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judy smith Sep 2016
When I was chief creative officer for Liz Claiborne Inc., I spent a good amount of time on the road hosting fashion shows highlighting our brands. Our team made a point of retaining models of various sizes, shapes and ages, because one of the missions of the shows was to educate audiences about how they could look their best. At a Q&A; after one event in Nashville in 2010, a woman stood up, took off her jacket and said, with touching candour: “Tim, look at me. I’m a box on top, a big, square box. How can I dress this shape and not look like a fullback?” It was a question I’d heard over and over during the tour: Women who were larger than a size 12 always wanted to know, How can I look good, and why do designers ignore me?

At New York Fashion Week, which began Thursday, the majority of American women are unlikely to receive much attention, either. Designers keep their collections tightly under wraps before sending them down the runway, but if past years are any indication of what’s to come, plus-size looks will be in short supply. Sure, at New York Fashion Week in 2015, Marc Jacobs and Sophie Theallet each featured a plus-size model and Ashley Graham debuted her plus-size lingerie line. But these moves were very much the exception, not the rule.

I love the American fashion industry, but it has a lot of problems and one of them is the baffling way it has turned its back on plus-size women. It’s a puzzling conundrum. The average American woman now wears between a size 16 and a size 18, according to new research from Washington State University. There are 100 million plus-size women in America, and, for the past three years, they have increased their spending on clothes faster than their straight-size counterparts. There is money to be made here ($20.4 billion (U.S.), up 17 per cent from 2013). But many designers — dripping with disdain, lacking imagination or simply too cowardly to take a risk — still refuse to make clothes for them.

In addition to the fact that most designers max out at size 12, the selection of plus-size items on offer at many retailers is paltry compared with what’s available for a size 2 woman. According to a Bloomberg analysis, only 8.5 per cent of dresses on Nordstrom.com in May were plus-size. At J.C. Penney’s website, it was 16 per cent; Nike.com had a mere five items — total.

I’ve spoken to many designers and merchandisers about this. The overwhelming response is, “I’m not interested in her.” Why? “I don’t want her wearing my clothes.” Why? “She won’t look the way that I want her to look.” They say the plus-size woman is complicated, different and difficult, that no two size 16s are alike. Some haven’t bothered to hide their contempt. “No one wants to see curvy women” on the runway, Karl Lagerfeld, head designer of Chanel, said in 2009. Plenty of mass retailers are no more enlightened: under the tenure of chief executive Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch sold nothing larger than a size 10, with Jeffries explaining that “we go after the attractive, all-American kid.”

This a design failure and not a customer issue. There is no reason larger women can’t look just as fabulous as all other women. The key is the harmonious balance of silhouette, proportion and fit, regardless of size or shape. Designs need to be reconceived, not just sized up; it’s a matter of adjusting proportions. The textile changes, every seam changes. Done right, our clothing can create an optical illusion that helps us look taller and slimmer. Done wrong, and we look worse than if we were naked.

Have you shopped retail for size 14-plus clothing? Based on my experience shopping with plus-size women, it’s a horribly insulting and demoralizing experience. Half the items make the body look larger, with features like ruching, box pleats and shoulder pads. Pastels and large-scale prints and crazy pattern-mixing abound, all guaranteed to make you look infantile or like a float in a parade. Adding to this travesty is a major department-store chain that makes you walk under a marquee that reads “WOMAN.” What does that even imply? That a “woman” is anyone larger than a 12 and everyone else is a girl? It’s mind-boggling.

Project Runway, the design competition show on which I’m a mentor, has not been a leader on this issue. Every season we have the “real women” challenge (a title I hate), in which the designers create looks for non-models. The designers audibly groan, though I’m not sure why; in the real world, they won’t be dressing a seven-foot-tall glamazon.

This season, something different happened: Ashley Nell Tipton won the contest with the show’s first plus-size collection. But even this achievement managed to come off as condescending. I’ve never seen such hideous clothes in my life: bare midriffs; skirts over crinoline, which give the clothes, and the wearer, more volume; see-through skirts that reveal *******; pastels, which tend to make the wearer look juvenile; and large-scale floral embellishments that shout “prom.” Her victory reeked of tokenism. One judge told me that she was “voting for the symbol” and that these were clothes for a “certain population.” I said they should be clothes all women want to wear. I wouldn’t dream of letting any woman, whether she’s a size 6 or a 16, wear them. Simply making a nod toward inclusiveness is not enough.

