Usually people email me their questions, but last week I got this inquiry via Twitter.

Hi Jennifer,

I’m California Girl too (♥) and although I can’t stand the cold, I do love the fashion it inspires. Luckily for us, West Coast style can be easily revamped for the streets of New York City. Lets start from the bottom up:

Shoes:
New York is a walking city, so you want to make sure you pack stylish kicks that you can walk a mile in. During the fall, I love to wear boots with a flat heel. Of course, a shoe with heels is the sexier choice, but keeping your balance so that you dont fall down in a pile of snow or lose your balance on a slippery ice patch is ALSO sexy. Flats help me navigate whatever is on the ground while keeping my speedy New York pace (p.s. I have a pair of flat boots with buckles up the back that are so vixen-like, you don’t even notice the lack of a heel).

Because you’re going to be packing things into a suitcase I suggest you look for a pair with a slouch. These will be more mailable so you can roll them up just like your clothes. I did a quick google search and maybe something like this could work.

I’m willing to bet that you already own some heels that you’d like to bring along on your trip. Because of the warm weather in LA, they might be open toed, so just slip some tights on (perhaps in a fun color) and open toed shoes are still be wearable when its 30 degrees out.

I would suggest making them NYC-proof by getting the soles/heels rubberized. You can get this done at a shoe repair shop for a pretty cheap price and again, this will ensure that you wont go sliding down 7th avenue or something.

Clothing:
Leggings are an obvious staple for this trip and this is where California style comes in handy. In the winter I actually prefer to wear dresses because then I don’t have to worry about the bottoms of my pants getting ruined on the sloppy slushy sidewalks. Tuck your tights and/or leggings into your knee high boots, throw on one of those summer dresses I’m sure you own and then put a cardigan over it to cover your arms and voila you’re bundled up in a cute way.

Accessories:
The look I’ve outlined above may not seem like enough layers to you, but when you add your gloves, scarf, hat and coat, you will be fine. There are many times I’ve overdressed and by the time I’ve walked 10 blocks in my coat and 3 layers of clothing, I’m actually sweating. So don’t overdo it.

Oh! a quick note on gloves: With our cell phone/blackberry/iPhone lifestyles gloves can be sooo annoying because you cant punch buttons. I discovered gloves like this and I won’t wear anything else. The flap comes on and off in 2 seconds freeing your fingers and making life so much easier.

I hope this was helpful, keep me posted on what you end up packing!

xoxo,
CeCe

P.S. I love getting to know TBGB fans via email and Twitter! Email me here: nycece@gmail.com and follow me here!

Often in our Curvy Conversations, I’ve talked about being confident and secure at any size. I’ve urged us not to let our “weight make us wait” to live life to the fullest. Thankfully that mentality has more or less been second nature for me, but sometimes I have my days.

Sometimes it takes a little extra energy for me to walk into a room of people and not wonder what they’re thinking. Although I can usually quiet that insecure voice in my head… it can be rough.

So, when my fashion writer girlfriend asked me to be her “+1″ for New York Fashion Week in Bryant Park, I was flattered and excited, but I was also having “one of those days” which made me a little apprehensive.

What if they don’t let me in? Will I hold her back from special seats because of how I look? Will I stick out like a sore thumb?

Ultimately I accepted her invitation. Every season I watch the shows on TV, there was no way I could pass up the final NYFW in the tents at Bryant Park. On Wednesday, I wore a grey cowl neck mini dress, black tights and knee high boots. At the first show we walked into, we were told we’d have to stand in the balcony. My stomach tightened as I wondered if our not-so-hot seats were due to the way I look. But on the way up, a show coordinator pulled us aside and whisked us to the main floor and gave us seats right on the main runway! I was feet away from lots of celebs like John Legend and Ms. Jay from Americas Next Top Model (Here’s a photo of them).

We got lots of fun swag from Maybelline as well as free drinks at the bar while we waited for the next show. As the shows went on I kept watching the models as they did their jobs as human hangers. When I’m not second guessing myself I can have that same quiet confidence, because I really don’t think its 100% about how you look, being secure in who you are can take a person a long way. Of course these aren’t new thoughts, but sometimes I have to remind myself of these things.

