The Coal Miner's Granddaughter

Before she took the podium at last night's Republican National Convention in Tampa I had no idea what Ann Romney's voice sounded like. But her legend loomed so large that I was prepared to love whatever came out of her mouth. Not because our political ideologies are perfectly aligned, but because I respect any woman who can survive MS, breast cancer, motherhood to five boys and marriage to a freeze-dried husband while maintaining the kind of warmth, charm and sparkle that are the stuff of a political operative's dreams. 

The breathless TV commentary about what an accomplished public speaker she was only added to my anticipation, so much so that by the time the sun to Mitt’s moon finally rose in a vibrant-yet-safe Oscar de la Renta dress, I was a goner.

And can we talk about that dress?!

The unmistakable shade of American flag red simultaneously referenced Old Glory, the States Mitt is counting on to catapult him into the Oval Office and Ann’s allegiance to the “This is our country” (her words, not mine) brigade who don’t need no stinkin’ birth certificates (my words, not hers) to know that this is the place where [they] were born and raised (Mitt's words, not Ann's). The belted waist and pouf skirt played up Ann’s girlish figure, while the slightly popped collar said “Don’t mess with Mama.” Her three-quarter length sleeves were a modern touch that playfully mimicked Mitt’s let’s-roll-up-our-sleeves-and-and-fix-this-broken-economy message. But the coup de grâce of Ann’s wardrobe choice was that it made her look like a giant walking/talking heart: the very personification of the valentine she'd come to deliver to her sweetheart of 47 years. And boy did she deliver.

http://www.npr.org/2012/08/28/160216442/transcript-ann-romneys-convention-speech

“Tonight, I want to talk to you about love. I want to talk to you about the deep and abiding love I have for a man I met at a dance many years ago.”

Oh, this was gonna’ be good!

Not only did Annie get her gun, but she obviously came locked and loaded. The first shot was a clean hit. Sucker that I am for a good love story I could feel myself melting into my sofa for what was destined to be a Lifetime Television for Women moment in high-definition and surround sound. Sure, the hand over her heart as she counted the ways in which her one true love was such a great catch seemed a bit studied, but the heart is such a funny muscle. Who was I to judge? That is, until Ann struck a note that was so glaringly false that I was shaken from my reverie and badly stirred.

Near the midpoint of her speech— after recalling why she fell in love with the guy who was tall, laughed a lot, nervous (which, according to Ann, girls like because “it shows the guy’s a little intimidated”) and nice to her parents, albeit happy when they were gone— Ann divulged, “Some of you might not know it, but I am the granddaughter of a Welsh coal miner.”

Say what?!

The revelation came out of left field and had nothing to do with the love story that preceded it. Instead, it was an obvious, if awkward, attempt to quell the class warfare that’s been threatening to topple Romney’s presidential aspirations ever since last winter when he revealed that his wife "drives a couple of Cadillacs". Suddenly, Mitt's better half’s pandering felt as cold and calculating as her husband’s wooden affect. My antenna went from sleep mode to overdrive in a millisecond. 

I think it bears noting here that I have never been one to hold the Romney's financial fortune against them. As far as I’m concerned, anyone willing to devote the time, energy and focus necessary to build their personal capital within the parameters of the law deserves my Good For You seal of approval. By the same token, when a woman like Ann Romney waxes on about the travails of working moms, young couples who are strapped for cash or “that price at the pump that you can’t believe” as if she could possibly feel their pain I find it grating. She may have had me with her brilliant opening line of “I want to talk not about what divides us, but what holds us together as an American family”, but by the time she squealed “I have been all across this country and I know a lot of you guys!” she lost me.

Once the scales fell from my eyes all that remained was an avatar for Fitzgerald's “The Rich Boy” in a pretty designer dress.

“Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft, where we are hard, cynical where we are trustful, in a way that, unless you were born rich, it is very difficult to understand.”

