the imaginarium of stefanie lejeunesse

So, I may have mentioned that there was a time in the not-too-distant past that I actually made an effort at looking halfway decent. Most (okay, half? Um, alright, 30%) of me takes major issue with consumerism and spending lots of money on clothes when there are children starving in _____. Because there ARE, I know, and it’s kind of moot anyhow because spending two grand on a YSL dress to sport to a ballet performance we can’t even really afford to attend is so out of the realm of possibility it’s laughable. Hysterically laughable. Laugh until you cry-able. Cry into your closet full of eight-seasons ago cocktail dresses-able. I know, I know. Boo hoo.
But the fact remains that I love nice clothes. My excuse is that I appreciate fine workmanship, as a seamstress and all (hardy har), but it’s really a feeble excuse.
Fall is especially heartbreaking for me because I love Fall clothes so much. Summer came and went and my now too-big jeans and fast fashion tanktops were passable for those months but as soon as the drizzle starts I want fairisle and supple leather and other things babies might enjoy dotting with food, already digested or otherwise. It’s also a bummer this year because my body is starting to feel like mine again, despite the fact that my chest is still co-owned. My wardrobe is no longer at the mercy of a baby who might need inside my shirt at any second; George is pretty predictable these days, I’m more confident in my ability to nurse discreetly and frankly, I don’t care if you see my boob or stretch-marked belly.
So, dear friends, if any of you is secretly really rich, you know… my birthday is coming up. Here’s my dream Fall wardrobe which incidentally goes along with my dream Fall body fuck that shit.
ED: that’s right; Converse Allstars and Wayfarers. I’m gettin’ back to me. Me at sixteen.

my imaginary fall wardrobe by lejeunesse featuring cashmere tops

Yves Saint Laurent Wool-blend dress, $1,625
Stella McCartney Cashmere and silk-blend cardigan, $845
Edun Sequin-embellished cotton tank, $400
Slash Neck Sailor Tee, $145
Blues Bow Tee, $124
Knitted Fairisle Cardigan, $110
francesca feather skirt$330, $330
Hayden-Harnett DENMARE Trousers, Black, $318
Blue Gwenevere Highwaisted Skinny Jean by 7 For All Mankind, 175 GBP
Cable Knit Shorts, $153
Falke Ribbed Tights., $50
50 Den Mustard Opaque Tights, $12
objects in mirror suede/leather flat knee high riding boot w/buckles…, 585 CAD
MISSONI Platform pumps – Item 44255003, $294
feather and stone ring, 255 GBP
Louis Mariette Caesar gold leaf hairband, $405
Ray-Ban Original Wayfarer | Official Ray-Ban Site, $145
Women’s Italian leather driving gloves | Womens italian nappa lambskin…, 66 EUR
NANA’ – FEATHER ELASTIC HEADBAND, 54 EUR
Mink Lace Scarf, 12 GBP
ASOS Square Buckle Skinny Boyfriend Belt
converse all star slim – Google-søgning

o pioneers

This is potentially going to be a really passive-aggressive post. Just thought you should be fore-warned. How passive aggressive it actually turns out to be remains to be seen, as the post-Ladyfest hashing-shit-out meeting is tonight.
Without further ado, here is my favorite moment from Ladyfest Bellingham 2010:

In case you can’t make out what is happening, a mama deer and her two babies appeared and trotted across Holly Street. I ran across the parking lot to take thier photo. That’s right; my favorite moment had nothing to do with Ladyfest. Kimya’s performance was a close second; as I described, it was awesome. But that was because of Kimya, not Ladyfest.
I had really high hopes for this festival. I LOVE Ladyfest — the Olympia one — and I love feminism. I love groups of women doing things together. I love influencing change, or trying my damnedest. But this was not any of those things unless you use the most liberal definitions. Yes, women were together in various spaces. They may have been individually feminist. But what I so hoped would happen: the enfranchisement of DIFFERENT women, discussion of the dire, dire, omg life-and-death issues that affect women (especially in our community, which is seeing the highest and most terrifying domestic violence statistics of all time), help for those of us who need it, celebration of the EXPERT, not the casual hobbyist or recent convert…none, or very little, of it happened.
I did my best to bring other types of women to this festival. I’m proud that I was able to work in a frank discussion of childbirth with birth professionals, though so few people came. I’m also disappointed in myself, despite my own baby-related time and schedule limitations, that I didn’t push for more involvement and change. So, Ladyfest ladies, if you read this: I blame myself as much, if not more, than I blame you.
My hope for next year (because I am hereby swearing to do next year what I didn’t this year) is that we will focus more on real, live ladies. The ones that need our help. The ones that don’t feel cool enough to come to punk shows, the ones who don’t have babysitters. The ones that are REALLY REALLY good at something, who have tried to make themselves a living, however meager or plentiful (because wealth is not a disqualifier), and could use our free support. My hope is that next year, we won’t shoot ourselves in the feet so many times with (yes) bad jokes and frivolity. That we won’t lob the local, strangely anti-Ladyfest press so. Many. Softballs.
I don’t want to despair at the state of young feminism in this country. I don’t think I need to, rather I should probably just despair at the state of youth in general. But these ladies have so much spark and smarts and potential that I’d hate to see waste away in Bellingham’s myriad dive bars. May they stay long enough to grow into their intelligence and help this town out of its rut. I’ll be here to do my part.

bobby-o

Ladyfest is this weekend. I’ve been involved in the planning. To say that it differs from my expectations when I first got involved would be an understatement. But I’m helping, I’m meeting some new people, making friends with some girls that make me feel really, really old sometimes and still young, others. I’m trying to let go of my view of what an ideal Ladyfest might be and just be grateful that we’ve created a space wherein some women and girls can feel that their contributions are valuable.
So far, the biggest payoff has been sitting in a park, on the first sunny evening in what seems like years, singing along with Kimya Dawson and feeling a sense of community, not just with the women around me who were a hodgepodge of new friends, former roommates, old friends and strangers, but with everyone, kind of. There were people — notably, dudes — pedaling the bike that powered the show. There was an amazing lady floating seamlessly between potty jokes and riveting, crushing honesty.

There was a leveled audience sitting cross-legged in front of her. And, of course, there was my baby, charming the pants off of everyone.

I’m lucky to have a feminist family. Happy Summer, you guys.