musings.

Unexpected poetry writings by me, after a heartache filled long weekend:

Hindsight

those bright brown eyes
a flicker of love, a spark of affection
just a second of hope
now, gone for good
eyes cold and desolate
forever frozen in time
filled with contempt and the choice
to never look back at me
I should’ve guessed it wouldn’t last
just based by my luck in the past

Never

she was never the beauty
she was never desired
she was always pushed aside
in favour of someone better
so when he called her his beauty
she fell for him
and his lovely words
but then he broke her heart
oh, to quote kurt vonnegut,
so it bloody goes

many happy returns,
-Kate

All things must pass.

It’s been a while, my dear readers, and my life has made a total one-eighty since my last post. A month ago, I was insanely happy, writing about Rupert Brooke, my students did amazing on their reading standardized test, and to my most surprise, I started seeing the most wonderful man. This last change in my life came out of nowhere, but I thank God for this unexpected and brilliant blessing. It’s a fledgling relationship - it’s still so new, and we’re just trying to get to know each other at this point. It, however, is so nice to have someone who truly believes that my dreams are worth pursuing…and doesn’t have doubts in my talents and abilities.

Unfortunately, not everyone in my family sees these qualities in this man. This, combined with other things I am apparently, doing wrong in my life, has persuaded me to leave home and start anew. It is time for me to live my life. Is this man the absolute reason I’m leaving? No. I am twenty-seven years old and need to worry about me. I need to be able to make my own decisions and choices. I am naturally a people pleaser - I’ve always been like this. It’s a shortcoming, I realize, as I approach thirty…because I need to be strong enough to defend myself as I continue my adulthood. I need to stand up for myself and learn how to say “no.” I shouldn’t have to worry about disappointing or upsetting people by using the word no. I want to be able to date whomever I wish, come and go from home as I please, and pursue my teaching career without being criticized. It is time for me to be a little selfish and think about my life. If I don’t, any confidence I still have in myself will only disappear.

This realization doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less to pack away two bookcases worth of history books. I felt as if though I was packing away a part of me - books have always been a piece of my identity. My heart was breaking as I carefully organized my familiar historians; Kershaw, Kotkin, Overy, Coogan, etc. by their historical specialty (no lie: I seriously have a box labeled “postcolonial studies”) into drab cardboard boxes. I don’t have enough room where I am going to have bookshelves. They will be going into temporary storage while I settle into my new life. I have to be optimistic and realize that I am not hiding my identity by putting away my favorite books - I have to do it, just temporarily, to help me strengthen it.

I’m sure you can imagine that I must have a million different thoughts and anxieties bouncing around in my head as I make sense of this abrupt change. I didn’t think an innocent relationship would spark the need for me to leave home. I thought I’d get to continue my life as it was, just enjoying this man’s company, finishing off my first year of teaching, and being with my family. I was 100% wrong, and as a result, I’m absolutely not myself. I find myself worrying so much about everything, including him. I get scared that if one day he doesn’t want to see me, it just means he wants nothing at all to do with me. I shouldn’t think that, because if we were seeing each other every day, we would get sick of the constant company. I shouldn’t think that because it is not in his nature to be uncaring. He’s the most empathetic and faithful man I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, but this situation I’m in isn’t allowing me to think straight and logically. He promised me, before things between us really developed, that he would do his best to be the nicest to me - to trust him. There is no reason I shouldn’t believe in his promise. I want nothing more than to hold on to that promise, because I really do trust his good and God-fearing nature.

“All things must pass
None of life’s strings can last
So I must be on my way
And face another day”

— George Harrison, from "All Things Must Pass"

To be candid: I’ve been an asshole, and he doesn’t deserve that. I need to just take a deep breath and take each day with him as it comes. It doesn’t matter in what form he’s in - text, voice, in person, in my dreams…I know he’s there. I know I can and should rely on him, because I do believe in his simple promise to trust him. That’s all I could ever want from someone I’m seeing. Gifts and gestures are nothing to me - I prefer promises and words.

If you are reading this, please do know that I am sorry for being a burden, because that is the last thing I have wanted to be to you.

I am stronger that I am giving myself credit for, and I know I can stand up on my own. I know I can make it through this tough time. God is guiding me because this is His plan. The only plan I want to follow is God’s. Not my father’s. Not my mother’s - just God’s. I may not feel like a history nerd without my favorite books at my finger tips, but this is only temporary. I’ll be reunited with those books soon. My family will, if not accept, but hopefully respect my decisions one day. I’ll move into my new place and be independent. I will continue to believe in his promise as we get to know each other and take it slow.

I’ve been thinking about the adage “this, too, shall pass” as I get through this crazy time. It’s been helping me every day, but then I was reminded about the song “All Things Must Pass” from the eponymous solo album by George Harrison. I think this phrase is better applied to my situation. It’s not just one thing I’m fighting - it’s several of them - and it’s true. I’ll come out stronger. I’ll emerge victorious…because all things must (and will) pass.

Many happy returns,

-Kate

In Memoriam

Disclaimer: As an Amazon Associate, I may earn a small commission from qualifying purchases if you use the links listed within this post.  Using the following links to purchase any of the books discussed will not add to the cost of the item(s). It’s an excellent way for you to support my continued efforts to provide amazing and free content to you. Thank you!

