"Fashion"

I wanted to title this post "On Aging" but that title would apply to, like, everything about my life experience right now. I'm contemplating a series of posts. Which is to say, over the next few weeks I'll probably ramble on and on about it.

Today let's focus on "fashion."

Go watch "Sisters" immediately.

Suffice it to say I've never been what you might call a 'fashionable' person. I spend my time, money, and energy on other things. I want to be into things like makeup and clothes that match, but in daily life, where the rubber meets the road, I'm drawn to flowing skirts and basically anything with an elastic waist band. And comfortable shoes. I stand and walk too much to wear anything that looks good from the waist down.

I've always navigated toward baggy loose clothing, and when you're young that's not a problem. It looks comfortable, casual. When you're not young, baggy clothes make you look homeless. Or perhaps like you're suffering from dementia. As if you should be pushing a buggy instead of carrying a backpack.

This was brought to the forefront of my mind when I decided not to pack an actual suitcase for the GIRLZ Weekend. I was only going to wear one outfit, so what was it going to be? I contemplated jeans for like .014 seconds and then ran for my baggiest skirt. And my orthopedic shoes. I looked like this for 3 days:

Here's the kicker: I look like that all the time.

The thing about aging is that I know I'm not fashionable and I don't care all that much. Most of my mental effort comes from wanting to care, but the actual caring part never manifests. I think it went out for a smoke break and forgot to ever come back.

One part of aging is that I have to - and I mean that in the literal sense, have to - get my hair done about every four weeks. Somewhere in my mid-thirties, all the pigment in my hair follicles just walked off the job. It has been laying on a beach drinking cocktails ever since and I'm basically screwed. I've gone to the same stylist the entire time I've lived in Denver. A few months ago I walked in and she did a double take. For a split second I thought I might not be fully clothed or something and I was like, "What??" She goes - and I quote - "I don't think I've ever seen you in anything besides sweat pants."

My weekend look.

I contemplated her statement for a long time. Months, actually. It really bothered me at first because I don't want to be the type of person who looks lazy and unkempt. The next two times I went in for a hair overhaul, I wore jeans. But then I relapsed into my default setting. The thing is, I work really, really hard. I look mostly professional any time that I have to encounter anyone in a professional setting, which is most of my week, and adds up to most of my life.

My days off? Those are mine. My legs work hard, so I'm going to cut them some slack and cover them with fuzziness instead of denim. My hair is usually in my face and I try hard not to tug it all behind my ears, so when I'm off? It goes back into a ponytail.

And don't get me started on my shoes.

There are many undesirable (to put it lightly) things about aging. If you're lucky, and I think I am, you get a crap ton of self-awareness. This doesn't feel lucky, though. Like, it doesn't feel great to know that I look like a 40-something homeless person. It doesn't feel great to look like I look and interact with a bunch of teenagers all day. (Every year I get older. Every year they stay 19 years old. That's super fun.)

But God balances the self-awareness with a hefty dose of perspective, or "giving less effs" about it all. I'm a smart girl. I know that I could look better if I spent more time in the morning...and at night...and if I restricted at meal time...and if I sacrificed sleep for exercise...and if, for Heaven's sake, I'd put down the Now and Laters...

OR

I could settle in to who I am and just be OK with it.