Dressing my age?
I thought tonight as I looked in the mirror.
No wonder he was flirting.
I look like a teenager.
Ok, let me take that back, no teenagers I know have grey hairs sprouting at their temples.
I was dressed like a teenager.
Bright electric blue eyeliner, hair down, long, curly, grey’s are not so noticeable when I wear my hair down (and they are not that abundant, I am just not used to seeing them on my head. They started sprouting when I was in Paris right around the New Year), with two big flower clips in it, both purple, one that I covered in glitter glue and the other an iridescent blue/indigo/violet that shimmers underneath the light.
Add to that my striped blue teal, indigo, chocolate, and purple socks (which you can see as I had my blue jeans rolled up, biking you know) and my black Converse low tops and I look like a kid.
Toss in the purple messenger bag and the big hoop earrings with disco balls on them and well, I guess if I was a 27-year-old boy from Ukiah, I would be dazzled too.
I kept poking myself, he’s 27!
Leave him be.
But I could not help it.
Damn cuteness.
Flirting harmless.
I walked away and hopped on my bicycle and thought about dating men my age and what that means and wondered do I need to dress like someone my age?
Then I thought.
FUCK NO.
I am just going to dress like me.
Although I would like a pretty dress.
I am going to see the Mister tomorrow night and the thought of a pretty dress really did something for me.
I might scrape off the glitter nail polish too.
He’s a pretty sharp dresser, has to be for work, and I feel a little like a big kid around him, in my black Converse and blue jeans, messenger bag, and tattoos.
But, I don’t hear him complaining.
Never had.
This is just all conversation up in my head.
And I look what I look like and yes, I will probably be that crazy old lady with pink flourescent hair and a crinoline learning how to ride a skateboard at the age of 65.
I mean, why not?
I am having a good time.
Now, give me a whopping big clothing allowance and I am sure I would dress differently, not less colorfully, but differently.
There is a little longing to grow up, to be pursuing “adult” tastes, but I think that is just a way to cause myself unnecessary grief, a way to beat myself up and try to be happy by being conformist.
I am not a conformist.
Never have been.
Never will be.
“You look exactly how I thought people in San Francisco would look like,” my friend said to me after she had been living in the city for a while.
I was flattered.
I knew what she meant.
Because San Francisco is just not as whack-a-do as people think it is.
Oh, there are some colorful folks out there, a few leather daddies wearing it proudly in the Castro, maybe an art student or five getting creative with their clothes, but I see a lot of uniform in the city.
Mostly yoga pants and running shoes, Northface and Lululemon and Gap and clever tight-fitting leggings that make your ass look great, if you’ve been doing lunges all day long, not my type of thing though.
There’s a framed piece of art that I took out of the box yesterday with my things.
My sister made it and gave it to me many, many years ago.
The first time I saw it I was put off, that’s not me.
But the more I see it, the more I see that her estimation of me was correct.
It is a calligraphy that she did saying “Eccentricity is not just for rich old men.”
I thought, “I am not eccentric!”
I am though.
I belive that eccentricity has more to do with wearing your heart on your sleeve and not giving so much of a damn that I am a forty year old woman that wears irridescent flowers in her hair that she bought at a casino in Reno on the way to Burning Man.
Fuck, the world could use a little more of that if you ask me.
Here is an interesting list of eccentric characteristics (thanks Wikipedia):
According to one study, there are eighteen distinctive characteristics that differentiate a healthy eccentric person from a regular person or someone who has a mental illness (although some may not always apply). The first five are in most people regarded as eccentric:[6]
- Nonconforming attitude
- Idealistic
- Intense curiosity
- Happy obsession with a hobby or hobbies
- Knew very early in their childhood that they were different from others
- Highly intelligent
- Opinionated and outspoken
- Unusual living or eating habits
- Sometimes not interested in the opinions or company of others
- Strong moral obligations (against infidelity, strong family values, ultrareligious)
- Mischievous sense of humor
Um, yeah, I could check a few of these off.
I don’t mind being different, I rather like it.
I have always felt a little different, sometimes to my deteriment and sometimes, most times and more often now than ever before, I like the differences.
I like that I have tattoos and glitter in my outfits.
I like that I wear bright colors and I like it that I sing out loud while walking the kids to the park, that I will happily dance down an avenue in Paris twirling my umbrella and signing a song from the Parapluies of Cherbourg (I mean, come on, when in Paris, right?).
I like that I am happy and let myself be silly.
I don’t need to dress my age, who cares a fig about age, aside from wanting knees that don’t feel like they’re arthirtic, which I don’t want to admit to, but man, the knees have been grinding on me, I dress in what makes me happiest.
And I believe that I need to do more of that, if anything.
Dress for happy.
Not for 40.
Dress for love.
Not for conformity.
Society.
Or to get a man.
Just for me, just because.
I want to.
Now, where’s that cute boy?
Tags: age appropriate dress, big hoop earrings, conformity, dating, eccentricity, fabulous, fashion, glitter nail polish, insights, men, postaday, societal norms
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