Hello dear readers -

This is a brief post, but I couldn’t let this day go by without honoring one of the poets who has helped shape my understanding of the Great War (1914-1918). Today marks the 104th anniversary of the death of one of England’s brilliant war poets, Rupert Chawner Brooke (b. 8 August 1887, d. 23 April 1915). If you haven’t read the works of Rupert Brooke, take a moment to find them online (or order an anthology here). Poetry Foundation offers an excellent biography and selection of Brooke’s most famous poems if you don’t feel like committing to purchasing an anthology.

Rupert Brooke, as quoted by William Butler Yeats, “the handsomest man in England.”

Rupert Brooke was only twenty-seven when he tragically perished two days before he was to embark on what would become the ill-fated Gallipoli campaign in the Dardanelles. He, like many young men of his generation in Great Britain, believed it to be his duty to country to volunteer as a soldier during the Great War. He enlisted in the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve as soon as the conflict began in 1914, despite already having started a career as a talented writer and poet after he completed his education at Cambridge. He had gained a following amongst Great Britain’s literary elite of the early twentieth century - the writers Virginia Woolf and William Butler Yeats considered him a friend. Brooke, however, decided his duty to his country was more important than continuing his writing career.

That is not to say Brooke stopped writing while in the navy. Brooke’s most famous works emerged during the war. His poems reflected the feelings most men held when they first enlisted during the beginning of the war - optimistic and patriotic. Great Britain believed the war would be over by Christmas of 1914, but of course, as we all know, this was not the outcome. The war dragged on, and the soldiers who believed it to be their duty to serve did serve…knee deep in the dirty, rat-infested trenches of the Western Front. They became disillusioned with the war - the later war poets like Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen would write about their hatred for the conflict because they, unlike Brooke, witnessed most of the brutality of 1916 and 1917.

Brooke did not share in Sassoon’s and Owen’s experiences. He died before the violence and bloodshed of the Great War peaked. He was proud to be a soldier; he was honored to die on behalf of his beloved England. These sentiments are especially reflected in the “Nineteen-Fourteen” series of sonnets. The most famous of the five sonnets is arguably “The Soldier,” in which Brooke is perfectly content with dying for England, because England, personified as his “mother,” helped raise him. England was responsible for allowing him to mature and become a man. Brooke, if he died, only wanted to be remembered as one of England’s cherished sons, buried in “some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England” in gratitude for the role England played in his maturation.

Brooke’s death wish was indeed fulfilled - after acquiring a mosquito bite when stationed in Egypt, he became ill with sepsis after the navy headed off to the Aegean Sea en route to Gallipoli in April of 1915. Brooke died on 23 April 1915 on the Greek island of Skyros, and was buried by his fellow soldiers in an olive grove…the same soldiers who would meet their demise at Gallipoli just a few days later.

That Greek olive grove will forever be a piece of England now that his body and spirit are buried there.

Here’s to you, Rupert Brooke. May you continue to rest in peace, “under an English heaven.”

Before I end this piece, I leave you with Brooke’s last written poem. It was an early draft created just before the Gallipoli campaign, and remains unpolished and incomplete - it was appropriately titled “Fragment.” As much as I love “The Soldier,” I am haunted by this last piece of his, because I truly do believe he was already foreshadowing his death. That, however, is subject to your own interpretation.

I strayed about the deck, an hour, to-night
Under a cloudy moonless sky; and peeped
In at the windows, watched my friends at table,
Or playing cards, or standing in the doorway,
Or coming out into the darkness. Still
No one could see me.

I would have thought of them
—Heedless, within a week of battle—in pity,
Pride in their strength and in the weight and firmness
And link’d beauty of bodies, and pity that
This gay machine of splendour ’ld soon be broken,
Thought little of, pashed, scattered. …

Only, always,
I could but see them—against the lamplight—pass
Like coloured shadows, thinner than filmy glass,
Slight bubbles, fainter than the wave’s faint light,
That broke to phosphorus out in the night,
Perishing things and strange ghosts—soon to die
To other ghosts—this one, or that, or I.

Many happy returns,

-Kate

the deification of adolf hitler

Disclaimer: As an Amazon Associate, I may earn a small commission from qualifying purchases if you use the links listed within this post.  Using the following links to purchase any of the books discussed will not add to the cost of the item(s). It’s an excellent way for you to support my continued efforts to provide amazing and free content to you. Thank you!

Hello dear readers -

I am currently working on a book recommendation for the first selection I’d like to feature on my website. This selection was a favorite of mine that I read during my graduate program, and I can’t wait to finish up the review. For now, I thought I’d show you all just how much this particular book caught my attention and interest by featuring the response paper I needed to write for the class.

A little background: the class was a graduate history seminar called “Modernity, Revolutions, and Totalitarianism.” The class was offered by George Mason University’s resident Russian historian, Dr. Steven Barnes. I was blessed to take coursework and, eventually, complete my comprehensive examinations under his brilliant tutelage and guidance. It is because of Dr. Barnes that I have had more confidence in my historical writing and critical thinking skills. The course focused on how the concept and question of modernity (I want you to ask yourself: how can modernity really be defined with regard to time?) can affect the political and social framework of a country.

