Rihanna, eat your heart out
If you’ve been following the comings and goings of the superstar singer Rihanna lately, you know she’s pregnant. Very pregnant.
It’s hard not to notice. Her gorgeous face and big belly have been gracing the pages of all media for months. Who wouldn’t rather gaze upon a halfdressed RiRi than any number of saggy, wornout world leaders?
Rihanna’s pregnancy is a burst of life, of energy, of hope. And she’s gorgeous on top of it, if I hadn’t mentioned that yet.
I come from a place of longtime fandom. Sitting around a table once musing with friends about who we’d like to look like — someone chose Scarlett Johansson, another Halle Berry — my petite, older, white, thin, wannabe choice for a doppelganger was Rihanna. Not only is she gorgeous, if you hadn’t noticed, but she’s widely talented and most of all bold and strong. Wimpy model types that need a sustaining piece of Melba toast to keep from fainting have never been my thing.
Rihanna — instead — had no morning sickness, it’s said, and who else can travel the world in stilettos at a time like this looking shockingly hot yet calibrating-ly cool while carrying a beach ball around. And looking gorgeous, I might add, and informing future pregnant princesses of plucky possibilities.
The unveiled, unleashed, un-wimpy rows of shiny necklaces, jewels bedecking the navel, bikini bottoms low as the law allows, filaments of see-through material, furry coats laying wide open — all have been designed for the emerging plus one to peek through.
This is what amazes most: Her stylist, the guy apparently responsible for this pregnancy-as-popculture, says he created the look to accent the baby bump — announce it, adorn it, revel in it — not merely to accommodate it like so many women do, delicately shielding it from prying eyes, comments, dust. Not Rihanna.
The whole strategy has gotten me thinking. Don’t I — all of us — have body parts that every person notices, yet we pretend are not there. Or at least dress around them, cover them up, minimize their assault on other people’s senses. And like the baby bump, they’re all natural parts of human nature. Even if we’re not so gorgeous.
Think big ears we hide with big hair. Big feet we hide with bell bottoms. Big butts — unless you’re a Kardashian — that swish under big flowy tops.
Things sticking out in the open, for most of us, just isn’t done.
I, for example, have those big feet. Sneakers that compliment a cute little skirt, a pair of tights, look like clown feet on me, clodhoppers, ugly ducklings.
Following Rihanna’s lead, I wonder though if my boat-ish feet are missing the boat. Perhaps the trick is to highlight them, make them the centerpiece of my style, not the hidden stepchild. Rethink the slightly meaty thighs too while I’m at it — Rhianna has those! — and the sags and wrinkles. Maybe the jowls need jewels.
Who’s to say what’s gorgeous? Really, who’s to say?
I stand in front of my closet. Even if I can’t quite apply the baby bump strategy her designer used — who has that many handlers making you look, well, gorgeous? — still she’s inspired me to dig into the back of the debris, pop into a store, and put a campier stamp on my fashion philosophy. Revisit some old stodginess, invent an odd pairing, add more sparkle, chance a seductive slit, a headdress — just for fun, just for the sheer kick of it, just for a gutsier me.
Maybe I’ll even wear wide funky Uggs, once rejected as too revealing, too obvious, for a short, big-footed woman. They even come in pink.
If an icon can redefine what it means to be pregnant for the whole world to see, perhaps some of us regular folks — superstars on the inside — could also strut out more bold and strong on our little piece of the planet.
Bring on the Uggs.