigated the uncharted waters of relationships. That’s when it happened; our conversation about nothing became about everything. We brought up issues of quarreling co-workers, struggles with body image, society’s high expectations, third-world countries and naturally, boys.

Before you knew it, our “business meeting” had transformed into a group of healing listening, compassionate respect and validating patience. There were no epiphanies, or calendar-making breakthroughs. If it were any other day, I would have over looked it completely, but not this time. The light bulb went off and I wondered if all girls had this kind of outlet to be heard and to hear others?

It’s important that even if we don’t have the immediate answers that we are made to feel we’re not alone. There’s comfort in that. There’s fearlessness in knowing you have a crew backing you up, a group of women protecting you and looking out for you. That’s when we realized this tangible community is vital to our existence. If we are going to change this world, if we are going to empower one another and ignite a revolution, it’s going to require that we come together and support one another. If a man chooses to be an island, he can be alone all by himself. I’m not interested in going through life’s safari alone. We’re stronger and more equipped to handle life’s curve balls when we have a whole team out there on the field with us.

So we created local chapters for girls to get plugged in and find other like-minded women out to make a difference in the world. We need an army of women, a dream team of relentless activists who will dedicate one night a week for an hour or so to a group of women who also want to leave this world better than how they found it. We already have chapters in most big cities, but we need more. If there’s one in your hometown, then get involved! If not, start your own.

We meet once a week, provide the content for the meeting, the girls and the space. As little as three members, as big as almost fifty in our San Diego Chapter. Either way, it’s an opportunity for girls to empower other girls. Where women on the same wave length can come together and support one another.

And I get it, you’re busy. We all are. But it’s not for us, it’s for you. You need it, we all do. But better yet, we deserve it in our lives. We deserve taking some time for ourselves once a week and having an outlet to talk about things that matter in this world. We deserve being listened to and having a place to share. I am that girl just launched local chapters to make that a reality. Badass women coming together to change the world. We need you in this revolution, we need your voice and your life’s unique brand. Make it a reality, make you a priority. Get involved, sign up, and start your own. I don’t care what you do, but 2010 is the year for you.

It would be an honor to have you come in the name of i am that girl and share your life’s journey with us. To find out more about our local chapters, or if you want to be a badass and start your own, contact Rosalind Adams at rosalindzoeadams@gmail.com.

Until then, keep rockin’ this world and being That Girl.

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Image courtesy of lerv

The third Thursday in November is the official start of the “Holiday” season. The season creates an extra level of love in the air for everyone. Even those who do not celebrate this Christian holiday feel the frenzy of goodwill towards all of humankind.

I kicked off my holiday season during an intense transition in my life, commonly known as a “breakup.” Not wanting to spend the day of gratitude with my roommate/ex-boyfriend, I took a road trip to spend the day with a BFF from High School. Anyone who has ever gone through an “intense transition/breakup” knows the true value of a good old fashioned pig-out, a few adult beverages and girl time. 

This Thanksgiving provided the therapy and fresh air I needed to push through my intense transition and frenzy of goodwill for the next month or so. 

My BFF I spent the day with an extremely brilliant woman who happens to date other women. I was able to spend this day of gratitude making lots of new friends who do not share the same taste in partners, but who did share the same “You Go Girl” attitude.

I must admit, walking into a room of lesbians was a bit intimidating at first. I don’t know if I was intimidated because I knew that these women possibly possessed an unfamiliar strength, or because I would be the only heterosexual woman. 

Within minutes of walking into the room, I felt at peace. All of the women were extremely friendly and supportive of one another. It was a much different vibe compared to walking into a room of heterosexual women. There was no sense of cattiness, nobody cared that my jeans were $200, what I did for a living, how many guys I had slept with, or who I was there with. We discussed politics, fashion and celebrities, cracked jokes and made plans to save the world one woman at a time. 

The group of women I spent Thanksgiving with had tapped into the strength of this Sisterhood and they were united as women. What exactly are they doing to tap into this? How can we as heterosexual women build the same sort of alliance? I don’t think we need to change our sexual preferences to gain this strength. I believe that these women share a common denominator, their sexuality, which helped unite them. 

What is our common denominator? What link are we missing to build our alliance as women? I will continue to look within my relationship circles for this answer and work on building stronger relationships with the women in my life to try and tap into this. I hope that if you are taking the time to read this, you too will try and tap into this as well.

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Image courtesy of Womensconference.org

This blog was recently posted on Womensconference.org.

The very tippy, top of my To Do list for 2010 is wildly unusual for me. I normally have the “complete a book, run a marathon, win a Nobel Peace Prize” kind of expectations, but 2010 is the year of being kinder to myself. So my number one priority is simple — loving myself more. I feel like today we’re expected to be Superwomen, and it’s so easy to fall into the trap of unrealistic, unattainable expectations of perfection and the disappointment and self-critique that quickly follow. 

I was recently told that the way we treat ourselves is a direct correlation to the way we treat others. So really, to exercise compassion, patience, unconditional love and forgiveness with myself is to practice for how I treat others. For me that means, a little more giggles and less discipline, a little more chocolate and a little less salad, a little more flirting and a little less work. So, 2010 is about loving myself as is… PERFECTLY FLAWED!

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In the last year Britain has placed a ban on airbrushed photographs in advertisements targeted at children that portray “overly perfected and unrealistic images” of women. The Liberal Democratic Party proposed the ban this past fall in order to raise discussion and awareness around the constant misrepresentation of women in media. With unrealistic ideals of beauty constantly portrayed in advertisements, the party found an unacceptable current trivializing a woman’s place in society. By taking this action, Britain has created a huge milestone in the combat against falsehood in advertising, and France is not far behind.

Image courtesy of Alysse Fischer

French parliament is in the works to pass a law this spring requiring warning labels to be placed on advertisements and images that have been retouched. Conservative parliamentarian Valérie Boyer finds retouched photographs to be a detriment to reality and proposed the law to provide a sort of accountability to the media. Mirroring labels like those found on food or cigarettes that contain anything detrimental to physical health is an idea Boyer thinks should be applied to emotional health. If a photograph has been changed from its original form people have the right to know.

Boyer’s stride to tell the truth goes beyond the simple airbrushing in advertising and takes on photographic art as a whole. The proposal states if companies fail to do so they can be fined up to $55,000. But why place such a high price on a cut-and-paste image?

The price isn’t for the image alone but what the image portrays — an altered and unattainable reality. Boyer suggests those flawless curves and sexy eyelashes seen in advertisements only create an aura of happiness lasting about as long as it took for the shutter to snap the picture. Even with the right combination of beauty products, hair extensions and cosmetic surgery, women are left on the street searching for the next hit of altered image reality.

Part of every advertisement is promoting a product and part of every advertisement is telling a lie. Each one specifically designed with a lure selling the idea that a brand, product or company is intrinsic to attaining an improved quality of life. But the cost is always more than bargained for when it comes to self-image.

Beauty is not a bottle of makeup or thick black eyeliner. It is not a two-dimensional image of three different women to create an impeccable image of one perfect woman.  Beauty lasts longer than 1/1000 of a second and is more than the size of your jeans. Government action is a huge act, but merely an echo of the first steps in claiming real beauty.

Watching young girls strive for an excellence that’s digitally created is what caught Boyer’s attention. As a mother of two teenage girls, Boyer found the issue vital and recently stated in a New York Times article, “It’s the closeness I have to adolescents that drove me to become interested in these subjects.” Through her efforts, Boyer shows that standards need to be altered, not images.

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