The book I’m discussing is Sir Ian Kershaw’s work, The ‘Hitler Myth’: Image and Reality in the Third Reich. Kershaw takes the idea that, after the decadent, short-lived period of the failed Weimar Republic, the average German citizen was immediately taken in by the promises of the rising Nazi Party - that this party would be responsible for helping Germany revive itself from the embarrassment and ghost of the despised Treaty of Versailles. The Nazi Party literally started to deify its leader, Adolf Hitler, as a “god” and constructed the idea of cult-building to emphasize his power.

As a result of the party’s cult-building, the Germans were easily manipulated into believing that Hitler was the “god” who would assist them with making Germany a great nation once again. This made it much easier for the party to take over, condemn the Jewish people (and anyone responsible for their economic plight after the Great War), and eventually, implement the “Final Solution.” The work I’m presenting you is a response to Kershaw’s theory of the Hitler “cult.” You’'ll notice references to Italian Fascism and the influence of Catholicism and spirituality. Happy reading! I’ll be posting the actual book review soon:

Ian Kershaw’s The ‘Hitler Myth’ focuses on the “image-building and image reception”[1] of the so-called “Hitler myth” or “cult.” This propaganda motive was necessary to give Germany a leader who seemed to be concerned for the nation’s future. As Hitler enchanted the masses with his public persona and enigmatic charm, the Nazi Party, constantly derided by the public, continued to mold an economically sound Germany, prevent war, and solve the “Jewish Question.” The Hitler cult allowed for these changes to take place; the people may not have agreed with the ideologies and beliefs of the Nazi Party, but because they were so entranced by Hitler himself, kept the party in power until the end of the war. Each chapter shows the development of the cult, how people fervently began to ‘join’ it, and Kershaw argues that not everyone believed in the imagery. He concludes his work with the ‘beginning of the end’ of the cult, right when Germany went to war, and the inevitable demise of the cult when the war ended. 

Chapter four, “The Führer versus the Radicals” (roughly 1936-1937), shows how much the cult had evolved from Hitler’s election as Chancellor in 1933, as well as how spirituality presented by Hitler allowed for the public to leave behind the church in favor of the Führer.  Kershaw immediately states that Hitler was “basically opposed to Christianity,”[2] but that he desired to create a balanced leadership of secularism and spirituality. As soon as Hitler took power, his speeches showed a shift in tone; they became more “messianic,”[3] as he wanted to help spark an “awakening of the nation”[4] through these seemingly god-like speeches. Kershaw though, says that Hitler, because of his non-belief in Christianity, wanted to portray a spiritually devout leader to the people, as opposed to someone who believed in a structured religious order.

This brings this argument back to Peasants into Frenchmen. Weber’s chapter on the spiritual reawakening of the nation echoed in Kershaw’s chapter. The rigid Catholic Church structure of pre-revolution France became a more interpretive spiritual revival for the people, and this is much like what Hitler is trying to accomplish through his deified speeches. While the Frenchmen in Weber were still “Catholic,” they knew there was more to Catholicism than just the religious, church-attending aspect. There was a spiritual part to Catholicism, much like there is a spirituality present in Hitler’s Germany.

The chapter draws on ‘miracles’ performed by Hitler. The mere sound of his voice and his physical presence, he told his people, were enough to awaken them and unite them as a group to help Germany thrive as a nation. Although there was still a firm belief in “institutionalized religious practices”[5] throughout Germany, Hitler’s speeches took people away from the conformist churches, and allowed them to convert to his “substitute faith”[6] of believing in the nation.

Unlike Eugen Weber in Peasants Into Frenchmen, Kershaw gives the counterargument to Hitler’s new ‘religion.’ Weber does not offer a response from the French Catholic Church about this shift in spirituality. Kershaw, however, portrays the struggle between Hitler and the churches, especially the Catholic ones. There was some support of Hitler by the Catholics because of the Nazis and their fight against Communism. Some believed that Hitler was “recognized by the Holy Father.”[7] These beliefs, though, were held by the upper ranks of the Catholic hierarchy. Local priests despised Nazism, and even dared to insult Hitler when making critiques about his leadership. He was not a deity; he was not someone who people should put their faith in. Not only was Hitler’s leadership criticized, but the lower ranks simply thought the Nazi Party was untrustworthy, and a threat to the state. Their critiques went largely ignored. Hitler continued to show some ‘support’ for Germany’s churches. Thanks to the imagery of his cult, no one caught up in his new ‘religion’ would ever believe that he could lie about “his professions of support for the Churches.”[8]

This chapter can only serve as a reminder of how a leader can sway the views of the public though spirituality. Weber’s post-revolution France allowed for the French to leave the church and believe in a spirituality, while Hitler’s glorified speeches persuaded Germans to further believe in the developing cult. How would Hitler’s cult have continued to grow if he had not placed spiritual overtones in his speeches to the masses? Did Mussolini himself use these spiritual tactics in his own regime; will this be a theme encountered when the chosen works on Fascist Italy are discussed later in the semester, or is this ‘spirituality for the state’ only common to Nazi Germany?

Many happy returns,

-Kate

(works cited below)

[1] Ian Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth’: Image and Reality in the Third Reich (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), 3.

[2] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 106.

[3] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 107.

[4] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 107.

[5] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 108.

[6] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 108.

[7] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 113.

[8] Kershaw, The ‘Hitler Myth,’ 120.

goodbye to all that.

