How A Fluffy Tutu Helped Me Find My Magic Again

A few years ago I started noticing this trend in fashion blogging -- tutus.

Cut to the present. I was deep in the throes of a stream of crappy dates -- feeling blue and lackluster. I'd sought solace at the bottom of many containers of Haagen Dazs Limited Edition Peanut Butter Pie. I had exasperated all my Back Up Guys via text and watched Sleepless in Seattle for the third time when I came to the conclusion of the cold, hard truth -- if I wanted to get My Magic back, I was going to have to get it myself. And that's when the idea pinged over my head like a cartoon lightbulb: I wanted a tutu.



It arrived on a Thursday. Packed into a small, lightweight box. And when I took it out and released its glory unto the world -- the heavens sang.



The tutu sat on the floor of my friend's apartment and gathered spectators, all coming to pay homage to it, having heard about it through the grapevine. Selfies were snapped. And every woman, no matter how old, how serious, or how jaded and "oh so, LA" became an enchanted little girl in its presence. Skinny girls. Big girls. Twenty-something girls and 40-something executives all melted into pools of giggling pleasure as she wrapped it around her waist. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Tutu.

Do you wonder what it feels like to wear a tutu?

Once you get over the silly feeling -- which lasts all of seven seconds -- you feel simply glorious.


You feel emotions you haven't dare been in touch with, since gravity hit your breasts and grey hair started creeping in at your crown. Whimsy. Glee. Enchantment. Freedom.

You know, the things "grown-ups" just don't allow themselves to feel.

2015-04-14-1428974490-6392668-BestTutuPic.jpgPhoto by Nichole Alex



You are Madonna. And Tiffany. And the sky isn't just blue, it's "Electric Blue" (thank you, Debbie Gibson) and you can paint the world any color you like with your brand new set of scented markers and glitter lip gloss and hair sprayed with Sun In...

But then the Galaxy beeps on the table next to you.

And the spell is broken.


But as you stuff that box away under your bed, you touch it lovingly. You'll always have that box. Stuffed with your tutu. That fluffy, frothy, magical tutu. Sitting at rest and waiting. It's yours to cherish. To take for a whirl when you need it the most. When you need to remind yourself its ok to be young at heart, to make friends with that little girl inside you with the jelly covered fingers. To never entirely let her go. And nobody, we mean nobody, can tell you that joy won't last forever and ever and ever.

And so I urge you, from one woman to another. Find your tutu. If you're feeling frisky, get your own! But if tulle and ribbon isn't in your future, find something. Something that belongs only to you. A dress in your favorite color. The faded New Kids on the Block tee you've had since the 7th grade. Or something made of lace. Something, anything, that when you slip it over your head makes you utterly impervious. To stress and to obligation. To big, scary decisions with lots of consequences. To transport you to a more simple time when you lived in the moment, time was on your side, and anything was possible.

2015-04-14-1428974602-8936765-SPLTutuPic1.jpgPhoto by Nichole Alex

The Tutu Project