An Open Letter To The Poor Woman Who Tried To Sell Me Jeans

Retail therapy used to be the quick fix for anything. I would try on formal dresses with no occasion to wear them. I would tote handbags around the store with the price tag folded inside just to feel like I had a new purse. And the shoes! Oh, don't even get me started on the shoes. If you're like me, you know that nothing makes you feel more captivating and powerful than a beautiful shoe. I loved retail therapy. I loved shopping.

I hate it now.

I went into your store to buy jeans. And 104 pairs later I emerged from the dressing room to return them to you, and after inquiring what was wrong with them in front of a male customer, you proceeded to bring me more. More jeans that made my hips look wider. More denim that made my thighs look fatter. More materialistic items that made me feel inferior. Inadequate. Downright repulsive. 

I went into your store to buy jeans. But I left your store in tears.

I went into your store to buy jeans. But I didn't tell you I was there to buy jeans because I didn't want you to know. Because when salesladies know I'm in a store to buy jeans, they don't shut up. They don't stop bringing me things. They don't listen to what I'm saying because they've already moved on to the next pair of pants they're going to bring me. So here's the deal.

Jeans don't fit me.

By society's definition, I am the perfect woman. I have a full feminine figure with an itty-bitty waist. But I can't feel perfect because by society's standards, I'm the ugliest woman alive. I have a 29 inch inseam, and even your short jeans (or petite jeans, if you're trying not to offend) fit me like footie pajamas. If I try on a pair of jeans that fit my hips, the waistband is so huge I have to pay an extra fifteen dollars to have it taken in. If the jeans fit my waist, one of two things is wrong with the seat: it's either so tight you can see every line and crease in my underwear, or the zipper doesn't plunge low enough to even get the unforgiving denim over my butt.

You then proceeded to tell me that those were your "curvy" jeans, and offered to order me the "ultra-curvy" pair because you didn't carry that style in the store. Because nothing says "you're fat," and "you don't belong here," like "I don't even carry your size/style in the store."

Then I checked the price tag. You kept handing me 120 dollar jeans. But I'd never pay that because I have to pay an extra 50 to have them altered. Shoot, I could buy some denim and make my own stupid jeans for less than $120. That's an awful lot of money to charge someone who isn't in love with your jeans, and I don't even like them. They really aren't that special. If you can make me a pair of jeans that fit me with no required alterations, I'd drop $120 in a heartbeat. But I haven't found a store to do it yet.

You see, you label jeans that fit models "slim," when you label jeans for me "curvy." I used to think curvy was an inaccurate label; that it was the modest way to say "fat." But it isn't. Curvy is a good thing. Men like curvy. Women should, too. It's the "slim" label that's the problem, because it implies that curvy women cannot also be slim. And we believe it.

Curvy women can be slim. We are slim. And you can label us with whatever word you want, but we are stunning. 

Curvy women are true art forms. The craftsmanship of our frame and the architecture of our physique shouldn't make sense. Our weight is not distributed evenly. And you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know that scales only balance out when weight is even on both sides. Curvy women shouldn't even be able to balance. But here we are...walking, thinking, reading, dancing, running, cooking, working, and loving. We are mysterious creatures. We are extraordinary. But instead, we feel like a freak of nature. Everyone talks about how beautiful and exquisite we are, but how can we feel that way when not a single piece of fabric fits our "magnificent" body?

My waist is a size 2. And I know it is, because all my skirts are a size 2. But my jeans are a size 6-8, because that's what my hips need. I buy jeans in a size 8, take in the waist several inches, and then hem the pant legs to a 29 inch inseam. I also take in the fabric at the knee, because all my weight is carried in my hips and upper thighs, so my bootcut jeans look like straight-leg pants after the initial alteration. I need an extra alteration to give me my shape back.

I could've answered what was wrong with those jeans so you wouldn't bring me more, but I didn't have the time. You didn't either. I could've told you that my waist is too small, that my hips are too wide, that my thighs are too fat. But that would imply that there's something wrong with me. And there isn't. There isn't anything wrong with your jeans either. It's just that we aren't a good fit.