The time in between the beginning and end of that relationship in my previous post are all a blur to me now. I do not wish to remember that time because I refuse to spend another moment worrying about him.

He’s moved on. He’s found someone else who will give him everything I wouldn’t. I’ve moved on by using my writing as an emotional platform to rid myself of lingering feelings.

The beginning - that seemingly magical moment we met in college - and the end, are the moments that will truly remain with me. Our end arrived, and although it pained me to let him go, I know now that he was not God’s plan for me.

And I thank God every day for the path I am on now, without him.

I wrote this piece on March 9th of last year, when I realized it had been his birthday and it was the second one I wouldn’t be celebrating with him. I was saddened by this realization - I, admittedly, did cry and spent the better part of his birthday in bed. But, the next day marked the turning point for getting over him the moment I chose to write down my feelings on paper.

That day, I wrote our ending and let it remain a relic of my past - a past that I do not ever wish to return to.

So here, dear reader, is our end:

March 9th, 2018

Yesterday was his birthday. It was the second birthday I’ve spent without him. Two years since I last saw his face. Two years since everything fell apart. I still wonder if he kept the DVD set of Downton Abbey  I got him for the first (and last) birthday we were together. I then smile, and think back to when we watched the series together - he’d never seen it, and I kept begging him to watch it with me. He adored it, and it was yet another thing that we could say we had in common.

And then, I feel my heart break all over again when I recall how we ended things over a phone call just a few months later in May.

Tuesday, May 3rd, 2016 to be exact. 

My worst day.

Just a few days before I’d started my comprehensive exams for my history graduate program.

The day that he finished his term teaching history at the community college.

He didn’t have anything to worry about if he was hurt by us ending things - no exams, no classes to play student in. He’d achieved what he wanted. He already had his MA. He had his job. He had the whole summer free to be away from writing papers, and thinking of a thesis for graduation. A broken heart wouldn’t affect his studies - he didn’t have any. 

Me? I cried non-stop, and listened to The Beatles (Rubber Soul, by the way, is the perfect melancholy break-up album) on repeat as I typed three exams from a variety of topics ranging from post-colonial Europe, Communism, Josef Stalin, modernity, and totalitarian governments. I wondered how the hell I even passed my exams. I couldn’t be bothered with thinking about what impact and role Fascism played in Mussolini’s Italy as I worked on the essays. I didn’t even think about the possibility of me failing my comps, and what it would mean for my future in the grad program, thanks to my altered state of mind. All I wondered was:

Does he hate me?

I miss his hazel eyes already. And those freckles. 

Is he thinking about me? 

Does me miss me?

Is he going to show up on my doorstep, profess his undying love for me, and ask me to marry him? 

I submitted my exams - all thoughts of him still fresh and painful the moment I emailed them to my professor and clicked “send.” The last hope I had for him did not occur in that four-day period, burrowed up in my room, as I struggled to write each exam.

He was gone. There would be no grand gesture from him. He didn’t love me. He didn’t want a life with me. He told me that, plain as day, especially when he told me I’d never be the girl who would be the mother to his children (my heart broke at that statement). He was over me. He didn’t want to fight for me.

He didn’t want me. 

I can easily state these realizations now. It took me almost two years to get to this point.

Almost two years. And my feelings remain unchanged. I don’t know if I’ll ever really get over him.

(But, oh, dear reader. I did. I’m so glad I did.)

Many happy returns…

-Kate

first impressions

As someone who has, to put it lightly, uhh…unusual tastes in the history I study, I have struggled to find a “better half" who will tolerate my quirky interests. Here’s an example if you’re wondering what I mean by “quirky.” My mom and I were talking about weddings and cliché proposals. I said that I would absolutely hate it if my boyfriend (we’re talking imaginary here - as if that’s going to happen any time soon) proposed to me on Valentine’s Day, my birthday, Christmas, or New Year’s Eve. So, she then asked me what my ideal proposal scenario would be.

Without missing a beat, I said, “June 6th, the Normandy beaches, preferably on the Omaha or Utah sector.”

Then she dared to ask what day the actual wedding would occur on.

Again, without missing a beat:

“May 8th of the following year, to commemorate Victory in Europe Day…and grandma’s birthday.”

I’d really need to find the right man to make that happen. The right man who would just get me enough to make those scenarios happen. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to take my quirkiness on, but accept and love me for it. I could be wrong, but I doubt there’s a man out there who would do all that for me…just to make me happy. Now you’re probably wondering, my goodness, are all of these posts going to deal with sappiness and heartbreak?

To answer your question: no, they are not. I think, however, it’s okay for me to talk about my (lack of a) romantic life because I want you, my readers, to know that:

It is absolutely okay to be yourself. I have thought, for years, that I need that better half to define me. That myself isn’t good enough for this world. I’ve only recently come to the conclusion that no, I do not need a better half. I can be my own better half. I can be a better me and let the world take me as I am. I am happy with the way my life is turning out so far. I’ve finally embarked on the path I’ve wanted to take. I’m using my historical nerdiness in a relevant field. I am a teacher, sharing my passion for the subject to a varied pool of students from all walks of life.