As we were leaving the show, one of my friends connections asked if we wanted to go to an after party with him. This time I quickly shook the nervousness I felt about crashing a fashion industry event, and walked to the venue with my model confidence in tact. As I waited in the corner for my companions to check their coats, a manager came rushing up to me, “Did you just come from the show?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“You’re early! I have Open bar passes for you… just wait here.” I had no idea what he was talking about, but an open bar sounded good to me. By the time my friends got to me, I had 3 wrist bands for us and directions to the complimentary champagne lounge.

Apparently, even though I’m a PSP, I still looked like I deserved VIP treatment at Fashion Week. My girl friend and I clinked glasses of free champagne and then she leaned into me and said “I need to bring you with me to Fashion Week every year!”

I had to laugh. To think, I was convinced I would hold her back! On this night, it seemed like the only person who was focused on my weight… was me.

For me it was just another reminder that anything is possible at any size. Hopefully its a lesson I’ll never forget.

Kenzie and I have been friends since we moved to New York City for college. During our sophomore year we were able to score fake IDs from older girls who looked like us and we decided to test them out by bar hopping on the Upper West Side. Kenzies long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and amazing body had caught the eye of a bartender at Mod, an upper west side bar with a 1970′s theme. With attention from the bartender came free drinks for the both of us. Shots… martinis… shots… martinis, all night.

We stumbled out of the bar laughing and holding onto each other for balance. “What’s happening? I’ve never been this drunk in my life!” I yelled. Kenzie and I lived in dorms that were six blocks apart and I came up with the idea that it would be safer to take a bus uptown instead of the train. We carefully made our way to 79th street where we leaned against the bus stop and waited. We’d been there for about 15 minutes when a yellow cab sped by, slammed on its breaks and then went in reverse until it was right in front of us. I froze as the cab driver rolled down his window.

“Where are you ladies going?” he asked.

Kenzie and I looked at each other, “We’re going uptown,” I said reluctantly.

“I’ll take you!” the cab driver said, unlocking the doors.

“Nooo nooo, its okay,” I said. Then I whispered into his window, “We don’t have any caaaash.”

“Don’t worry about it baby.”

Kenzie and I exchanged glances. I knew the decision was mine, so I quickly rationalized in my head that 1.) we’d been waiting on the bus for a long time… and 2.) if Kenzie had locked down free drinks for us all night, the least I could do was get us a free cab ride home.

We hopped in. The driver asked me where I was from, why I was living in New York and how long I had been here. I answered his questions as we rode uptown. I lived on 113th and Kenzie lived on 119th, so I should have been dropped off first, but the cab driver sped past my dorm as he continued to ask me questions. He pulled in front of Kenzies dorm and before she got out, she looked me in the eyes, “callmeassoonas yougethome,” she mumbled.

We waited until she was safely inside of her building and then he turned around to face me in the back seat. “Do you want to come sit up here with me?” he asked.

“Um… I’m fine back here.”

“No problem,” he turned back around and drove me to my intersection (I wouldn’t tell him where my exact building was) in silence. “Thanks for the ride,” I said as I reached to open my door and jump out.

“Wait,” he turned around in his seat again. “I– I think you’re a very beautiful woman. I work a lot and I don’t have time to meet people but, I’m looking for someone… a companion. I would like to see you again. Can I call you?”

I didn’t know what to say. I told him that I would take his number and said that I would call. Of course, I didn’t. He was sweet, but I wasn’t interested.

I swear this has happened more times than I can count. There was a super hot town car driver in Harlem who never asked me out, but insisted that I call him whenever I needed a ride. I spent the summer of 2008 with my own personal chauffeur… it was crazy.

Oh! and remember the Dating Driveby? He was a cab driver too!

Anyway, I’m sure the foreign/cultural thing has something to do with it, because most drivers are men of color. But would say on average I get one free cab ride per year. Sometimes I’m waiting for a bus and they offer to take me. Sometimes I go to hand them cash at the end of my trip and they say “don’t worry about it”. It’s usually harmless and I’ve never felt uncomfortable. I know a chubby girl who’s been living with her boyfriend for three years and she met him while riding in the back of his cab, so as I said before, I know I’m not the only PSP that this is happening to….

