DIY Peter Pan's Escaped Shadow Costume

Hey all!

With Halloween creeping up so close and me being the world's biggest procrastinator, you can imagine how stressful it was for me to come up with a costume. Since I'm a teacher, I figured it's an unwritten requirement for me to dress up for my kiddos. I wanted something easy to put together, cost me as little as possible, and comfortable to wear (New Jersey is getting cold around this time of year, y'all). I came up with Peter Pan's escaped shadow.

I looked online for some ideas, but everything I looked for involved a morph suit, and as much fun as that would be, I feel like it's pretty important for my students to be able to see my face. So I tweaked it as I went, and I have to say, I am very happy with the final product. So here's a super easy, no sew DIY Peter Pan's shadow costume. It took me all of an hour to make, and that was at a pretty leisurely pace.

What you'll need:
- Black XL t shirt
- Black tights or leggings
- Black belt or rope (to cinch the waist)
- Black feather (or a colored feather that you'll have to paint black)
- Two sheets of black felt
- Hot glue gun (plus the glue sticks, of course)
- Scissors

Since I already had most of the materials, all I really needed to get were the pieces of felt and the feathers, which cost me a whopping $5 from Walmart. I guess my thrifty broke-college-student ways haven't quite left me yet.

Here's how to put your costume together:

1. Take your pair of scissors and cut triangle shapes on the bottom of your XL t shirt and sleeves. It's okay if the cuts aren't perfect. I think that actually gives it a more authentic feel. There's no set amount of triangles for you to cut. Cut out however many you want, but make sure the sizes of the triangles aren't too big or too small; we're trying to recreate the look of Peter Pan's tunic.

That's the bottom hem of my shirt. As you can see, my triangles were  very rough and jagged, but ultimately, it gave my costume a good look.

That's one of my sleeves. Like I said, it's not really a professional-looking cut, but it gets the job done. I was a little pressed for time and didn't have time to make everything perfect.

2. Now for the hat. It's really a lot easier than I thought it would be. If you have sewing skills and can power sew in a pinch, kudos. But I chose the no-sew route, so my hot glue gun was my best friend. I found a Peter Pan hat pattern online and traced it on my pieces of felt. I taped the two pieces of felt together during this part so I wouldn't have to worry about ending up with two uneven patterns.

* Unfortunately, I didn't take pictures as I was making the hat, so I don't have any process pictures to share for this part*

3. Once I was done tracing the pattern on the felt, I cut the shapes out and hot glued the two top edges together. Make sure you don't glue the longest side together; that's the part that will go on your head. I chose to not glue the flat back part during this step; it made the next step much easier to do.

4. Once the two top sides were glued and dried, I folded the brim up and hot glued it to the body of the hat. It was almost like making those paper boats when I was a kid. When I glued the brim up, the front was too pointy for my liking, so I just folded it down and glued it in place.

5. Now for the feather. I couldn't find a black feather, so I used a purple one and painted it black with plain old acrylic paint. Once that dried, I glued the feather to the hat, tucking the "stick" end of it into the brim.

Wait for the hat to dry and you're done! Easy peasy lemon squeezy!

I wore my t shirt over a pair of fleece-lined leggings (which were seriously the most comfortable things I have ever worn). Because it's getting a little chilly out, I wore a long sleeve black shirt under my t shirt. The hat didn't fit in a way that would stay on my head without me constantly holding onto it, so I bobby pinned it on the sides and I was good to go. I also added a dagger to my costume by cutting it out of a cardboard and painting it black.

And there you have it! An easy, cheap, and totally comfortable way to go out for Halloween this year!

This whole patriarchal society thing going on? Yeah, it's gotta stop

I'm a feminist.

Even if you don't know me at all, even if I'm no more than an online stranger to you, those three words are enough for you to make an opinion of me, and a negative one at that. Because I'm a feminist, suddenly I'm this man-hating woman who believes that women are better than men. But that's not the case. As a feminist, I believe that women are equal to men, not better than them. For some reason, people have a really hard time wrapping their head around that idea.

In addition, women can't seem to win in the sex game. If a female says no to sex, then she is a close-minded stuck-up prude who thinks she's too good for men. If the same woman says yes to sex, then she is a slut, a whore, and will more often than not be slut shamed. However, if a man says yes to sex, then he is praised and congratulated. Men can freely brag about their string of one-night stands without worrying about negative judgments from the rest of society. They might strike out with women looking for committed long-term relationships, but other than that, they are generally in a good spot whether or not they say yes to sex.