I teach Language Arts to preteens, hoping to instill the value of reading in them while they are still young. I teach world history to college students - most of them are in my class to fulfill general education requirements. I, however, have some older students that are there to prove to their family members that it is never too late to get a college education. It makes me feel like I am making a difference as a teacher by being that educator who will help them prove that no, it is certainly never too late to learn.

If there’s not a better half for me out there, wanting to stand by my side and be my cheerleader as I become a seasoned educator, then that is his loss. I know I have achieved an iota of self-fulfillment by doing what I do best - sharing my love for learning and history…and I get to do it in a professional realm.

That still doesn’t mean I don’t hold on to hope that my better half is somewhere in this world - whether he’s somewhere where I live in northern Virginia, an ocean away in Ireland…

Waiting. Just waiting. For me. Little, unremarkable, unashamedly nerdy me.

Once upon a time, I thought I had found my better half. I thought this would be the guy who would give me that Normandy beach proposal. I thought I was going to marry this man - I prayed that he would ask me to be his wife. I had dreams of us blissfully married; our days filled with history, books, being underpaid teachers, living in a cozy house with our cats…and eventually, our children.

I was wrong. I was so so wrong. It took me a long time to get over him. Sometimes I do wonder if I truly am over him. Part of the reason I started writing about my historical endeavors was because of him. I began to put our story to paper - the two history nerds in love - as a way of coping with the heartbreak. The writing process has finally helped me get over him.

So, I offer y’all First Impressions, a vignette of the day I truly believed I met my better half:

I’m pretty sure I was in love with him from the moment I caught him smiling at me during the first class session of one of my graduate history seminars. I walked in the room with my friend Christina, and I could feel a gaze on me instantly. This bearded guy, wearing a black and red checkered shirt and glasses. I took him in…his adorable freckles. His mirthful brown eyes. His floppy dark hair, sprinkled ever-so-slightly with grey. His good-natured grin.

Just him, really.

He wasn’t trying to play coy; that was a definite. Not with the way his gaze remained fixed on me.

So, I take back my earlier sentiment: I know I was in love with him upon our first meeting.

I didn’t think that first day back to school would have me instantly falling for some guy I’d never even spoken to. I honestly thought I’d be on my own in that seminar. Christina, of course, was with me, and at least I’d be able to make some snarky commentary with her underneath our breaths during whatever lecture we’d have, but really, the class was meant to be an independent research project. Maybe I’d have to make some awkward small talk with the other students at some point in the semester. Cultivating relationships? Nah. I was beyond caring about that in grad school, and this class was giving me the opportunity to work (mostly) independently.

I liked relying on myself. I liked being alone. Alone meant I could focus on getting a good grade; the class was a “capstone.” You needed to pass to meet all requirements in the MA program. The final paper was worth 60% of my grade—I knew it would be hard work. I didn’t need (but probably secretly wanted) the distraction of a man to prevent me from doing thorough research and writing a concise, well-mapped thesis.  I didn’t want to take the risk of having someone break my heart in the middle of the semester, causing me to have an emotional upheaval, and jeopardize my work. With my track record, I knew that’s exactly what would happen. 

(Just sayin’, men are absolutely, the worst distractions.)

But that evening, when my professor asked each of us to introduce ourselves, had me pray to God that I’d get to know the man who smiled at me. No distractions weren’t an option anymore. Who was he?

Name. Concentration. Ideal topic that we would base our final papers on. That’s what we were forced to tell the class as we went one by one around the classroom to speak.

I barely paid attention to everyone else. I didn’t even care; everyone was like, I’m so and so who just loves America so much, that I made my concentration American history!

Those damn Americanists. Where were the European historians at? I get it; we’re in America, but still…

So it’s this one other guy’s turn. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Couldn’t resist staring at him for a moment; he was total eye candy. Still, didn’t even care to note his name. He said he was interested in Scottish history. Okay, cool…decided I wasn’t interested. My eyes followed back to my man. I waited like an impatient sod, desperate to hear his response. If it was Europe, that was it. We were soulmates.

Finally. It was his turn.

“My name is David. My concentration is European history—”

Oh, thank God.

“And I’m interested in researching about Oscar Wilde and the sodomy charge that was brought against him.”

Interesting, I thought, as I processed what he’d just said. I myself would not have decided to research about Oscar Wilde in a history class. I think it’s because I relate Wilde too often to a literary background that I forget that yes, the charges that were brought against him would have had historical impact. As I continued to dwell on his topic (and how much I really wanted to ask him about his research), I completely ignored everyone else’s turn. Before I knew it, I had to speak.

I cleared my throat, aaaand…

“I’m Kate. My concentration is European history (there were like, five of us in the room, compared to the nine Americanists—clearly, we were the minority, but whatever), and I would like to study the libel trial against the Irish nationalist leader, Charles Stewart Parnell.”

Boom. That’s right. Go Ireland. My professor commented on my topic but I can’t even remember what he told me. My mind was elsewhere.

I dared to look at David.

(Wasn’t even paying attention to Christina, who was now telling the class about her research project.)

And he was still staring back in my direction.

(Those pretty brown eyes.)

Class ended at nine that evening. Tall, dark, and handsome, to my surprise, flagged me down. Wanted to know more about my fascination with Parnell.

Especially was wondering why I hadn’t signed up for the “Ireland in War and Revolution” course that he was in.