So stop bringing me more jeans. Let me find them. Let me try them on. Let me pinch them in certain areas and determine if the price tag is worth it prior to the 4 alterations I'll have to make that I don't want you to know about. Because no one knows my body better than me, and no one knows how to make me feel worse about it than everyone else.

And that's not fair to me. Because I am beautiful. 

Sincerely,

The "Perfect" Girl In Desperate Need Of A Pair Of Pants

Limiting the Impossible

Today I am challenged with a prompt: Something You Feel Strongly About.

Allow me to begin with a video.

No wonder our definition of beauty is so distorted. That poor woman will see that advertisement knowing that the world is seeing a woman who isn't even her. Because her hair wasn't long enough, her eyes weren't big enough, her waist wasn't thin enough, and her legs weren't long enough. So the good news is: even the models in our advertisements don't look the way we think they do. The bad news is: we believe it anyway.

I love fashion, but I hate the fashion industry. In the same way, I'm a strong supporter of beauty promotion, but despise how it is distorted in our society. More and more women are living unhealthy lifestyles to obtain the impossible image, living with eating disorders, excessive workout plans, and insecurity beyond all measure. And it starts early. It starts with the compliments we give little girls (don't we tell them they're cute before we tell them they're smart?). It starts with the unintentional support of the society we live in. It starts with us leaving our Cosmo magazines on the coffee table and the barbie dolls we give them to play with.

I can honestly say I was not bothered by the designs of barbies as a little girl. I didn't notice the dolls were unrealistically skinny until I grew a little older. But I can vouch for diversity. I always chose dolls with brown hair and olive skin tones because they looked like me. I did the same thing with the disney princesses I watched and the polly pockets I chose to play with because I related to them. And I know I'm not alone. I see it every day in my classroom with the books my students read. I see it at the daycare with the toys children choose to play with, and I see it when I babysit and watch the kiddos pick characters to be. Whether you think the dolls are mentally unhealthy for little girls is irrelevant. The reality is: diversity is important, and we need to stop society's ruthless force of the one-size-fits-all woman.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not opting for the "Fat Movement" that's really in right now, where a 500 pound woman shouldn't lose her weight because "every woman is beautiful." I think girls should be healthy. Every woman has a different talent, intelligence, and heart to offer the word, and beautiful souls need sturdy vessels. But no woman should be denied of her inner strength because she simply does not look like the girl on the cover of her favorite magazine. All throughout childhood, we were told that it was good to be smart, and kind, and strong, and unique. Why is the way we look any different?

For the first time ever, young girls will have more options in the toys they play with thanks to the Barbie company, not just in size and figure but also in race and ethnicity. The company is no longer in support of their original stick-figure design, and is channeling its efforts to promoting healthy diversity through a new line of dolls. Beginning with their 2016 Fashionistas line, the dolls will be offered in various heights, shapes, and skin tones (not to mention occupations, as barbies have previously been known for), celebrating all the differences between women today. I could not be more proud to support this movement, and look forward to watching the dolls evolve even more over time.

To learn more about the Evolution of Barbie, visit www.barbie.com, and join in on the discussion with #TheDollEvolves.

Sincerely, The Band Director's Daughter

And no, my dad didn't tell me to write this.

Anyone remotely connected to band or education has seen all the articles. We've all seen the facebook posts about "What Band Really Is: The Importance of Music Education." "Why AP Music Theory is the Most Difficult of All AP Exams." "Music Makers = Better Test Takers!" And the infamous line that all pregnant women are told in their first parenting class: "Mozart Makes Babies Smarter!" And music is important. We should come to its defense. But we're tired. We've heard from all the band directors. We've heard from all the music teachers. We've heard from principals and administrators and school board members. Shoot, we've even heard from professional instrumentalists and band kids themselves. But there's one role we haven't heard from at all, the one quite possibly most affected and most overlooked by band in its entirety: the band director's family.

So hello! It's nice to meet you. My name is Bethany Harper, though most of you in the band community and Fayetteville, Arkansas know me as "Harper's Kid." I've seen band first hand since the day I was born, and I am going to tell you a story.