-F. Scott Fitzgerald 

What I have come to understand about Mitt Romney is that he suffers from rich-kid syndrome. Not all children born to parents of means are necessarily afflicted, but those who are tend to grow up thinking they have the most charming, scintillating, dynamic (pick an adjective, any adjective) personalities based on the way the world responds to them-- while the sad truth is that many people's motives for seeking a rich kid's (RK) company in the first place may be attributable to what my friend Rick refers to as the RK's PhD: Papa Has Dough.

Mitt Romney’s PhD explains his ability to make friends in spite of his mean-spirited and well-documented “pranks” as a young boy. It explains how he might have successfully juggled the demands of being the sole-breadwinner in a family of seven without missing a step on the corporate ladder, nor losing his mind, as a very young man. And it certainly explains his audacity to run for a public office— which demands not only capability, but equal doses of likability and transparency— in spite of the fact that the biggest task facing his handlers just two months shy of Election Day is to “humanize” their candidate.

Who, but a PhD could be so oblivious to why he has risen so far so fast? And who, but a PhD could think that viewers like me would fall the stunt that passed for coalition building on stage last night? Again, it is not the privilege that I find objectionable, but Mitt’s ignorance of how far that privilege has taken him in life as well the divide this creates between himself and 99% of the electorate.

Sadly, after last night's performance I now believe Ann is cut from the same boring cloth.

Given the media hype surrounding her alleged ability to connect with and move people with her words, I was expecting the second coming of Michelle Obama. But whereas our First Lady’s words have always struck me as compelling because they are borne of multi-dimensional life experiences, Ann struck as more of a one trick pony who is probably blind to the possibility that the only reason she even has an audience is due to her proximity to power. As she spoke, I was reminded of the beauty queen who is allowed to babble on ad nauseum about nothing as a young woman, captivating a room in the process, who then goes on to use the same social crutches that sustained her 23-year-old self in spite of the fact that she is now a 63-year-old woman. What likely passed for cute in the former— the wide-eyed, innocent who giggles apropos of nothing while cultivating a hyper-excitement over life— is damned annoying in the latter. It also leads me to regard Ann less as the everywoman and more the perfect compliment to her Tin Man of a spouse. In spite of the hundred-and-one points of commonality which should have made it easy to embrace her as a sister, last night’s speech only cemented Ann Romney's status in my mind as the Petrified Wife.

That said, I get why her speech would be a triumph to women across the country. She hit all the right woman-to-woman notes: as did Sarah Palin four years ago. She twinkled in the bright lights: just like Sarah did. And as a mother of five who could honestly attest to the desperation of “long, long rainy winter afternoons in a house with five boys screaming at once” her bonafides are indisputable.

But Ann also shares Sarah’s utter lack of gravitas. Not to mention an arrogance that can only be born of delusion or extreme privilege. To her credit, I don’t think Ann Romney is delusional. But there’s no getting around the fact that she is very different. And that’s a real shame, because she was the Republican ticket’s best and last hope to prove that Mitt Romney is just like you and me. 

I may have tuned into the Convention thinking "Go, Baby, Go!", but by the time I clicked the remote and went to bed I was Gone, Baby, Gone!... in more ways than one.

Pack Light

When my girlfriend Judy half-joked "I don't know, maybe that's what broke up my marriage..." the that to which she was referring wasn't any of the usual suspects like money, infidelity or the gradual growing apart which can cause couples to say "I don't." Instead, it was her baggage. Or, to be more precise, her excess baggage.

"Bag lady you gone hurt your back

Dragging all them bags like that

I guess nobody ever told you

All you must hold on to

Is you

Is you

Is you"

-Erykah Badu

Photography Courtesy of Gilles Bensimon

When I think of Judy two things invariably come to mind: air and light. Which is why it came as a shock to learn that she was a Bag Lady. And I'm talking hard core. As in the time she hauled eight pieces of luggage to Prague and Budapest on a ten-day getaway and wound up having to ship her Duty Free purchases home because there wasn't enough room in any of her (did I mention, eight?!) bags to get the job done.