Honestly, I had wanted to. My favorite professor was teaching it, and he’d told me about the course before I’d signed up for fall semester classes the previous spring. The truth was, I was craving a different area of Europe to study (as much as I loved Ireland), so I told him that I opted to take “Stalinism” (of all topics) with my second favorite professor in the history department instead.

And I was barely paying attention to him. I was trying, not-so-subtlety, to look for David, but he’d walked out ahead of me and this guy, who politely introduced himself as Josh (glad he did, because I really didn’t remember his name from the classroom introductions.)

Like the nerd I am, I continued to ramble to Josh that I wanted to learn more about Stalin… because I loved discussing rhetoric in totalitarian governments (truth) and that was the reason I hadn’t wanted to take the Ireland class (double truth). My history obsessions are sooo seductive, I know. I thought Josh would be turned off after that (he probably thought, wow, this girl’s a weirdo, let me walk away from her slowly), but no! He continued to walk with me to the quad. Josh was talking up his interests in Scotland (…meh), but said he had an interest in Ireland, and then I’m there correcting him when he merely referred to the Provisional Irish Republican Army as the “IRA.”

They had different names. The PIRA, the faction that emerged during the Northern Irish “Troubles,” was the one we were discussing, and I always get so pissed when people just call them as the the “IRA.”

(Nitpicky, yes, I know.)

But on our way to the quad, I saw out the corner of my eye, someone lighting up a cigarette. Oh eww, secondhand smoke. Gross. I turned my head from Josh, and looked at the offender.

David. Trying so desperately to get his lighter to work. The flame met the cigarette just as I locked eyes with him again for probably the sixtieth time that night.

He looked at me guiltily, and it was sooo awkward that I just turned my attention back to Josh. We walked past David, and I felt like a total jerk.

Ugh.

(I was a fool. In love.)

And it would be another week before we saw each other again.

(Double ugh.)

Until next time…

Many happy returns,

-Kate

the modern day flapper

Disclaimer: As an Amazon Associate, I may earn a small commission from qualifying purchases if you use the links listed within this post.  Using the following links to purchase any of the cosmetic products discussed will not add to the cost of the item(s). It’s an excellent way for you to support my continued efforts to provide amazing and free content to you. Happy reading!

The middle school I work at just announced we would be doing a “spirit week” at the end of February. I am usually the teacher that doesn’t participate, but the themes for this spirit week grabbed my attention. On Thursday the 28th, we are having a ‘blast from the past’ day. We get to dress up as our favorite decade. My mind immediately gravitated to:

flapper.

I asked my work bestie if she would don a glitzy, fringed 1920s Gatsby style dress so we could be twins that day. She agreed. We’ve gathered all the pieces we need to look like 1920s fashion plates. Amazon was the perfect place to get our dresses and gloves. I already had shoes and sparkly headbands. Our hair is relatively short - I only need to flat iron it to make it look more like a flapper’s bob, and hers is curly enough to represent the famous Marcel wave. We made the right decision for our decade. It didn’t take much effort to get the outfits ready.

My friend, however, asked if I would do her makeup because she doesn’t really wear it. I can go from no makeup to full face whenever I feel like it, so she thinks I’d be able to recreate a 1920s makeup job.

Uhhh…

Am I a professional makeup artist?

That is a no.

Am I scared of looking too vampy in flapper style makeup for school?

That is a yes.

So while I may not be trained to recreate a professional, 1920s true flapper look, my makeup skills are more than decent enough for us to play the part without scaring off our students. I was able to find the right balance between vintage and modern. I decided to keep three key features of the flapper look to maintain the integrity of the makeup:

1. An entirely matte finished face.

2. Dark lips with cupid’s bow intact.

3. Heavier, smoky eye.

Numbers two and three, however, would be modified for a more modern approach, but still visible enough for people to say yes, they are from the 1920s.

The Process Begins

Always, always, always set your eye makeup first to let any fallout occur before applying foundation. I did, however, decide to apply my primer so it would sink into my skin while I did the eye makeup. What you use to prime is up to you. My skin does have redness, so I rely on a green primer for color correction. I also didn’t want any sort of natural redness to pop through my foundation and blush if I didn’t use my primer. I use the Makeup Forever Step 1 Skin Equalizer Primer (Sephora, $37) for my everyday makeup. I used it for this tutorial as well. All I did was dab it on my fingers and apply it with my tips - no brush is necessary.

My arsenal of literal eye candy - everything you see here was used to attain a smoky eye.

Eyes

I started my eyes by applying a mattifying base to my lids. I always use the MAC Cosmetics Pro Longwear Paint Pot in Painterly (MAC Cosmetics, $22). It is the perfect nude pink base that looks gorgeous on its own, but serves as a strong, blendable base color when I use other eye shadow palettes on top of it. The paint pot lives up to its name - it does go on as a cream, so make sure to let it dry for about a minute before continuing your process.

I reached for my Marc Jacobs Eye-Conic Multi-Finish Eye Shadow Palette (Sephora, $49) in The Night Owl (you’ll see it on the Sephora website renamed as Edgitorial). This is where I decided to add my darker color out from the middle to the outer corners of my eyes. I used the shade “We’ll See” - a milk chocolate matte finish that I blended until I was satisfied that I did not look like I got punched in the face. I cannot do a decent smoky eye, so I get wary when the shades are insanely dark like “We’ll See” is. I then took another brush and blended a lighter shade from the palette to start giving my eyes some depth. I used “Take a Memo,” described as a pale peach matte, and blended it all across my eyelids.

