THE MANNERIST
Pregnant or just fashionable?
By Monica Corcoran, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
Q:I have been seeing the same woman for my waxing for the last eight years. Over this time, we have become good friends. Or so I thought. When I went in for my appointment the other day, she put her hand on my belly and beamed at me. "Congratulations!" she bellowed. The problem is: I'm not pregnant. I was shocked! I didn't know what to say. What is the proper way to respond to a comment such as this? And when is it OK to ask that question anyway? Should I stop seeing my waxing woman because of this?
First things first: Asking a woman when she's due -- much like asking an octogenarian when he might die -- is never appropriate. Even if her belly extends a foot in front, you might ask? Nope. Certain women carry most of their extra weight in their midsections. Besides, this mother of none has been known to consume enough deluxe nachos and mint Milanos to appear decidedly convex.
But don't feel too bad. You're in good company. Even licorice-thin celebrities have fielded this boorish inquiry. Reportedly, Sarah Michelle Gellar was mistaken for a mother-to-be in Cannes, France, because of a frock adorned with an ill-placed, full-frontal bow. "When women come in, I don't ask them if they're pregnant," says Christina Sitkevich, owner of Sugar Baby, the hip children's clothing store on Sunset Boulevard. "Especially with today's fashions, you never know."
Indeed, empire-waisted tunics, baby doll dresses and ethnic caftans -- all popular for spring -- can transform even a size 2 woman into a pup tent. I own a diaphanous, billowy green shift under which I could hide a holiday ham and a dozen yams. (My husband calls it "big greenie," which sounds like a pet name for a tractor and is not an endearment, I assure you.) A woman once commented to me that it would make a "great maternity dress." I replied: "That would make a great insult."
As for finding a new waxer, that's your call. If you're too upset or mortified to disrobe in front of her again, I suggest that you see my go-to gal Rada at Smile Skin Care on 3rd Street. She always murmurs "you look skinny" before she slathers me with molten wax. Otherwise, gently tell your waxer that you will inform her if and when you get knocked up and let it go. Great aestheticians, like obstetricians, are hard to find.
And if you should ever get wrongly congratulated again, don't take it too personally. Simply say, "I'm not pregnant because I don't believe in bringing children into a world in which someone would ask a woman if she's pregnant. Good day."
Or own it and act all pregnant. Feign cramps and cut a long line at Gelson's. If you lose your temper at the office, blame those pesky hormones. Should a waitress ask "Boy or girl?", simply sigh and say: "Both. And don't be stingy with the cheese on the nachos. I'm eating for three."
Do you have a social woe or an etiquette issue? Send questions to the Mannerist at monica.corcoran@ latimes.com.
Fo' Yo' Mama - LA Weekly
Skip the carnations — pick up a real treat for your mum or mum-to-be this Mother’s Day
I have two sisters, both of whom are writers: One is the wife of an Evangelical pastor, and the other is married to a heavy-metal rock star. My sisters have long represented a scenario ripe for sociological study, or, at the very least, an ideal premise for a laugh-track-fortified WB sitcom.
With the soft-spoken churchgoing sister, my duties as an aunt have been relatively uncomplicated. Her nursery had a Noah’s Ark theme, so I picked up a onesie with a pair of heterosexual giraffes on it and called it a day.
Sugar Baby: For those about to rawk (Photo by Alie Ward) But when my fashion-obsessed metalhead sister Celeste bore her first child in January, I was at a loss stylistically. It seemed fundamentally weird to launch a barrage of pink babyGap merchandise her way, given that both she and her guitarist husband were clad in head-to-toe black for their wedding. What’s an appropriate gift for your sister’s firstborn daughter when her daddy is a rhythm-crushing thrash machine?
While driving down Sunset Boulevard, I’m stopped short by a blinding ray of hope in the form of fuschia signage proclaiming “Rocker Moms not Soccer Moms.” I flip a bitch, park the car, and wander inside a small boutique called Sugar Baby.
Entering the shop, you’re greeted by a pintsize mannequin sporting a tiny Black Sabbath shirt. Explore a few feet farther and you’ll find a collection of books with titles like: Hot Mama: How to Have a Babe and Be a Babe and 50 Jobs Worse Than Yours nestled among creepy but kid-friendly insect guides and narrative classics like Little Red Riding Hood.
Trip-hop gently thumps from the sound system, and a center display boasts a collection of baby outfits that bear the likenesses of Iggy Pop, the Ramones and AC/DC. Peering into a glass case displaying miniature leather wrist cuffs, I audibly swoon, and a voice chimes in behind me: “I know, everything is cute when it’s, like, an inch big.”
A delicately featured woman with rocker elegance and long, platinum hair asks if I’m looking for anything in particular as she kneels down trying to coax a toddler out from under a display of chenille booties. Christina Sitkevich is a co-owner of Sugar Baby (along with Lisa Ackey), and we get to chatting as I paw through a pile of luxe silk receiving blankets trimmed with faux leopard fur. I ask her about the void that can only be filled with Black Flag onesies, and she breezily ruminates on modern women waiting further into adulthood to have kids. By that time, she explains, identities are solidified and someone who gravitates toward music and counterculture won’t simply reverse her tracks after giving birth. Reaching for one of her daughter Lilah’s errant socks, she notes, “How you dress your child is an extension of yourself.” She gives a blithe shrug and adds half-jokingly, “Dress your child like a bozo, and it reflects on you.”