Too often women are taught to dress modestly, as if covering themselves up will lessen their chances of getting sexually assaulted and/or raped. If a women reveals just a little bit of cleavage or an inch of her thigh, then she is dressing provocatively and is 'just asking for it.' Because that's what every girl dreams of, to be raped for wearing clothes that make her feel and look good. Women are taught to be careful at bars, to not get too drunk because getting drunk will increase their chances of getting raped. Women are taught to act sober so that men won't take advantage of them. Women are taught not to go anywhere after dark alone because that makes them more vulnerable to sexual assault. Women are taught to take catcalls as compliments. Women are taught to walk quickly in public, especially when they're alone, to decrease chances of violence, sexual or otherwise. Women are taught to do so many things so that they won't be raped or assaulted. But what are men taught? They're just vaguely and generally taught to be good people, but there are no repercussions for not following those rules. In fact,they are often congratulated for breaking those rules. Instead of telling women how to behave in order to not get raped, why not teach the men in our society to just not rape or sexually assault a woman? Guess that would be asking for too much, wouldn't it?

Two stories recently came out in the news. One is of Alyssa Funke, who agreed to sex and accepted payment to film it and to masturbate on video as well. Since the video was made with the intention for others to watch and enjoy (and she was aware of this), it was only a matter of time before her friends and other people on the internet saw the video.She was immediately harassed and slut-shamed to death, literally. She committed suicide because that was a better solution than tolerating all the harassment and slut-shaming that the internet found appropriate. But her suicide wasn't enough. Twitter users tweeted posts celebrating her death, calling her a whore and saying that she got what she deserved. Many of these users admitted (though I think a better word would be 'boasted') that they even masturbated to her video. It was just one big joke to them, just another woman to be called a whore even though they had tortured and agonized her to the point when suicide just seemed like the best solution. How about we make a rule that says that if you enjoy a pornographic video so much that you masturbated to it, you can't call any of the people in the video bad names? If what the person/people in the video is/are doing gives you that much sexual pleasure, why do you feel that it is appropriate to shame those same people for doing what they're doing? No one deserves to die because of their sexuality. Ever.

The second story that came out recently was that of Elliot Rodgers. Son of the director of the Hunger Games movies, he couldn't get laid. Poor guy, right? No girl would sleep with him. What was wrong with these women? (If the sarcasm wasn't clear, I'm making it clear now). So, as revenge for starving him of sex, Rodgers went ahead and killed a few girls before committing suicide. But wait; there's more. Rodgers also had an entire plan written out for retribution of the women who denied him sex. He believed that the women who rejected him were stupid and selfish for rejecting such a gentleman like himself, since he is better than everyone else. After Rodgers' suicide, people didn't call him names and harass him online like they did to Alyssa Funke. Instead, people praised him and even went so far as to call him a role model. The women who rejected him were blamed for his death. They honestly believed that it was the women's fault for saying no to sex, that they could have saved his and the other girls' lives if they had just consented to sex. While Rodgers was a hero, Funke was a villain. A society that honestly believes that is one that needs a major makeover.

It's always the women's fault. Always. That's why our society today sickens me. It's completely male-dominated and treats women as second-class citizens. It victimizes women and glorifies men, regardless of their actions and behaviors. Patriarchal society, please either fix yourself or go away completely. I don't want to give birth to a daughter who will grow up and live in a society that seems to only get worse and worse for women.

I need my family right now

I'm old enough to start looking for my own place to live, but I don't think it's possible to ever outgrow the need for family, especially when you start going through some emotionally trying times.

I need my family because they are the only ones who are going to listen to me and let my problems be completely and totally mine. I need my family because I'm tired of being emotionally manipulated and abused, and I need someone (or someones) to provide relief of that horrible sinking feeling. I need my family because no matter how old I am, they will always tend to the hurt little girl that comes out sometimes during stressful situations. 

I've been going through a pretty nasty sick spell, and I'd just told my mother that I was "a bit sick, probably with the allergies" about three days ago. Yesterday, I received a phone call/voice mail from her because she was concerned about my health and wanted to know if I'd gotten any better. That's the kind of attention I need and want right now. I'm not being selfish; I refuse to see looking after my own mental and physical health as selfish. I need the kind of attention that realizes that I'm part of this world, too, and that I'm capable of suffering just like anyone else. I need the kind of attention that looks out for me the way I look out for others. I need the kind of attention that I've only gotten from my family. I miss them so much. 

I'm trying to be a big girl about it and trying to deal with it on my own. But the truth is that I can't. No one should have to go through any kind of stressing or trying situation alone. Everyone needs support 100% of the time. It's about time I go find mine. 

Feeling uncomfortable in pretty clothes is not okay

So my school is getting ready for Spring Cotillion coming up this Saturday. My friends and I have planned this for weeks, making plans to get all pretty and primp ourselves to the max. I found my dress a while ago, but not with the intention of wearing it to Cotillion. I'd gotten it partly because it was pretty and sparkly and fit me better than I expected and partly because I was halfway pressured into getting it (not that I minded. At all).