This problem is difficult to change. The industry, from the runway to magazines to advertising, likes subscribing to the mythology it has created of glamour and thinness. Look at Vogue’s “Shape Issue,” which is ostensibly a celebration of different body types but does no more than nod to anyone above a size 12. For decades, designers have trotted models with bodies completely unattainable for most women down the runway. First it was women so thin that they surely had eating disorders. After an outcry, the industry responded by putting young teens on the runway, girls who had yet to exit puberty. More outrage.

But change is not impossible. There are aesthetically worthy retail successes in this market. When helping women who are size 14 and up, my go-to retailer is Lane Bryant. While the items aren’t fashion with a capital F, they are stylish (but please avoid the cropped pants — always a no-no for any woman). And designer Christian Siriano scored a design and public relations victory after producing a look for Leslie Jones to wear to the “Ghostbusters” red-carpet premiere. Jones, who is not a diminutive woman, had tweeted in despair that she couldn’t find anyone to dress her; Siriano stepped in with a lovely full-length red gown.

Several retailers that have stepped up their plus-size offerings have been rewarded. In one year, ModCloth doubled its plus-size lineup. To mark the anniversary, the company paid for a survey of 1,500 American women ages 18 to 44 and released its findings: Seventy-four per cent of plus-size women described shopping in stores as “frustrating”; 65 per cent said they were “excluded.” (Interestingly, 65 per cent of women of all sizes agreed that plus-size women were ignored by the fashion industry.) But the plus-size women surveyed also indicated that they wanted to shop more. More than 80 per cent said they’d spend more on clothing if they had more choices in their size and nearly 90 per cent said they would buy more if they had trendier options. According to the company, its plus-size shoppers place 20 per cent more orders than its straight-size customers.

Online start-up Eloquii, initially conceived and then killed by The Limited, was reborn in 2014. The trendy plus-size retailer, whose top seller is an over-the-knee boot with four-inch heels and extended calf sizes, grew its sales volume by more than 165 per cent in 2015.

Despite the huge financial potential of this market, many designers don’t want to address it. It’s not in their vocabulary. Today’s designers operate within paradigms that were established decades ago, including anachronistic sizing. (Consider the fashion show: It hasn’t changed in more than a century.) But this is now the shape of women in this nation, and designers need to wrap their minds around it. I profoundly believe that women of every size can look good. But they must be given choices. Separates — tops, bottoms — rather than single items like dresses or jumpsuits always work best for the purpose of fit. Larger women look great in clothes skimming the body, rather than hugging or cascading. There’s an art to doing this. Designers, make it work.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
spysgrandson Mar 2015
when he was 84, he rarely recalled
the Great War, though he left a finger somewhere
in French soil, and on deep sleep nights,
few and far between, it would call him
a spectral image of  gas dead faces
drifting through like sallow clouds
in the charcoal sky

his nephew was the only one left
to fish these green waters, to court the steady
trout that he too saw in his dreams--all the others,
even his own sons, marching  in the concrete squares
of the cities, visiting now and then like peddlers
hawking wares he could not understand...
soccer games and mutual funds
gourmet feasts at eateries
with cryptic names

the lake was still the same
the  loons chatting, the waves lapping
but without his Helen, the fish he caught
were usually granted reprieve, saved from
his sharp gutting blade, her sizzling skillet,
and without her beside him under her ancient quilts,
the nights were not longer, for grief, he knew,
did not stretch time, but only
made its circle smaller

was a sun sated Saturday
when the nephew had honey do's as good excuses
and the old man was left alone, sitting by a black rotary phone,
waiting for one of his old nine digits to dial the new nine and two ones,
it is what they all would have expected, a cry for help, a long mute ambulance ride, them seeing him helpless with hoses and wires, delaying the funeral pyres, as was the custom in this post teen century

instead, though he felt the anvil on his chest,
and sweat drenched his JC Penney work shirt,
he moved not his feeble fingers to the phone, but his fated feet
to the lake, once only a long a hop from the porch, now a mammoth journey, ten, twelve Sisyphus steps downhill--when he reached the waters edge, the fowl called him casually, their slow song on the currents,
and he sat in the fresh grass, watching the painted blue sky
he saw the fins of those he had set free, hoping
that would count for something
when he curled in fetal repose,
and closed his eyes
by this lonely lake
Molly May 2017
I'm leaving
the city that made me.
This city that smells

like a peach after rain.
It's full of junkies,
no one cares about the homeless

forever camped out, cursing
bankers earning six figure profits
still living with roommates.

