I know, I’m a I'm a bag maker and this is supposed to be about fashion, but Breast cancer awareness month is coming to a close and since I am currently one of the many women being affected by it, it was important to me to say a lil somethin on the matter.
I feel like we’re all pretty aware of breast cancer at this point, but perhaps less experienced on how to handle it if someone you know gets diagnosed. Since I am still going through the process, I thought I’d take a slightly different approach and share a few things that I found helpful and important during my diagnosis, treatment and recovery.
When someone learns that they have breast cancer, no matter what stage it’s in or whether or not it’s treatable, they are suddenly dealing with the realization of their mortality. The weight of the breast cancer and the fear of it returning, walking into an unknown world filled with having to make life-changing decisions - there is a constant feeling of doom, a never ending rotation of doctor’s visits and the stress of wondering what is going to be left of your body once this is all said and done. It’s heavy stuff. Sad stuff. One of the best texts I got from a friend simply said “I’m glad to hear you caught it early, but I’m still really sad for you, sis!” Let your friend feel the weight of it and be a non-judgmental sounding board.
In my case, my breast cancer was stage 0 Ductal Carcinoma In Situ, meaning it was a very non-aggressive, slow growing cancer that was still confined to my milk ducts and had not yet spread. If a gun was put to my head and I was forced to choose a type of breast cancer to have, it would be that one, nonetheless, I STILL HAD CANCER. It was scary and widespread enough that the best option for me was to remove the breast completely.
I can’t tell you how many well-meaning “You can always get new ones” comments I heard in response to the news of my mastectomy. I was very aware of how lucky I was without having to be told. The problem was, the well-meaning “at least it’s not worse” type of comments stood in contrast with the grief and fear that I was feeling. I needed space to grieve the loss of the illusion of safety without being told how I should feel. In American culture, It is hard for us not to try to find the silver lining, but much like #1 on this list, sometimes leaning in to the discomfort allows for better understanding and a quicker processing of emotions. For me, I flat out refused to let people dismiss what I was going through. I would thank them for their words and quietly remind myself that yes, this was major, but that, in my case, it would pass.
I feel the need to explain here that you cannot, in fact, just get a new breast. A mastectomy is a removal of the breast, the whole thing, nipple and all. What you are left with after a months-long, painful reconstruction process is a cold hump of numb skin that is thinly covering a hard implant. Sure, it looks like a boob under a shirt, and for that I’m grateful, but be careful not to downplay someone’s loss. I lost a part of my body, a part of my femininity, a part of my motherhood, a part of my sexuality, a part of my beauty.
Oh, also, don’t talk about how much you hate your boobs as a way of relating. In a few months, you totally can. The conversation can go back to normal, but while she’s still in the middle of dealing with it, just don’t. She would kill for your weird little cancer free boobs.
Yup. Lots of them. Send them pretty flowers, buy them trashy tabloid magazines, get them lots of chocolate and 100% buy them small, comfy pillows that they can use to prop themselves up and make themselves comfortable while they’re sick on their couch or recovering from surgery. Get them 5 different kinds of chapstick and facemasks to pamper themselves with and lots of cozy socks. Get them all the under $10 comforts you can think of because it’s the little things like smooth lips and painted nails that will keep your friend hanging on through the pain until the next day. Then, when you have a Walgreens bag full of goodies, bring it over and offer to binge watch Gossip Girl or an old season of the Housewives with them. Just be there for them and let them know that although you know you can’t take the pain away from the situation, you can provide a temporary bandaid, and not just any bandaid, the cute, fun kind that won’t stay on worth a crap but makes your boo-boo’s look fabulous.
(P.S. these are not affiliate links, just things I like)
These were both things that my friends and community did for our family and it was immensely helpful. We had a meal train organized and freezer breakfast meals made for us. A very generous friend also paid for us to have our house cleaned. Taking the load of worrying about dirty floors and wiped down counters off of someone who is dealing with breast cancer is a wonderful gift and one she will certainly never forget.