But as the day draws closer, I started to have second thoughts about what dress I was going to wear. I mean, sure, I can easily wear the gorgeous sparkly number that hasn't had a chance to shine in public yet, but by no means did I have to. I'd gotten a different dress last year for Cotillion but didn't get a chance to wear it for more than thirty minutes on account of having to accompany my friend to a strange town to pick up a boy. I wanted to wear that this year. I mean, hairwise it would give me more options (in my opinion). But when I brought up the possibility of me switching up dresses to my roommate, she acted like that was a horrible decision.

She'd gotten a bright coral dress recently. It's beautiful and I can't say that I'm not at least a little bit jealous. The reason she didn't want me to switch to the dress from last year is because she wanted to match with me. I didn't care about matching or not. If I matched, great. If not, no big deal. But apparently it was a big deal to her. She essentially begged and whined about me not wearing the dress I'd originally planning as if I was making a wrong choice and that I was being selfish for not matching dress looks with her.

Let me get one thing straight. I adore the original dress. I do. But it also makes me feel just a little self conscious because it points out that I have a tummy. It also shows off my arm completely, and my arm's not exactly what I would call my best feature. So I feel a little self-conscious in that dress. And knowing that there will be photos taken in abundance, I don't want to pose for pictures worrying that I look fat or bulgy or whatever. I want to feel comfortable and pretty. I have a right to want that. Every human being does.

I might decide what I'm wearing and what my hair will be like on the day of. Who knows? But whichever dress I choose, it will be my choice. After all, it's my body and I should feel comfortable in it, since no one else will ever know what it will feel like to actually be in my shoes.

Emotional abuse is not a joke

Emotional abuse. That's a pretty heavy subject, wouldn't you agree? But it's a subject that's horribly underestimated.

When people hear the term emotional abuse, they instantly put it in the context of romantic relationships, like an emotionally abusive boyfriend or girlfriend who manipulates your emotions in order to get what they want from you. While this happens far too often for comfort, that's not the only application of emotional abuse. Friends can be emotionally abusive, too, but sometimes they're the harder ones to spot.

I'm in an emotionally abusive relationship.

I'm not talking about the relationship with my boyfriend. We've been together for four years and he is very emotionally supportive. Otherwise his ass would have been kicked to the curb four years ago. The relationship that I'm talking about is the one with my roommate.

It's a pretty parasitic relationship. I'm the host and she's the parasite. I can't say anything without it being turned against me. I can't have an opinion without having it deemed wrong. I can't have a bad day without hearing that hers has been worse. No matter what, I am always inferior to her in her eyes. And I kept accepting that fact because I kept convincing myself that I'm just over reacting and it's not as bad as I'm making it out to be. But the more time I spend with her, the more I realize that I've been lying and deceiving myself this whole time. I have put my mind and body through the emotionally draining experience of dealing with this person who seems to be unable to take my opinions and feelings into consideration for so long. My mind doesn't deserve that. My self-confidence doesn't deserve that. My body doesn't deserve that. I don't deserve that.

So here's a letter to my poor body and mind who have suffered because I mercilessly tortured it by allowing them to be abused by my roommate:

Dear mind/body/spirit:

I am sorry. I am sorry for putting you through suffering that no human being should go through. I am sorry for not taking care of you like I should have, like you deserve. I am sorry I didn't listen to you when the first warning signs of an emotionally manipulative relationship appeared. I am sorry I brushed your advice off when you were in pain and needed me to listen. 

I wish I could do something to make it up to you, but I understand that it's too late. I have dug you and me both into a hole so deep that there's no hope of crawling out. But if you will forgive me and help me, I'm willing to try. It's going to be difficult, but not impossible. I'll get dirt under my nails and reek of body odor mixed with earth, but in the end, we'll be out of the hole and out of this relationship. I'll just need some time -- a lot of it. I hope you'll understand. 

Dear mind, body, and spirit, I promise to make a conscious effort to take care of you and listen to you more often. I know you're broken right now, and you're heading to a place where it's going to be hard to get you back, and I know I deserve it because I haven't been kind to you. But please, just this once, listen to me: don't go there. It's a dark place and you've been there and it's scary. Once you go there, I don't know if I can get you back, and I need you. I need you because you have been so kind to me and I know you have had to put up with so much recently, but I have one request: give yourself time to heal. I'm going to try my best to give you time and energy to heal. I'm on your side; we're on the same team. 