Of course the whole Taxi Cab phenomenon is more relevant to Big City PSP’s but, if you’ve had similar experiences please chime in!

The weirdest part about getting to know Kevin long distance is how I look forward to phone calls from him like I’d look forward to a date with someone local. During the week, we talk for about 30 minutes when I get home from work, the gym etc. and on the weekends, we can talk longer and later because I don’t have to be in bed by a certain time. With Kevin being 3 hours behind I can also keep my social schedule intact. I can go out with friends and even if I get home after 2am, Kevin and I can still talk for a while. These types of evenings are becoming routine for us.

Like last Friday, I had dinner/drinks with some girlfriends, got home around 1am (10pm Kevin’s time) and was still able to curl up in my bed and talk to him until a little after 3am. This wasn’t a problem because I could sleep in as long as I wanted the next day. Well, that was the plan….

My phone rang at 12:45pm and I was still asleep. I groggily reached over to hit the “ignore” button, but when I lifted the phone off of my nightstand I saw Kevin’s name (and a cute photo of us) flashing on my screen.

“Hey mister, is everything alright?”

“Yeah… I’m fine. I’m at the hospital.”

I sat up in my bed. “What happened?”

“I had my basketball game this morning and I messed up my ankle. It might be broken.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said.

Kevin wouldn’t know what was going on until he was seen by the doctor, so I just stayed on the phone with him until his name was called. Although I had planned to sleep later, I was already awake, so I got out of bed to start my weekend chores, run some errands and wait to hear back from him.

Dating in New York has put me in a constant state of ambivalence. I try not to get my hopes up about anything because its been my experience that things can fall apart as quickly as they develop. I’ve had guys call after dates and ask to see me again and then… I never hear from them. While I say I’m excited to explore things with Kevin; each time we hang up in the back of my mind I wonder if he’s going to call again. Then when he does call, I’m pleasantly surprised. Needless to say, I’ve remained in a very guarded space.

I think that’s why it wasn’t until I was scrubbing my bathtub that I realized; perhaps I shouldn’t brush off this particular phone call.

A few years ago I got sick and ended up in the hospital for a week (I’ll tell you that story another day). Even though I was scared and sometimes bored, I didn’t call every single person in my phone. Instead I called a few select people who were important to me.

Kevin calling me during an “emergency moment” is kind of a big deal. It speaks to where he’s placed me in his life.

Maybe its time for me to give real thought where he stands in mine.

Looking back on the men who’ve tried to “holler” at me, there are certain reoccurring trends. I can basically pin point specific “types” of men who I’ve consistently encountered as a Plus Size Princess in New York City and I’m willing to bet I’m not the only PSP they’re approaching. So, this week I begin a series called “Men Every Big Girl Will Meet”. Maybe some of these dudes will sound familiar… Here we go!

Theres a really sweet girl who has been interning at my office. She’s from the south, she has blonde hair, big green eyes and a chunky frame. I went to grab a cup of coffee the other day when I heard her talking to one of the other interns. Apparently, over the past week she:

Monday: Met a middle eastern guy on the train who was hot but way smaller/shorter than she’d like
Tuesday: Let him take her on her first date… ever
Wednesday: Had her first kiss with him (it was awful)
Thursday: Realized they weren’t a match due to his broken English and overly emotional ways
Friday: Dumped him.

As I Eavesdropped listened to the interns story, I realized she’d met… The Foreign Guy.

Foreign men love big women. So, when a big girl is shopping on 5th avenue where the mentality is that “you can’t be too skinny or too rich”, she shouldn’t be surprised when the foreign man on the corner selling knock-off handbags gives her more attention than the sales people at Saks.

I guess the obvious reason is that the standards of beauty in other countries are very different. In the sixth grade I can remember Mrs. Osaki teaching us about Yang Guifei, who brought down an ancient Chinese Dynasty because she was so hot. She was also chubby during a time when size conveyed a certain social/economic status. Basically she was fat because she could afford to eat, and everyone wanted to be fat to show that they could afford it too. The 11 year old Plus Size Princess in me was slightly annoyed that that I wasn’t born in that era. (Is there a Chinese translation for “You can never be too rich or too… fat?”).