One of my favorite memories will always be the farewell party that my friends threw for my boob. It was hilarious and sweet and a way to let off steam and laugh about the whole thing. Everyone wore bras over their shirts while we played “Boobie Bingo” and ate boob shaped cookies and gummy candy under a blanket of balloons made to look like nipples. We aptly cut into a giant boob cake while we laughed and cried. Then, everybody gave me little gifts for my hospital stay and recovery along with a note they each signed. It was just a note on a plain sheet of paper, but I kept it on my dresser and would read it every morning when I got out of bed. It gave me strength.
I guess what it all boils down to is that no matter the gesture, big or small, make one. Show up in whatever way you can and let that person know that you are with them on this difficult journey. I never thought I would be dealing with something like this in my thirties, but it was friends, family and community that helped me get through. My journey with breast cancer is far from over and my life is forever changed by it, but there is beauty in my situation too. The beauty for me was that my breast cancer was curable and it did not affect a vital functioning part of my body. Once I was able to properly grieve my new reality, I was able to move past it. I did not lose a child or someone I loved, my pain is only temporary. Yes, I lost a part of myself, but through my grief, I gained perspective and for that, I am eternally grateful.
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]]>My Mexican roots and growing up in SoCal are some of my greatest inspirations in the design process for Elidia the Label. One of my more formative influences was the Chola.
For as long as I can remember, some of the most beautiful women to me were Mexican women. My beautiful mother, my glamorous grandmother Elidia (namesake of Elidia the Label), but most of all - the Cholas in East LA and the San Fernando Valley where my parents are from. The lip liner, hoop earrings, scrunched hair and drawn-on eyebrows, I loved it all. Cholas were often looked down on by society as gang members, unwed mothers, troublemakers, etc. Because of the assumed connections between the Chola aesthetic and gang culture, my dad was staunchly against it and wouldn’t let me or my sister resemble the look in any way. He was desperate to “Americanize” us because he felt it would open up more opportunities for us than what a typical Chola had. But a girl can dream, and a girl can also sneak lip liner in her backpack and wear it at school too. #WhatWouldCholasDo
In the end, the type of beauty routine I ascribed to was that of my mother’s. A more natural albeit everyday glam take on beauty. Think Selena Quintanilla’s more everyday looks. Beauty is big in Latina culture, it’s what’s most natural to us. A univision study showed that Latina women spend more money on beauty than any other group of women. I remember watching my mom put on lipstick to go pull weeds in her garden and I never once saw my grandma Elidia without her makeup on until she was literally on her deathbed. Latina women have never felt that beauty and glamour had to be sacrificed in order to appear smart or strong.
One thing I loved most about the Chola aesthetic was the style. They were the OG’s of menswear for women. They wore baggy pants cinched with big belts, crop tops under oversized Pendletons and Nike Cortez’s. Then they would glam it up with tons of gold jewelry, a flawlessly done face and perfect hair. There were no compromises, they were both beautiful and badass. They could beat your ass and look beautiful doing it.
I regrettably once dressed up as one for Halloween many years ago, perhaps just wanting to finally see the full look come together on myself. I was always a very timid person and I think I wanted to feel that freedom of looking both beautiful and powerful simultaneously. Either way, it wasn’t right and I’m thankful to know better now.
Truth be told, the Chola lifestyle was not an easy one and no matter how much I wanted to glamorize the look as a little girl, it came with a price. The Chola uniform was born from strife, its own form of protest. It was a “F**** YOU” to the racist culture that was trying to keep them on the fringes of society and the traditional beauty standards of “girly girls”. They wanted to be able to be wives, girlfriends and mothers, they also wanted to be out defending their barrios and proving themselves. It’s hard to understand this from an outside perspective. Only someone raised in the microcosm of violence and poverty exacerbated by racism would understand these choices. When what you’ve got is probably all you’ll ever have, you want to become the master of it. Fighting, partying, making a name for yourself, these become tools for survival.