Out of it again on the Ha'penney.
Watching the sun rise and wondering
how you could ever

live in a place that isn't
this filthy, this guilty,
this beautiful and pure.

This riddled with history.
With bullet wounded buildings
painting memories of not-quite-war.

Wide streets, tall terraced houses
pale era, ***** all over rural Ireland
yet still feels like home.

And you go and you go and you go.
Music bubbles up through cracks in the road.
I'm looking for a place where my womb

is my own.
I love you like a babby loves an alcoholic mammy.
Dublin, I love you to the bone.
B J Clement Jun 2014
So that was what all the mystery was about! and the reason why we were kept in the dark, Task Force Antler was set up to test Atomic weapons!
I don't think Gordon and me had missed anything exciting, the early days of the task force were just a matter of preparation for the real events that were to come later. The tests were scheduled to take place in October and November, It was rumoured that we would be home for Christmas!
I was impatient to get back home, I worried about my dad's poor health.
I was beginning to put a bit of weight on now, after the spell in hospital,
The food was excellent. There were some Aussies stationed on the camp perimiter, they lived in air conditioned  aluminium units,
we of course,(being British,) roasted and froze on a daily basis, and thought little about it! The days passed quite slowly at first, until we were ready to carry out the first test, It was on a site forty five miles away. We were all assembled on the day of the test. We all wore our sunglasses, and were assembled for the countdown, If memory serves me right it was supposed to be a seventy two hour countdown, but I think the catering staff may have been excused some of it. We all needed to eat, after all!  The first test was like a damp squib, we hardly noticed it. It consisted of a little thunder and a cloud of black smoke. Rumour had it that the touch-paper was damp!
After a week or two the second test loomed. This was much bigger but less than we had expected, both  of the atomic devices had been mounted on towers, the next and final test was to be the biggest.
They asked for volunteers to observe the test from a roadside position some six miles from ground zero, forty five men out of six hundred plus volunteered, I was one of them! Maybe you can work out the percentage ratio, idiots to normal cautious men, It might prove useful to the military. On the day of the test, we were transported up to the roadside position where we began the countdown linked by radio to the headquarters. Half an hour before ground zero, several wagons  full of troops left the forward area. The corporal in charge radioed headquarters, "Has the test been cancelled?"  "No hold your ground, the test is imminent, you know the drill- we are commencing the final countdown."
It was rumoured that there were a number of soldiers in the forward area, in slit trenches, An officer told me later that Dr. William Penney, the chief scientist in charge of the whole test, did a quick calculation on the back of his *** packet, and said "This may be bigger than we expect!
Better bring those troops out of the trenches." It was certainly a wise decision,(probably the only one,ha ha.) We were now the nearest to the bomb! The bomb- or device, was suspended in plain sight, hanging under three barage balloons, (I kid you not),  which were tethered about one hundred and fifty feet above the  desert. The count down continued, Ten, Nine, eight,!!!!
Chris Apr 2015
.

I can’t take too many more days like today
I never noticed it was National Day of Loneliness on the calendar
No red circle highlighting anything,
but it came and I wasn’t prepared

There were no cards or decorations to celebrate,
no special cake or pies,
not even a sale at Penney’s, (which is odd on any day)

Just a lonely day sitting at my desk,
staring at a screen (I guess my computer knew)
missing you
Oh, there were a few emails, but nothing that filled this need,
this constant need I have for you

So I suppose I will make a note
in my reminder program
so that next year
on April 7th I will know
that I will be lonely
once again

Can’t wait for tomorrow
kano Dec 2014
(this isn't so much a poem as a tale i feel deserves to be told.)
yesterday i was out shopping for christmas gifts,
and the sweater i was purchasing at j.c. penney was supposedly on sale.

i told the cashier, "excuse me, but can you please check the price on this?
i want to make sure it's not actually 68 bucks like the tag suggests."
and he said yes, of course, and scanned it for me,
and confirmed that it indeed was 24.99 rather than 68 bucks.

i asked if i should scan my card now, and he asked if i had any coupons.
i said no.
was i sure?
i said yes.
not even one on my phone?
i said no.

i asked again if i should scan my card now, and he said to hold on.
he reached into a trash can under the counter, pulling out a used coupon,
and scanned it for me.
for me!

i told him thank you,
thank you, thank you (i don't recall anything else i said),
and he just smiled and told me that my total was 16.99,
and that i deserved it for saying the magic word.
thank you! was all i could say,
and he just continued to smile as i walked away.

i don't believe that the world or people are inherently good,
but some people nevertheless can be good just for the sake of being good.
i usually forget that.