To be fair, Judy comes by her predilections honestly. An executive in the beauty business, her appearance is her calling card and in order to succeed she has to look the part at all times. Judy's pretty face and statuesque frame were a gift from the genetic lottery, but even she can't roll out of bed looking like the One Percenter from the Fortune 100 Club that she is without a little help from the hair, makeup, wardrobe and accessories department. And while she is as adept at pulling together a look that conveys "I got this" in business as she is at contract negotiations & client relations; the very assets which have bolstered Judy's success in Gotham become a liability when she takes her show on the road.

If we are lucky enough to travel for leisure, we can do one of two things when determining what to wear while away from home: dress to impress or seek to be impressed by the places we visit. It goes without saying that the former has its charms. But unless one is Lady Mary from Downton Abby traveling with one's personal butler, valet (non-silent "T", thank you veddy much), maid and footman to unpack one's steamer trunks upon arrival-- it might be more prudent to pack light and enjoy the ride.

Make no mistake, I am not saying a lady should morph into a frumposaurus just because she is on vacation. But she should be ready to get-up-and-go without being a drag on her travel companions... or poor, unsuspecting husband who finds himself schlepping her bags and mentally Czeching out.

To wit: my two-cents on putting your best foot forward without packing 12 pairs of shoes and a blow dryer.  

Photography Courtesy of Naina Williams

As it happens, the feet are an excellent place to start! 

I once knew an art director at a fashion magazine who would reject an otherwise perfect photograph for publication if the model's nails looked unkempt. Naturally, he was a Frenchman. And he was right. What he taught me was that the most powerful tool in any woman's arsenal is her polish --in the literal and figurative sense. So while I'd encourage you to leave home without the Jimmy Choo's in order to conserve space, I would also insist that you treat yourself to a manicure and pedicure before taking flight. Then flaunt your pretty feet in one or two pairs of flat sandals that can carry you from day to night without taking up too much room in your carry-on bag.

Of course, there is no more effective buzz kill than corns and hammer toes on display for all the world to see. So consider covering up if your feet aren't going to take any Best in Show prizes in 2012. And try to remember that the best way to minimize any further wear & tear on your tootsies is by wearing shoes with good support that don't impede your stride. Nikes are so perfectly suited for the job that they've become synonymous with the American tourist. But why make the cobblestones cringe as you trip the light fantastic through Dubrovnik in what look like marshmallows for the feet when far more elegant solutions abound?

Trainers like the Thoung Dihn from Vietnam (http://www.thuongdinh.com/), pictured below, are appropriate whether you find yourself in town or country... dressed up or down... running through an airport or on a treadmill at your hotel gym (though why anyone would do this to themselves while on vacation is a mystery to me). Sneakers like these also collapse easily for packing-- helping you stick to your new one bag policy when traveling.

Yes, Judy. I said one bag and I am talking to you!

The images above and below are my two all-time favorite vacation snapshots. Up top are my Aunt Frances and Aunt Barbara-- likely enjoying a day on Lake Michigan in the 60's. And that's my sister Dee Dee looking like a Prada-esque wood nymph on holiday in Ibiza last spring. What all three women have in common is the way they've cleverly deployed a simple scarf to boost their individual style-quotients exponentially. 

Photography Courtesy of Michel Malausséna

Equal parts practical and frivolous: scarves are my favorite way to add color to a neutral wardrobe, feminize boyish tailoring and make a bad hair day better. The longer & lighter the better because then your scarf can actually flutter in the wind.  And what could be more girly than that?! Scarves are also a godsend when confronted with one of those those sketchy looking chairs you'd really prefer not to sit in while wearing a short dress or shorts  on vacation. I always have an extra one on hand for this purpose exclusively, and can't tell you how grateful other women have been when I loan them my scarf to for this very purpose. Whatever the case, scarves offer maximum impact with minimum space requirements to comply with those pesky FAA regulations for in-flight luggage.

Sense a theme here?

Good, because that brings me the third rail of travel for women: hair... and what to pack when you feel pressed to look salon-perfect. Black women, and any of my sisters with so-called "unruly" hair, you know I'm talking to you so listen up!

 We all know how much physical and psychic space is sucked up when traveling with blow dryers, curling irons, rollers, gels, hairsprays and whatever other contraptions needed to keep our tresses bouncin' and behavin', but can we just give ourselves a break from that twisted routine while we are on vacation? In the first place, your already stressed out hair could use the reprieve from all that heat and product. And, secondly, is there anything more fetching than a woman who holds her head high even if every hair is not in place? 