Close-up of the Marc Jacobs palette - this beauty deserves to have its own photo. “Take a Memo” is the shade right in the middle. “We’ll See” is two shades to the right of “Take a Memo.”

I was craving, however, a little color so as to match the delicate blush shade of my dress. So I said goodbye to my Marc Jacobs palette and dug out my Tarte Love, Trust and Fairy Dust (Sephora, $39) one - filled with shimmery and delicate plums and pinks. With a new brush, I blended a mauve matte shade called “Frolic” in the bottom halves of my eyelids, and then finished off my eyes with another palette. I used the NARS Pro Palette Duo in Sugarland (NARS Cosmetics, $25). Sugarland has two colors; a golden shimmer and a beautiful and ethereal orchid. I topped off my eyes with the orchid selection…and my pseudo-smoky eye was set.

I did a quick liquid liner with my Tarte Tarteist Double Take Eye Liner (Sephora, $24) and avoided a cat eye, as that would be anachronistic with my decade. I only lined the tops of my eyelids, and then coated my eyelashes with my new favorite mascara, NARS Climax (Sephora, $24). I was debating getting false eyelashes…but figured that would definitely make the look “too much” for the school day. Luckily, the mascara coats on evenly, allowing for multiple applications to make the eyelashes appear long and luscious.

Setting the Face

My fallout was dusted off. My primer had set. Hello, foundation. Using a damp Beauty Blender (Sephora, $20), I decided to practice my tutorial with my Clinique Stay-Matte Oil-Free foundation (Sephora, $27). I didn’t want to waste any of the foundation I use on a daily basis for a practice run. The Clinique foundation, however, would still give me the same effect I was looking for: matte, dull, and doll-like. When I do my makeup, I will be using my reliable Make Up For Ever Ultra HD Invisible Cover Foundation (Amazon, $56 - my shade is Y245). This is a medium coverage matte foundation that can easily be built up. The HD formula makes it perfect to be filmed or photographed - it was the foundation of choice by the Downton Abbey makeup artists to make the actresses playing Edwardian aristocrats look flawless on screen during an age where makeup usage was minimal (read: none at all).

Do not be afraid to go heavier on your foundation for this look. When I examined my face, I realized I’d actually missed some spots (especially around my nose) because I was afraid I would look too caked on. The nice thing about the Beauty Blender is that it does allow the user to control and spread out the foundation easier. Once my foundation was applied liberally all over my face (do not forget to apply at the jawline and into the neck to make your face smooth and even!), I took my Sephora Pro Precision Powder Brush #59 (Sephora, $38) and dipped it into my holy grail of setting powders…

Starting from the left: The Clinique foundation was the choice I used to do this tutorial, but I’m going to rely on my Makeup Forever foundation for the final look next week. To the right of that bottle is the Laura Mercier powder that really gives me the “vintage” vibe I’m trying to achieve. Below are the face tools: my Beauty Blender and Sephora powder brush.

Ladies, if you know your makeup and you’ve guessed what it is, then you’re absolutely right. The Laura Mercier Translucent Loose Setting Powder (Sephora, $39) is perfect for obtaining flawless makeup. I use it everyday, and knew that this would be the only setting powder I’d use for this look I am trying to achieve. The feature I like most about this setting powder is that it does not cause the dreaded “flashback” when being photographed. It keeps my face matte and fresh all day, even during a humid Virginia summer. I blended this into every nook and cranny on my face to truly get the right aesthetic.

With my blush brush, I then applied my Charlotte Tilbury Cheek to Chic Blush in Ecstasy (Sephora, $40) on the apples of my cheeks and dabbed a little on my nose. I hadn’t used Charlotte Tilbury products in my makeup routines until this past October when I got my makeup done at Sephora. I was impressed by the quality and color of the blush my makeup artist used on me. I asked her what product it was. Once she said it was Charlotte Tilbury, any doubts I had about buying her products disappeared. Into my shopping basket it went. I like that you can apply it fairly heavily (without looking tacky!) if you’re trying to play dress up - I used it when I did my makeup for Halloween. I was Mary Poppins, and the blush really did help pull the look of my costume together. I looked more like her character, and less like myself.

Charlotte Tilbury products can easily be used for every day cosmetic wear, or if you’re trying to get a more dramatic look when using makeup for a costume/fancy event!

Eyes (Again)

I decided that my bottom lashes needed definition. Instead of using a pencil eyeliner, I used a trick another Sephora makeup artist taught me. I grabbed a small, angled eye shadow brush and carefully dipped it into the one of the shades from the Tarte palette I’d used earlier. I picked the shade “Wonder,” a matte plum color, and I softly lined my bottom lash line with eye shadow. This trick gave my eyes a soft and glamorous finish. Using a pencil liner would’ve made the final look too harsh and vampy.

Lips (Finally)

Did you know that there is a woman who is dedicated to recreating lipstick colors of the past with modern and better quality cosmetic ingredients? If you didn’t - you do now. Bésame Cosmetics, founded by the cosmetic historian Gabriela Hernandez, sells accurate reproductions of popular lipstick shades from decades past. Bésame first became famous for their signature red shades, but the cosmetic line has expanded into skincare, perfume, foundations, and eye shadows. Bésame now has lipstick shades from the 1960s and 1970s, which are representative of the neutral trends popular of the time.