(i'm glad that, for at least one day, i could remember.)
i'm sure i'll have other stories to tell directly from my life at some point in time,  hence the title 'life vignettes'.  hopefully this poem will be one of many.
wordvango Mar 2016
my most treasured memory, next to the day
she said yes, and my back seat got wet,
next to the day junior popped his
little bald head out squealing slithery
from her nether region.
Next to the day she said I do
to me, dressed in that flowered dress
we spent all the money we had
from JC Penney 's bargain bin,
next to the day Junior bagged a Buck
at the age of seven with a cheap bow and arrow
I gave him cause it would not shoot straight,
right there next to Thanksgiving
fifty years later we all gathered round the table
her and junior and me, and
the buck I finally shot
yesterday.
Brands

With their duck tail hair cuts all slicked back
And their Stradivarious long sleeved shirts;
With their half-soled, horse-shoe-cleated Brogues
With the arduously turned up toes,
The heart throb elite of high school’s boys
Walked the 1950’s hallways to their class.
Small town West Coast America on view.

With their reversible, pleated Pendleton skirts
And Jantzen turtleneck long-sleeved sweaters,
The girls eschewed the circle skirts
With crinolines beneath,
Held tight by elasticized waist-cinchers.
They walked in snow-white baby-doll shoes
With never any stockings.

Those who had the wherewithal
To own the latest fashions
And dress themselves in well known brands
Were somehow deemed superior
In all the gracious arts of living
And looked upon with envy-eyes
By those who dressed in J C Penney.

It wasn’t wrong - it wasn’t right
It fed some egos, damaged others
But it was just the way it was
And somehow we survived it.
Today you couldn’t pay enough
To make me wear a brand name
And I still love J C Penney.
ljm
I can see them to this day. I didn't have to look in my yearbook to remember.
Brogues were sometimes referred to as brogans.
This is part of BLT's Merriam Webster Word Challenge Game.
Why?
To escape livingsocial,
     and negate mine birth
figuratively, knowingly,
     and precariously,
     I nightmarishly perch
teeter tottering atop - dearth
of financial safety net,

     where profuse
     hemorrhaging, viz bankruptcy,
     bloodshot eyes see red behind
     eight ball violently, helplessly
     then effortlessly lurch,
analogous to tight rope walker,
     (envision the Great Wallenda)
     balanced above scalding,

     seething, and volcanic, magmatic,
     and basaltic  lava spewing,
     qua global sized hearth,
why what pray
     tell wood seem
     tubby an enormous googling search
bar, a bajillion miles
     into abyss, (Penney's

     on the dollar) Wool Worth
investigating resigning self
     tug go deep into the
     bowels of planet Earth,
cruel fate, would temptingly
     find me permanently
     relieved of ******, legal tender,
     (emotional, and

     many another) woe
willingly surrendering, pirouetting,
     and cartwheeling self free falling,
     asper in toto
Leonardo DaVinci's
     The Vitruvian Man
     anatomical perfect
     sketch doth show

(absent parachute), while row
tete ting away performing
     Queen like aerial bebop ping
     amidst thermal current status quo
spinning (analogous pro
vocation) to infamous
     colorful pinwheel lo'
oft appearing on Macbook know

wing mischievous gremlins glow
with delight magnified
     screen no...no...no,
OH, not on external Lenovo...
ARGH more dough
aye haint got to blow,
mine absence invariably,
     sans minimal impact,

(Matthew Scott Harris)
     his present existence,
     would be high jacked
triggering oodles
     of noodles, re: guarding
     China Syndrome, where
     fortune cookie message
     presages annihilation pact,

where yours truly feels
     like...chop suey racked
amid smoldering
     humungous caldera,
     which generates
     unstoppable, laudable,
     and irreversible death cab
     for cutie sound track

accompanies in concert
     my plummet from
     summit on high,
     which would give
     poor Humpty Dumpty,
     a run for his egg drop
soupy sailing money,
     thus subsequently

     criss cross Sir Wren door
     ring me akin
     to quasi smashing pumpkins glop
unless, while streaming
     thru ethereal medium
     (zero AmPeRe) hiphop.
John F McCullagh Nov 2017
Soon Sears will be history
J.C. Penney is all but spent.
Even mighty Hudson Bay
Sells their building and pays rent.