My sister will later echo this sentiment, confessing, “Looking through a Pottery Barn Kids catalogue makes me want to barf.” She admits that years of seeing women her age in pastel cardigans spewing baby talk to their 6-year-olds was a strong deterrent to parenthood. She didn’t want to compromise her own identity, or, worse yet, raise a “snooty little cookie-cutter, all-American brat.” And she asserts that she’s not alone: “I think there are a lot more of the non-minivan-driving, untraditional moms out there, but no one ever addresses them.”
Vacillating between gifts for baby Sofia, I strongly consider purchasing a newborn-size “I Have a Hot Auntie” jumper. But at the last moment, I opt for a miniature T-shirt emblazoned with the crucial lesson, “M is for Metal” and fully accept the risk that it may cause my sister to suffer a joy-induced aneurysm. Christina rings up the $28 purchase, and I barely flinch at the price. I figure that if my sister waited 36 years to have a child, I could shell out a few extra bucks for a gift that truly honors what brought this child into the world: a shared love of thrasher metal.
Sugar Baby, 7523 W. Sunset Blvd., L.A.; Mon.-Sat., 11 a.m.-5 p.m.; Sun., 11 a.m.-4 p.m. (323) 969-9143.
Rocker
styles will make you drool
By Valli Herman Los Angeles
Times
Tina Katz flipped open her vintage hard-side train case and shook out samples of her latest artwork. The former animation background painter from Los Angeles held up a tiny black T-shirt emblazoned with spider webs, oozing purple letters and the phrase: "G is for goth!"
Get used to it.
An influential slice of L.A.'s hipster mom subculture is jumping into the fashion world, selling rock n' roll kids' clothing to fellow moms and, increasingly, a wider audience. At least two dozen Los Angeles-area moms are producing and designing lines of kid clothes.
The
style is more bohemian than sexy, more punk than prettified and more black
than baby blue essentially, miniature versions of mom's own alt-rock
look, minus the tattoos.
"My husband and I were big punkers way back when," said Theresa Miraglia, 38, a Long Beach, Calif., mom whose Mini Maniacs line includes "bondage" blankets (red plaid flannel with black vinyl corners), T-shirts emblazoned with '80s punk band concert fliers and bibs with safety pins, zippers, eyeballs and skeletons. "Now I'm a stay-at-home, punk-rock T-shirt designer mom."
Many designers call Los Angeles home, with the Silver Lake section their center of inspiration. The formerly gay enclave near downtown has given way to gentrification by couples who worked throughout their 20s and 30s in the entertainment industry, started families and confronted a world of fashion conformity.
Used to the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, they channeled their creative energies into designing clothing, knocked on store doors and found a receptive audience of punker parents.
"These are all the people who were going to rock shows all the time in their 20s. All of a sudden, they grow up and have kids," said Deneen O'Neill, 40, who worked 15 years in the entertainment industry as an executive assistant.
"I found myself pregnant without a job," she said. "I thought, 'Who is going to hire the pregnant gal?' "
She traded her 24/7 entertainment gig for another full-time job: parent entrepreneur. While pregnant with her now 20-month-old daughter, Rory, she conceived her shirt collection, Peace Monkey. Her T-shirts and one-piece rompers feature snappy graphics that blend glitter rock's palette with her own favorite sayings: "Night owl," "Superstar" and "Poo factory." O'Neill is among a changing roster of new designer mothers who meet in a Silver Lake park, letting the kids play as they swap goods and trade tips on everything from business to breast-feeding.
Katz, 38, sometimes brings her daughter, Magnolia, while Doris Oswald-Burrell, 39, totes 20-month-old Mia Boo, the inspiration for her I Can Fly line of T-shirts, which she sells at the Hollywood Farmers Market and on her Web site.
The designers' patron saint is Lyvonne Hill, who left a career in film and TV postproduction to raise her toddler daughter and open Grometville, a children's boutique in Silver Lake. It's there that designing mothers such as Katz and O'Neill get valuable retail exposure.
Racks are filled with retro bowling shirts from Fifi & Fido, the creation of former model and mother of three children, Eileen Haber. Stacked on a table are tiny T-shirts lettered with "Bowie," "Lennon" and "Jagger," part of the Townsend collection created by music fan Shari Cliver and named for her 20-month-old son, Emerson Townsend Cliver.
A self-described "old punk," Cliver traded public relations for fashion, helped by her skateboard-designing husband, Sean, who also produced "Jackass" on MTV.
Other designers got their start a few miles away in Hollywood, where Jamie Rosenthal nurtured new talent and new moms at her store, Lost and Found. Many L.A.-based, mother-produced lines such as Queen Bee, Bees and Dragons and the quirky-cool Baby Ya Ya fill the store.
"It's, 'Have a baby. Start a cottage industry,' " said Rosenthal, who has watched several lines blossom from a few items into full-fledged collections.
She is a former entertainment industry fashion stylist who quit to design the Lost and Found children's collection and open her store, which she described as "where 'Alice in Wonderland' meets Jimi Hendrix."
The growing reach and availability of these offbeat kids' clothing collections is a reflection of the changing image of motherhood. There's even a Hollywood poster mom giving the look mainstream fashion credibility on the June cover of W magazine - Gwyneth Paltrow in her vintage maternity T-shirt top from Jennifer Noonan's NOM collection.
And later this month, veteran retailer and new mother Christina Sitkevich plans to open Sugar Baby, a children's boutique. The store motto: "Rocker moms, not soccer moms."