As I see it, vacation hair is to the great outdoors what bed hair is to the boudoir: sexy and underrated. So why not rock yours the next time you take off and see what happens? Best case, you will fall in love with what your mama gave you. Worst case, you can use your trusty scarf to cover up... then curse me out when you come home. But my guess is that something bigger will happen as you cross paths with other women on their journeys who will admire your vacation hair and think to themselves "Next time I think I'll have what she's having."

Photography Courtesy of Maria Trice-Jones

As you've gathered by now, it is impossible to change ingrained habits without changing our minds first. I could go on an on about the benefits of the one-bag rule while, but Judy put it best when she described her way of doing things as "burdensome." She was inspired to change her ways when I sent her this picture of my week's wardrobe for Florida-- where I'm spending time with my family.

I swear on my mother's head that every item pictured below fit in this one messenger bag. A bag, by the way, which did double duty as my daytime carryall from Key West to Coral Springs. All of the garments were rolled as opposed to folded-- an old flight attendant's trick-- which really maximizes space. 

The cream colored J. Crew "City Fit" pants (I loooove them for feeling comfy without looking slouchy), white denim leggings, cuffed shorts (in white and gray) and navy stretch skirt covered my bottom half nicely, while fitted tees with 3/4 sleeves (in pale, navy & cerulean blue) took care of my top half whether dressed up or down by day or night. The green floral print tunic was worn solo as a dress, or paired with the white leggings for more coverage. The same for the fuchsia sundress. And the striped tee worked with every bottom pictured.The other essentials were my flip flops, toiletries in the dreaded clear Ziploc bag, laptop, iPad, chargers, comb, wallet, hand lotion, lip balm, and crocheted purse stuffed with a 7-day supply of Hanky Pankys. If you look closely you'll notice a pair of yoga pants just beneath the sundress-- which were paired with my tees (after wearing them once) to eliminate the need to pack gym tees for early morning bike rides with my mother. I wore white jeans, a plaid cotton shirts and trainers on the plane, with my beloved kikoy (a traditional woven cotton scarf from Kenya http://www.kikoyshop.com/collections/regular-kikoys) wrapped around my neck to stave off the air conditioning in the airport terminal and aboard my flight.

My family is laid back, so I didn't bring any heels with me on this trip. But had I chosen to,  it would have been a neutral strappy sandal that would disappear on my foot, thereby elongating my legs while coordinating with any of my neutral outfits.

I admit that I'm an extreme packer when it comes to streamlining, but there has never been a time that I found myself sartorially challenged while away from home. The trick is to make decisions at the outset ("I refuse to be a slave to fashion" would be a damn good start, followed by "If it don't fit, I don't need it.") and then stick to them.

My sage advice and packing tips aside, the one thing I want Judy to remember next time she packs a bag is that everything she needs to have the perfect vacation is already within, so "All you must hold on to is you, is you, is you"... just like Erykah sang and Gabby Douglas showed all of us in London.

Illustration Courtesy of Alvaro www.alvaroartz.com

Failing that, Judy, just make the #1 Rule of water skiing your default setting when packing:

"Let go or be dragged."

-Zen Proverb

Bon Voyage!

Think Global

Before Ralph Lauren's Team USA Olympic uniforms made their big debut at the Opening Ceremony in London this summer the response from laymen and lawmakers across the pond was swift and sanctimonious.

The berets and scarves appeared "too French" to some critics, while others berated the designer for having outsourced the manufacturing of key components of his collection to China. US Senator Harry Reid called for a bonfire.

Literally.

After telling reporters "I think the Olympic committee should be ashamed of themselves. I think they should be embarrassed," the Majority Leader added "I think they should take all the uniforms, put them in a big pile and burn them and start all over again."

I think Reid should tone down the inflammatory rhetoric.