Here at Macy's flagship store
Friday was black indeed.
They couldn't process payments
at close to normal speed.

Jeff Bezos is a billionaire.
Brown boxes flood the mail
Clicks beat Bricks is the news at six
Is it lights out for retail?

He started out by selling books;
lost cash on every sale.
Barnes and Noble bled a ghostly white.
His competitors turned tail.

Competition is the rule
All change comes through disruption.
As catalogs give way to clicks
some stores need extreme unction.
Hudson Bay sold and leased back their NYC flagship building. Macys these days is eyed for its real estate, not its retailing success. Sears and J.C. Penney may close their doors in 2018. Only Walmart appears able to adapt to the new paradigm although it too has a target on its back. Extreme unction was the former name of the sacrament administered to the dying.
look deep in my eyes you shall see the karma of my lasting legacy willing to achieve
took a zip line down to my baby's grind sought out peace for a sure fire sweet relief
rolling them bones in the back of the joint have a 5th in my hand you all understand
made my first grand at the tender age of thirteen washing dishes busy as a bee
come and sit neck to me a story of a homeboy being capped in the knee

there's a whole host of rubbers when your in trouble make my Martini strong on the double
just like Fred & Barney Rubble need to keep your head up no its not some set up
wear your Sundays best yes life is a big test but now we rest
flirting with fire blowing it up in the most fullest desire coming down to the wire
music is in my blood just like a cow chews on its cud kinda sweep some things under the rug

there's magic in the music scene rolling out the red carpet like a village queen
living in a land so very mean got one foot in heaven the others in hell
but I got a good story to tell two rappers in the night looking so bad for a fight
one hand on the mic the other on the floor sweep blood off the floor sweeping for more
plenty plenty stop shopping at J.C Penney spinning records the best way they can

soaring to new heights that is their right a good cause to focus filled with cement shoes singing the blues
Freddie Mercury died of aids but he isn't a distant memory folks come sit next to me
there's a promise that's made in the dark coming to its fullest light
bitter sweet liqour the ***** was holding my finger don't call me late for dinner

it's a crowning achievement to stay in the zone you maybe home all alone
try to be mindul stay in the moment when you take a shower feel the warmth on your back
here the birds chirping outside the smell of the perfume scent love the decor of the room
treasure a red rose that was plucked a time before you gave your old lady making gravy
not to shady we meet in the middle playing second fiddle as you may dribble
things come and go but this much I know we bust up the beat to promote the tempo
Lawrence Hall May 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          Anti-Tarnish Silverware Container

                         “Anti-Tarnish Silverware Container”

                                  -a sticker inside the box

A cheap wooden box nailed together long ago
All scratched and patched with mismatched nails and screws
And lined inside with stained, decaying felt
With slots for long lost knives and forks and spoons

Part of someone’s treasure in the Depression time
A dollar or two a month on a layaway plan
At Montgomery Ward or Penney’s or Sears
The “good” silver for Thanksgiving and Christmas

The silverplate has been garage-saled and lost
But there was love, and somehow love remains
Oh look Carol! It's the cottage cheese industry! I've never driven a snow mobile so I should be denied the love of a woman. That's how the ball bounces & the cookie crumbles. It's when people are bled white that true dissatisfaction is experienced. Throughout K-Mart's history men have tried to excuse their rotten behavior @ F.W. Woolworth's & G.C. Murphy's & J.C. Penney's, always to no avail. A constant beating equals a chronic betrayal. A meshed hammock I equate with fun & neighborliness.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Evil is a big part of life
Society becomes infected
Yo soy un protector
Who also needs to be protected

Desantis is hate at the Border
Migrants on the run
I'm Northbound 35
And Taipei 101

Rainy Night in Georgia
Following the Trail of Tears
Some clothes at JC Penney
Not a thing from Sears

South Side of Chicago
Milton's Lost Paradise
L.A. woman loves Prince
Ooo dat girl looked nice!

              Calvert House:
                      Thrice.

— The End —