Since you've been going through this terrible time, I've realized that I have been too generous. They say too much of a good thing is bad, and this is especially true with generosity. I'm going to try to be a little more selfish; I'm going to try to make some time for myself and not give it to anyone but me and you. I want to promise that I will definitely do it, but I can't because it's hard, but please don't be mad at me. I promise I'll try. I promise to bring as much positive energy and light to you as I can, but forgive me when I fail. I'm not hurting you on purpose; I'm just trying to help. Bear with me as I embark on this frighteningly new journey. 

Dear mind, body, and spirit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I have put you through. But I also thank you for taking in so much without complaint. I will try my very best to make it up to you. 

Much love, 

V. 

Emotional abuse is not a joke. I should have seen the signs coming sooner. I should have gotten out of the relationship while I still could. But it's not too late; it's never too late.

The 21st birthday dream

You know what I want for my 21st birthday? To be in London.

I want a fabulous, unforgettable, photo-stuffed 21st birthday, and I want it to happen in London, which just so happens to be one of the things on my bucket list just waiting to be crossed off. The going to London part, that is. Not necessarily having my 21st birthday there. Not that I would object to having a London 21st birthday celebration.

I know I sound like a spoiled little diva when I say that. I know it's just another birthday, and that 21 is just another year older, another year closer to visible wrinkles (as if they haven't started showing up already!), but the fact of the matter is that I still want it. My family's not big into cliched "big birthday" celebrations. We're not big on the whole "You're turning sixteen so let's throw a huge party!" We don't do the "You're eighteen! Woo! You're legal! Let's go out and celebrate that fact!" In fact, we honestly don't do the "You're 21 and a real adult! Let's celebrate that adulthood with some drinks at the bar!" either. But nobody said I have to have a plain ordinary birthday either.

So ideally, I'd be spending my birthday with my friends, probably at the same Thai restaurant we always end up going to whenever someone's birthday came around. Maybe my boyfriend would be there, too, and it'd be low-key and great. Then maybe at the end of the night, I might be bold enough to buy my first bottle of wine because I'm finally legal enough to do so, and my boyfriend and I would have a glass of wine and then either fall right asleep or compile video evidence of my alcohol-influenced self, depending on the results of the wine. But as much as I would miss having my friends there to celebrate with me, I can always Facebook and Skype them. Social media and the media are wonderful things. Wouldn't it be grand to say that the year I became legal was the year I was touristing the crap out of the most touristy city in the most touristy country? I say it would.

So here's to hoping. Here's to crossing my fingers so hard and so often that I no longer have feeling in them. Here's to pinning every post about studying abroad on Pinterest. Here's to looking up Google images of how beautifully breathtaking London is at night and in the day.

Here's to receiving the acceptance letter soon.

What I miss about being home: I matter

In most cases, I feel blissfully nonchalant about coming home for breaks. I don't necessarily dread it; I just don't feel the same enthusiasm for going home as most of my friends and classmates do. But this year was different. I couldn't wait to get home, not necessarily because I needed time off campus (though now that I think about it, that is part of the reason), but because I actually matter when I'm home.

I struggled a lot this year with being me. I'm not even talking about those dramatic teens who pull crazy rebellious stunts under the guise of "trying to find their identity." It's just that, during this past year, my identity has been swallowed up by my roommate.

If I'm having a bad day, she's having a worse one. If I find something new or cool or amusing, it's just 'whatever' to her. If I accomplish something pretty significant in my life, she's got a story waiting to be told about how she achieved some major accomplishment that will blow mine right out of the water. Seriously. Everything that could possibly happen to me, whether it was a positive or a negative, suddenly became about her. She has that kind of power. No matter how uniquely individual I might think my case is, she'll come up with a way to turn it around and make it about her.

So I couldn't wait to go home because I knew that at home, I would be entitled to my range of emotions, both the negative and positive ones. If I was having an off day, I wouldn't have to worry about somehow being entered in a competition of who had the worse day. I had my bad day, and even if someone else had a bad day, it didn't necessarily trump mine. If I achieved something particularly good or amazing, I could be happy about it and have the (mostly) full support of everyone around me. I mattered. I was allowed to be a human being and do human things and feel human emotions.

That's the thing I've learned about being yourself. You have a right to be yourself. No one, no matter how important they think they are, has the right to take that away from you. If you want to be really pissed off about something trivial, then go ahead. If you want to cry in public about your goldfish that died six months ago, by all means, please do. If you won a gold medal at your local spelling bee and want to celebrate by eating two whole pies of pizza by yourself, do it. If you earned a certificate for breaking the record of hot dogs eaten in an hour at a local restaurant, you go hang that certificate in a prominent place in your house where people will definitely see it. Heck, frame that sucker. You are you. Own it. 

That's what I've been enjoying in the couple days that I've been home. I've just been enjoying being me, and more importantly, being allowed to be me. It's a pretty refreshing idea, and I can't say that I won't miss it when I have to go back to school .