I was nine years old on a charter bus in Pasadena, California. The Fayetteville High School Band had just spent the day in Hollywood and was driving to the Santa Monica Pier before going to Universal Studios the next day. We were there so the band could march in the Tournament of Roses parade on New Years Day, and the band kids wanted to watch Family Guy on their short bus ride to the beach. It might have been appropriate for high schoolers, but my dad deemed me too young (as most dads would for their nine-year-old daughter). Then we heard it; the comment from the high schooler we chose to ignore: "It's not our fault Harper brought his daughter on the bus. We shouldn't have to change what we watch."

News flash buddy: I might have been little, but I wasn't deaf. I could hear you. I remember you even today. And the reality of it is: it was your fault Harper had to bring his daughter on the bus. Band trips are one of the only perks she gets as the director's daughter, and it was the only way she would get to ring in the New Year at her father's side.

Because here's what band is from the eyes of a band director's daughter. Here's what you don't see.

My dad spends two nights a week (at least) away from home, preparing you for a competition or concert that you probably won't practice for. We spend holidays on charter buses and marching parades with you rather than at home with our extended family. Our dinner conversations aren't about our day; they're about you, and how he worries about your future. My knowledge about football was gained from spending every Friday night watching him work rather than enjoying it as a family, and my knowledge about the stupidity of high schoolers was learned at age seven by watching you disobey him. If I acted the way you do towards him, the wooden spoon would be the least of my worries. The truth is, he spends more time with you than he does with me, and when he is at home, he's grading your papers and responding to your emails. Because that's the life of a teacher: it's a life of pure sacrifice. He watched his only child grow up in the old high school band room rather than in his own backyard because he was always there for you. The least you can do is turn off a TV show that he deems inappropriate.

Let's prove a point here.

Here's me sitting front row performing at Carnegie Hall under my dad's direction. Cool huh?

Here's a crappy quality photo of me in a band uniform next to my dad at the Veteran's concert.

That's what people think being a band director's kid is like.

Here's what it's really like:

Yeah, that's me devouring mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving with my mom. My dad wasn't there. He was with the high school band leading them in a parade at Walt Disney World. Prior to this day, he was forced to miss two father/daughter dances at cotillion for all state clinics, a couple more holidays for celebratory parades, and even judged at all region auditions while I was in the hospital over Christmas break. And I'm not upset about it. You shouldn't be either. I'm proud of how much he cares for his students. I just wish they'd be more thankful.

Band director's kids are a lot of things, but here's what we're not:

We're not automatically future band directors. Yes, I was a band kid under the direction of dad and no, it wasn't weird. It was all I'd ever known. But it wasn't a life I wanted to create for myself. If anything, I tried to create a life far from it because I've seen how hard it is. I will never forget a total stranger asking me if I was trying out for All-State. "No... Why?" "I dunno. Cause you're Harper's kid." Harper's kid has a name. Harper's kid is Bethany: a theatre loving, Disney quoting, child adoring, future elementary teacher. She writes to vent about the high school world she was labeled in, and she reads to escape from it. Bethany is so much more than "Harper's kid." She didn't just learn music from him, she learned to hold a spoon from him. She was potty trained by him. She learned how to impersonate celebrities and quote movies because of him. Band director's daughters are not always future musicians, but we're always daughters. We are separate people with separate talents for separate God-given purposes. We are not to be defined by our father's job. We are who we make ourselves.

We're not your messenger. "Hey Bethany, can you tell your dad I won't be in class today? I have a field trip." "Hey Bethany, can you give my trip money to your dad? I forgot." "Hey Bethany, you should drop a hint for next year's trip! I know you know what it is." Are your vocal chords broken? If you want to know, ask him. Because when we're at home, we don't talk about you. We watch movies. We go out to eat. We're not a band director and his daughter. We're Bethany and Bethany's dad.

We have a separate email. Why is this important? Because our school district sets up school emails for each person in the district. My dad's email was barry.harper@example.com. Mine was b.harper@example.com. You can imagine where this is going. I was in keyboarding class minding my own business when I received a colorful email from an angry parent proceeding to tell me everything I was doing wrong with the band, and how I had shorted her son of his potential and skill. I was in jr. high, forced to read a parent's opinion on my dad's imperfections. My perception of him wasn't changed. My perception of band parents was changed forever. I emailed back, Hi you've reached Bethany, Mr. Harper's 12-year-old daughter. I attached his email address to the bottom of this message. Feel free to take this up with him. I hope you have a nice day. My dad never heard from that parent again. Funny how that works...