My philosophy in sports and commerce has always been "may the best man win", which makes it unthinkable to jump on the Buy American bandwagon without first taking a little look-see at what the marketplace has to offer. And while I respect Senator Reid's determination to grow the US economy, it was distasteful of him to indulge any nationalistic instincts to circle the wagons and stick to our own kind on the eve of international games founded upon the principles of friendship, solidarity and fair play.

"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."
-The Olympic Creed

Yes, Virginia, there is an Olympic creed. Likewise, where the US economy is concerned, to decree victory without a fight is not in the best interest of the free market and anathema to capitalism; which is possibly the only thing more American than apple pie.

Americans have never shied away from the challenge of merchandising abroad. Our facility in exporting goods and services for profit has been complemented by global markets with a voracious appetite for Big Macs, Mickey Mouse and the NBA. Coca-Cola's distinct cursive script is one of the most recognized brands worldwide.  Exports like Apple, Facebook and Twitter have revolutionized the way the world communicates. Box office sales for Hollywood features have more than doubled outside North America in the last 10 years. And Asia's loss has been the Silicon Valley's gain thanks to a one-way Brain Drain.

These facts would suggest that Americans have been on board with the idea that he who builds a better mousetrap should be rewarded. So either I'm missing something with the dust up over Ralph Lauren's decision to commission a Chinese factory to sew garments for the Summer Games, or his detractors only have a problem with the give & take paradigm when it's America's turn to give up precious greenbacks in exchange for another nation's services.

It strikes me as terribly unsportsmanlike to begrudge China a manufacturing contract after  they beat America at her own game of cranking out goods faster and cheaper than the competition, and naive to broach the topic if doing so might prompt international consumers to start boycotting products that feature a Made in the USA label in retaliation.

And what of advertising? The very backbone of the Games? Should NBC, for example, be held to the same standards as Ralph Lauren and refuse to do business with BMW because The Ultimate Driving Machine is the brainchild of Bavaria? Tell Samsung "Don't call us, we'll call you" because the cell phone conglomerate is headquartered in South Korea? Or kick Lexus to the curb because the automaker is Japanese?

I don't think so either.

The sight of Canadian hurdlers wearing Nike gear that was made in the USA, the US men's volleyball team sporting Lululemon jerseys that were made in Canada and Jamaican sprinters tearing up the tracks in Pumas that were made in Germany strike me as a perfect metaphor for the collaborative principles for which the Games are celebrated. So why mess with a good thing? Why make the Games about us when they really are about the athletes? And why allow provincialism to threaten globalism when-- as Olympians have a way of proving every four years-- it is so much more rewarding to break out of our comfort zones and dream really, really big?

Strange Fruit

If being an Ugly American were an Olympic event and I was a judge the bronze medal would have gone to Gardiner Harris this week.

And he should count himself lucky because if I were his boss Harris would have been in possession of a pink slip instead.

While listening to NPR's Morning Edition I heard Harris conclude an interview with host Steve Inskeep: "It's a strange place on normal days, and of course, when the power goes out gets even stranger."

http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=157699856&m=157699835

The topic was the blackout in India, and while Harris's color commentary would have been questionable had he been a rank amateur, it really rankled once I learned that he is the New Delhi correspondent for the New York Times.

Thankfully, power has been restored to India's electrical grids, but I am still in shock over the sophomoric word choice of a presumably impartial journalist, sophisticated traveler and representative of the United States abroad.

To whom was Harris speaking when inferring that India was "a strange place on normal days"? What, for that matter, is his benchmark for "normal"? Does he assume that NPR listeners worldwide must share his background, life experience and point of view? Or is he totally oblivious to the fact that only a relatively privileged observer might conclude that New Delhi was a "strange" place?

A privileged observer, I might add, completely deprived of good manners.

That Inskeep didn't call out his colleague on the gaffe was as disconcerting to me as the blunder itself. Which is why I've spent all week telling myself that the time constraints which come with doing live radio, rather than cultural insensitivity, were likely to blame for the oversight. Yet, in my heart I know the rationalization is my only defense against self-combustion at the thought of American hegemony going unchecked.