Then there are the African and Middle Eastern countries where wives are sent away to fatten up in order to become attractive for their betrothed. The more they weigh on their wedding day, the better. As my engaged friends sign up for fitness boot camps in order to lose weight and fit into their wedding dresses, I wonder how much easier it would be if they were buying their dresses a size too big with the hopes of gaining weight, instead of a size too small in the hopes of losing it.

The other thing that stood out to me from our interns story was that her Foreigner was very emotional. I’d had a similar experience a few years back.

One night at Divas, I met a really cool economics major from Senegal. Obviously he liked big girls because he was at a big girl club. We had a good time on the dance floor so when he asked for my number, I gave it to him. He called me the next night to go to dinner. I didn’t have plans, so I went. After dinner, he became very clingy. He was calling me all the time, wanting to see me, telling me I was the girl he’d been looking for etc. etc. He was saying nice things, but it didn’t sit well with me. After a while I realized… he was lonely.

A lot of these foreign guys come to the states for a better life, but they leave a lot behind. They don’t have family or friends here, but they aren’t socially acclimated to American culture which can make it difficult to make friends. Especially in a city like New York, where although there are millions of people its easy to feel isolated.

I’m not saying that all foreign men are tragic and lonely. I’ve had a good time dating Middle Eastern, Australian, African, and Turkish guys. My mom is an American girl who got swept off her feet by an engineering major from across the Atlantic and 30+ years later they’re still together (and he’s a great husband and father ♥). But my mom was a little thick back in the day and my Dad liked what he saw. So their love story still falls under this category.

Foreign men like girls with a little extra here and there, which actually brings me to the next man every big girl (in New York) will meet: The Cab Driver. But more on that next week… stay tuned!

P.S. Have any of you dated a guy from another country? Or been approached by one online? How’d it go?

If you follow me on twitter, you may remember me asking this question. Here’s what prompted it:

I saw my phone blinking with Kevin’s name.

“Hello?”

“Heeey CeCe… what’s up?”

“Nothing, what are you doing?”

“Well, its Grants birthday! Remember Grant?”

“Of course I do,” Grant was one of Kevin’s best friends. I’d met him while I was home.

“Grant likes you a lot,” Kevin said. “I just thought I should call you…”

I listened for a while as he rambled some really funny and really sweet things. This was the first time I’d received a “drunk dial” from Kevin and as our conversation continued, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was quite entertaining….

The drunk dial happened after I’d been back in New York for about 3 weeks. Things with Kevin had been going well considering we lived on opposite sides of the country. During the first week I wasn’t sure if what happened over the holidays was a fling or if we were going to explore things. I was fine either way, but I figured I should make it clear to Kevin that although I was returning to the big city, he was welcome in my life.

After a few days of random text messaging, our first long distance conversation ended with me trying to find the right words. “Well, I just wanted to like, check in,” I said after a few minutes of chit chat. “and you know… if we’re going to be, um… ‘friends’ you should, like… call me sometimes.” (My Valley Girl accent comes out when I’m nervous… don’t judge me!)

“Definitely! …I’m sorry,” he replied.

“No, its totally, cool…”

“Alright, Celeste I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sounds good, bye.”

He knew that he was welcome to call. What he did from there was up to him. I figured I’d give it a week.

Eight days later, Kevin called. We talked for a little bit, but I had to cut the conversation short because I wasn’t at home. I called him back later that day and then over the next few days and weeks we slowly got into a phone routine. He’d call, regularly and we would talk about anything and everything. Although we have a strong history, knowing him from age 5-13 didn’t mean I knew him as an adult. We were learning about each other and it was fun.

When I hung up from the drunk dial I could feel myself going into girly mode. Aww, he’s thinking about me… which is why I sent out an SOS via twitter. I got some solid answers to my question from some of the male dating bloggers like @singlecityguy and @DatingRev and then @TheZaftigLife put what I was thinking into words when she said “I believe drunk words = sober thoughts.”

Of course, we don’t want the drunk dials to become a regular thing (and they haven’t). But it did give me some insight to where I was in Kevin’s mind (at the forefront, woot woot!). Honestly, I don’t know how I feel about starting a long distance relationship, but I have no complaints and I’m not rushing to define things, I like watching them slowly unfold.