We're no more special than you are. We make first band because we practiced and you didn't, not because we're the director's kid. We get A's on our music tests because we learned about music since birth, not because daddy gave us an undeserved A. And no, we don't get to pick the trips we go on, and no, director's families don't travel for free. They pay what you pay, and you travel where you get accepted to perform, not where the director's daughter wanted to go. And it's a shame you blame me when you didn't get the trip you wanted, when you should be thankful you have a director willing to sacrifice his time and effort to take you on a trip at all. A lot of directors don't.

So we've thoroughly covered what band director's kids aren't. The question now becomes what band director's kids are. 

Band director's kids are often the most selfless type of kid. Because we grew up on charter buses. We attended concerts that weren't ours. Half of our vacations weren't completely enjoyed because our parent was working. We've been dragged to football games when we'd rather be doing anything else, performances when we had too much homework due the next day, and to the high school at random parts of the day so dad could lock up, or let someone in for a lesson, or meet a truck driver to pick up equipment. We were raised on quick dinners and arts based approaches to homework help. We played in the band room rather than our living room. We colored in the band office rather than our desk at home. We are some of the least entitled, least needy, least high-maintenance kids because we have sacrificed since day one.

Band director's kids are intelligent, and not just smart. Yes, we have all that music-makes-better-tests-scores knowledge, but we also have seen first hand how band shapes aimlessly wandering high schoolers into social and mature adults. We have seen it teach how to use common sense. We have seen it teach perseverance through practice and teamwork through performance. Band kids handle criticism better because they were raised on the benefits of it. They are always looking for new ways to improve so they not only prove themselves to parents and peers, but also to the world. Recovery. Determination. The ability to improvise in the midst of a crisis. Band kids have it all. And so do band directors' children. Because it wasn't just knowledge we learned in band, it was knowledge we were raised on.

Band director's kids are their own person. I touched on this earlier, but it's important so I'll say it again. No, I'm not trying out for All-State. No, I'm not going to be a band director when I graduate. No, I don't play my instruments anymore, and no, I don't regret that. I'm doing my own thing, and I'm loving it. I have kept my ties to the band world by competing with an open class winter guard and instructing a high school guard of my own, but outside the band world, I am studying to be a teacher. I live the glamorous life of a daycare worker. My emphasis is in English and Literacy because I love to read and write. I am a preschool intern. I am a blogger. I am a theatre enthusiast and a Pinterest addict. I speak fluent Disney. I'm in love with New York City and if I could eat one thing for the rest of my life, I'd put down the french fries faster than you could clap your hands.

So next time you meet a band director's daughter and she says, "Hi, I'm Bethany," do her a favor and don't respond with, "Oh yeah! Harper's kid!"

Respond with, "Hi Bethany, it's nice to meet you," because she's just a normal person. Continue the conversation by asking for her interests, or her passions, or her fandoms. But for the love of God, don't resort to band because you instantly have something to tell Mr. Harper. You aren't talking to Mr. Harper. You're talking to her. And she's not next in line to major in music, or make All-State, or take over her dad's position when he retires. She's just Bethany. She loves kids. She eats too much. She laughs when she's happy and cries when she's sad. She might also be a band director's kid and a top crusader for performing arts education, but that's just one aspect of her identity. The truth is, she's just a girl, and that's all she wants to be.

So what is band to me? Band is what you make of it. To you, it might just be music class. It might be team building. It might be where you travel to new places and hang out with friends. It might be an opportunity for your kids and a lot of money from you. I get that. But to me, it's something else entirely. It's sacrifice. It's hard work. It's a label and an identity. It's not just my dad's job, it's his life. And it goes overlooked and is made fun of every single day. I don't want your opinion of what my dad or the school system is doing wrong in the area of music education. Honestly, I don't really care. I don't want your support or your funds (though if you want to send a donation, I bet my dad would take it!). I want your appreciation. I want your gratitude. Because band is worth it.

That's what band really is. Worth it.

Sincerely,

The Band Director's Daughter