Fashionable. Ha! What a riot. I have always been two seasons behind on fashion. My grandmother tried desperately to keep me up with the times when I was a kid and a teenager. “Oh, Darlene, it’s the latest fashion. Don’t you want to be in style and fashionable like all the other girls?”
I guess after seeing how much dirt I played in and clothes I ripped, she decided I was a mini version of her and gave up. I tried to get ‘back into it’ when I got older; but, after a while, I gave up because it was just too much work. How the hell do you women keep it together getting all dressed up, doing your hair, full face makeup, and ill-fitting shoes every single effing day? Do you love it? Does it make you happy? Do you even think about it when you are spending countless minutes, sometimes hours in the mirror prepping yourself for the world? Could you leave your house and feel just as confident without makeup and fashionable clothes as you do with them? I am not asking as a smartass… these are legitimate questions I have because…
To me, it is exhausting. The most effort I ever put into getting dressed up and looking nice was the first four months of my sophomore year of high school. By January? I was wearing ripped jeans, flannel shirts and going to school with wet hair and no makeup.
I am not knocking the women who do it… I just know the whole time I was doing it, I felt false. Like I wasn’t really being me. I was just being the version of a woman that society wanted me to be. And as long as I pretended to be the ‘woman I
wanted didn’t want to be’ I would like myself.
As much as I admire all you ladies for your hard work, I also wonder about these things for myself. There was another time in my life when I couldn’t leave the house without makeup, hair styled, cleavage aglow, and the highest heels I could find, because me being 5’10” just wasn’t tall enough when I was in my twenties and thirties. I did this because I hated ‘the me’ inside and I felt like if I could fake the outside, the inside would merge.
I played that part for a while, but every day when I was getting ready for work, school, to go to the bar, whatever… I was annoyed the whole time. And at first, I was seriously judgemental about women who I saw often and were dressed and spiffed to the tee. I said awful things about you in my head and now, as I reflect on that part of me, I know that I was as envious as I was jealous. I felt like it was your fault that I had to dress like that.
I wanted to be like you! I wanted to get excited about picking out an outfit and putting on makeup and going to the nail salon for a pedicure. I wanted to get excited about styling and/or getting my hair colored. But now I am in my mid-forties and I just give up. It is too much effing work and in the end, I feel like everyone can see through my facade of falseness.
These days, I do get dressed up (a little) for holidays or maybe if my husband and I go to a concert or something, but even still, when we go out, I am not really dressed up compared to most of the other women I see. I’ve accepted this part of me at this point in my life. I am as comfortable not getting dressed up as some women are getting dressed up.