My best friend purchased my first lipstick for from Bésame for Christmas a couple years ago. She knew of my love for the 1920s, and gifted me the shade 1922: Blood Red (Bésame Cosmetics, $22). When applied with a heavy hand, this shade is as flapper as it gets. We’re talking Theda Bara vampy. What I wanted to maintain with my lips was the cupid’s bow, rather than the full-blown color, so this meant lining them. What I love about the Bésame lipsticks is that they are designed to use as a lip liner and a lipstick. The tips of the lipstick are chiseled. This allows the user to line with the slanted, pointed edges before taking the flatter end to fill in the rest of the lips.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

I lined with the lipstick first and then blotted my lips together to help spread the color. Then I gently dabbed a coating of the lipstick to fill in any gaps, but I did not apply it like a normal tube of lipstick. This method allowed for me to easily define the cupid’s bow and make the lips red, but not too red.

Taking It All Off

It took me the better part of twenty minutes to make sure my face was clean and cleared of my chiseled on makeup. I started to take off the warpaint by wiping my face with my Cetaphil Gentle Makeup Removing Wipes ($6.20 on Amazon, via Cetaphil’s website) and then cleansing it with Biore’s Charcoal Cleanser Micellar Water (Amazon, $8.20). If you have a facial brush, like a Clarisonic or Luna, I recommend you use that with your usual facial cleanser to do a nice, deep clean once you’ve removed most of it with the wipes and micellar water. Then, moisturize as usual and you’ve entered back into the twenty-first century.

I’m pretty sure flappers wish they had these products back then to take off their makeup…

Final Result of the First Tutorial

My “modern day flapper” look…minus the sparkly dress & heels…

I usually don’t like posting photos of myself because I am nowhere near good enough with my makeup application, but I did want to share how my first attempt came out. I’m pleased with the outcome; however, I want to practice it a couple of more times. I want to be more sure of my application the day I need to do it on, and feel comfortable doing my friend’s makeup. My goal is to streamline the process so I do not spend an hour dedicated to painting my face.

What I’d like to end with is that history truly can be found in anything, even something so vapid as makeup application. I don’t think I’d look like a flapper if I didn’t try to study the makeup trends that the flapper look comprised of. The challenge was to bring the look into the modern day. By learning about the key elements of the look and incorporating them into my makeup job, but deciding where I could tone them down, I truly can transform into the modern day flapper.

Until next time…

Many happy returns,

-Kate

greetings & salutations

Winter Graduation, George Mason University, Fairfax, VA
21 December 2016

The moment I received my MA in my hand will always be one I cherish. It was in that moment that I knew I was satisfied with the decision I made to pursue history as my career.

Have I regretted it? Not even for a second.

You’re probably wondering what the purpose of this website is. To be honest, I still haven’t figured it out yet myself. I suppose I can say this has always been an idea of mine - to write about my exploits as an amateur historian since…well, my sophomore year of college.

I was required to take an Informational Technology course as a fulfillment of the general education requirements at George Mason University. I wasn’t looking forward to taking the course everyone seemed to complain about. I heard many humanities majors struggled with the course work, but I also knew it had to be done.

Thank goodness for the Center for History and New Media (CHNM). That year, the CHNM decided to offer a “humanities-friendly” IT course that would meet the requirements for the IT credit. Another bonus? It also offered me upper-level history elective credit. I enrolled as a student of this first course - HIST 390: The Digital Past. I spent my spring semester learning about how one could successfully pursue a degree in history thanks to a growing technological age. History, for those of you who believe it to be a “useless” major, will only continue to come alive thanks to the innovations the historians at the CHNM have created.

(Just saying - Zotero rocks! Digital humanities are a thing - and they are here to stay!)

I enjoyed my time in that course. It was challenging, but I loved bringing the past and the future together to question the role of history in our “modern” era. The digital humanities will thrive because of our willingness to adapt and use technology to benefit our research.

(Another bonus: we didn’t have to pay a dime for a textbook. Everything was available as a free resource!)

A requirement of the program was to create a blog via WordPress. We didn’t have to pay for a premium account - the freebie one would be enough for the course. We had to post weekly blogs about whatever the topic was on the syllabus. The blog would eventually feature our final research project - whatever historical topic we wanted to pursue. What kinds of preservation paths would we take to archive our research? What sorts of digital innovations (Google Earth, Daytum, SlideShare) would we use to present our findings?

So, I suppose this website is my way of continuing a preservation path - but now, I don’t have to do it for a grade. I have numerous historical interests. I teach it at the college level, I want to teach it at my middle school, and I hope to eventually go back and pursue a PhD. I love to talk about it, so why not feature it here? I’d like to offer online editing services too; anyone needing help with Turabian citations? I’m your girl. Want a suggestion on a new historical book? Ask me. Debating whether or not to pursue history? Needing questions about the application process for a graduate degree? I lived it, breathed it, and was criticized for it: trust me, I’ve got advice.

I invite you to drop me a line with any ideas you might have for me to feature…or any questions you have. All I can say is: I’ll do my best to answer them.

Until then…

Many happy returns,

-Kate