I have been to New Delhi, and readily admit to the countless times the expression "Holy cow!" leapt from my lips. Whether trying to navigate densely packed roadways-- where bicycles, pedestrians (both biped and bovine) and motor vehicles all jockeyed for the same precious few inches-- to happily lingering in the chicest airport terminal I have ever seen, I found the metropolis a study in the ancient and cutting-edge. The attendant contradictions, surprises and frustrations for Western travelers like me and Harris are to be expected; but if the first rule of travel, never mind journalism, is to go with the flow then the second should be to mind one's tongue and not give offense to one's hosts.

The Ishana Boutique: Indira Gandhi International Airport

Apparently, Harris never got this memo.

In any language, the word "strange" has a pejorative ring to it, thus no place in a professional's vocabulary when called upon to sum up his or her experience of an entire nation. Particularly when that nation has arguably set the gold standard for hospitality and warmth to international travelers, as has India in my mind.

Photography: Courtesy of Denise Malausséna

And while we're on the topic of precious metals: after the performance he turned in last week can anyone be more deserving of a gold medal in the Ugly American category than Mitt Romney ?

Following his disastrous trip to Europe and the Middle East, the politician hell bent on proving his prowess as a statesman not only demonstrated a tin ear for diplomacy, but managed to make Harris look like Dag Hammarskjöld in the process. From insulting Londoner's by questioning their preparedness for the Olympics to enraging Palestinians by stating that Israel's prosperity was owed to the "hand of providence", the Mitt Wit had me cringing on a daily basis.

If there's one thing I hate more than a stereotype, it's having to watch knuckleheads reinforce them in mixed company. By this measure-- and believe me when I say I never thought I'd say this-- I could not wait for Mittens to come home.

Of course, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Romney's traveling press secretary, Rick Gorka, who also distinguished himself in the Olympics of Obnoxion when he unleashed the now famous, if contradictory, coup de grâce: "Kiss my ass! This is a holy site for the Polish people. Show some respect." upon a cabal of reporters cheeky enough to demand a quote from Candidate Romney during his visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Warsaw.

My personal aversions to pots calling kettles black aside: I have to admit that Gorka's last point was a good one. In fact, I pray he will learn to follow his own advice where showing respect is concerned. Now that he's been benched, or-- as the political parlance goes-- is taking time off to be with his family from the Romney campaign, Gorka has all the time in the world to brush up on the skill set.

It goes without saying that Gorka sealed his fate when he cinched the silver medal last week, but his victory was pyrrhic at best as the rest of the world publicly fed on the lowest hanging morsel from a bumper crop of strange fruit coming from America. Hell, even I was left to wonder "Who are these people?" And I am one of them... by birth if not temperament, at least.

Is it too much for this fellow-American to ask that Gorka or any high-profile American traveling internationally be housebroken before being permitted to leave home? That they understand the world is watching and listening? That they recognize how their words have weight and their actions have consequences? That they acknowledge how they represent not just themselves, but you and I... for better or worse? And that any apparent ignorance  of these fundamentals truths on their parts will no longer be acceptable?

My questions are not rhetorical. Nor am I saying that we the people must agree with every viewpoint of our ambassadors (both formal and informal) abroad. We can, however, mitigate potential worst-case scenarios by holding our representatives to a higher standard. By insisting that they listen more and speak less. That they humble themselves and travel with the expectation of learning as opposed to teaching. And, at the very least, that they get comfortable with being an observer as opposed to being the center of attention whenever and wherever they enter.

Unfortunately, Americans are not exactly renown for any of these traits, but hope springs eternal.

Watching young Olympians like Gabby Douglas, Michael Phelps and Missy Franklin charm their hosts in the UK and the global community at large makes me very hopeful that the Ugly American yoke can be lifted from our collective shoulders in my lifetime. But the yoke's on us if we think we can keep unleashing the likes of Romney, Harris, Gorka upon unsuspecting neighbors without first teaching our old dogs some new tricks. And if I were appointed headmistress of this obedience academy, nobody would graduate without first living up to the motto : "Just because you're thinking it doesn't mean you have to say it out loud."

...which, come to think of it, would work as nicely in our own backyards as it would abroad.