As society grew more intrusive and oppressive against the Hispanic community in Los Angeles in the 30’s and 40’s during the Mexican Repatriation, women known as Pachucas used style as a revolutionary tool to set themselves apart as strong individuals who refused to conform to the white american femininity they were being contrasted to. The Pachucas had a fierce style and fought for their own space and freedom in a culture where they felt both trapped by societal rules of womanhood and by a country that was telling brown-skinned individuals they didn't want them there.
California had only recently become a state in 1850. Previously having been a Mexican territory, it housed a large population of Mexicans that had been grandfathered into having U.S. citizenship. Beginning in 1929, these Mexican-Americans were blamed for stealing U.S. citizen jobs and illegal deportations began. Up to 2,000,000 Mexican-Americans were deported, the majority of them being legal U.S. Citizens. They were never asked to prove citizenship. If they looked Mexican and lived in a barrio, they were rounded up and sent away. This idea of singling people out simply for how they look without checking legal status has never completely gone away and has produced deadly outcomes such as the horrific mass shooting at a Wal-Mart in El Paso Texas in 2019.
The Chola aesthetic evolved from the Pachucas and was also born from poverty and practicality. Hand-me-downs and cheap clothing for the working class, Cholas took those clothes and made an iconic style out of it that pop stars still emulate today. Subconsciously or not, in many ways, their style is still with me and inspiring me now. I feel the least beautiful in a dress. I feel the most powerful wearing pants and sneakers. I love to translate that into the bags and accessories that I make for Elidia the Label. Each one has an elevated but casual feel, always with a tough edginess to them. The fact that they are carefully handcrafted, made to last and go with everything you already own is an homage to the craft that the women in my family passed down to me. Back then, they didn't call it “fashion design” or “artisan clothing” they called it using what you have or going without. Before fast fashion was a thing, you didn’t have a different bag for each color of shirt you owned, you had one that you used everyday until it wore out. Those with money, bought a new one. Those with skill, made their own.
The poor and neglected communities have always been the most resourceful. If necessity is the mother of invention, then the ghettos are chock full of Benjamin Franklins. My great-grandmother used to get 50lb sacks of flour and oatmeal and make underwear out of the sack for her children once it was empty. Slow fashion at its finest, eco-friendly to the max. The poor and people of color have been doing this for years, yet in recent times, the slow fashion and eco conscious movements have only gained traction when packaged and sold as “exclusive” and “expensive” and has been commercialized as a very upper-middle class soapbox to stand on while the poor are blamed for buying fast fashion and eating individually packaged, processed food.
It seems being a conscious consumer is only fashionable when you have a choice to be one. Perhaps it’s only considered eco-friendly when it’s done “consciously” and otherwise it doesn’t count. I suppose that really boils down to having money and freedom of choice, another American obsession and right that is only offered freely to those with privilege. And since some of the most patriotic people I know are those who have fought for the right to be here and exist even when society tells them otherwise, then I feel like the Cholas and Pachucas that came before us and influenced styles we still love today were really just invoking their own freedoms. How intrinsically American of them…
Yet, even with all of the judgment against them, the Chola aesthetic is copied and sold by the mainstream as fashion-forward while the actual Cholas are looked down upon. Copping the style without having had to live “La Vida Loca” can often be seen as appropriation and mockery. Straight up, if you’re not willing to not only give props to the style and it’s origins, but also support the lives and wellbeing of the Latina women who gave you the style, then you’re part of the problem.
Latina beauty is uncompromised and the Chola aesthetic is celebrated in pop culture, but what’s most beautiful to me about the women in my culture is their resilience. They truly aren’t given enough credit, often being boiled down to undereducated cooks and maids in the mainstream media. They were in the streets in the 40’s fighting against Mexican Repatriation. They were in the student walkouts in the 60’s fighting for equal education. They were protesting police violence in the 70’s. They are a vital part of today’s workforce (where they are paid less than any other female minority group in the US) and they are in homes raising families. They are the backbone of Latinx culture and they do it all with beauty and strength.
It truly is my passion to connect with my customers/readers on a deeper level and share the things that inspire me and my creative process for Elidia the Label. To read more and receive future updates on my shop, click the subscribe button below.
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