It’s impossible to go through life without being aware of appearances. Like it or not, we all notice what other people look like, and like it or not, we all make assumptions about people based on their appearance.
This hit home for me recently. A classmate of mine had just gotten her nose pierced, and I mentioned that I used to have mine pierced. She looked at me and said incredulously, “YOU used to have your nose pierced?” My verbal response was a tame, “Yep”, but inside my mind was reeling. What was that supposed to mean? Why was she so shocked that I used to have my nose pierced?
To me, I’m still the same person I’ve always been, although looking back I guess I see that different aspects of my personality have resulted in different outward appearances throughout the years.
When I was younger, I loved to dress up. Loved makeup and fancy dresses. I can still remember some of my all-time favorite pieces of clothing—the patent leather Mary Janes, my blue jeans with the satin blue rose on the butt, a short khaki skirt that had a bright red belt, my homemade pink and yellow ribbon barrettes. I didn’t mind standing out, loved looking girly.
In junior high I went through the same unfortunate stage as everyone else, except that mine also corresponded with the late 80s. Which meant hair that was sprayed and teased with bangs that went “half up and half down” (anyone who was a teen in the 80s knows what this means). I wore big pastel earrings and bright blue eyeliner (why, God, why?). Jeans were acid-washed and “pegged” (again, no explanation needed if you were an 80s child). Sweaters were oversized and brightly colored. My only goal during this time period was to blend in as much as possible. Wear what everyone else was wearing, and don’t dare to be different.
Sometime in late high school, this changed again. Dress in high school became a way to identify yourself as part of a certain “group”. I wasn’t one of the popular kids, or a jock, or just one of the “average masses.” I wanted to be different again. So out came the black. Black skirts, shirts, tights, and a pair of black boots that didn’t qualify as combat boots, but came close. At the risk of going overly “goth”, I liked to pair all of the black with red nails and red lipstick. I listened to Depeche Mode and Erasure, the Cure and Nirvana. In this day and age, I’d be called an “Emo”, but we didn’t have a word for that back then. All of us black-wearing, dramatic music-loving people were blazing a new path.
In college, my goth style relaxed a bit. Grunge was coming into fashion, which meant lots of ripped jeans, thermal shirts, and plaid. Lots and lots of plaid. Happily, my combat-like boots survived the transition to grunge. Thrift stores were my new best friend. I preferred to wear simple clothes—jeans and hiking boots. But I also had some more daring pieces that I really liked to wear—a blood-red velvet jacket (thrift store find that I wish I still had), very tight cream-colored jeans that had been left in our house by the previous residents, a white shirt that tied and left my stomach exposed (ah, the good old days). When I went to the Drag Ball my senior year, I went as a glammed-up girl rather than as a guy—and got to dress like I had always wanted to and never dared. Short, short black dress. Fishnet stockings and boots. Chartreuse gloves that went up to my elbows (the guy who sold them to me swore that Bette Midler had once worn a pair just like them…uh-huh). Hair in a huge explosion on top of my head (how liberating to let it go crazy rather than trying to tame it as usual). Huge spiral earrings that reached practically down to my shoulders. I’d never go out in public like that, but at the Drag Ball, I was tame in comparison to others.
After college, I joined the working world, which meant lots of “grown up” clothes. Suits. Tailored pants. Blouses. Yuck, yuck, yuck. I really had an identity crisis—I looked just like everyone else. When I was in high school and college, people could tell something about me just by looking at me. Now, all anyone could see was “generic 20-something woman working in DC.” So, I got my belly button pierced. Ok, nobody could see it, but I knew it was there. I felt a little less generic….but still looked generic on the outside. So I pierced my nose and loved it. Now, even if I was in a suit, people could tell I wasn’t just a generic DC worker.
Eventually the nose ring went – although not really by choice.
And I’m still the same person who used to wear the nose ring. But now that I’m a busy working mom, my wardrobe tends back to the jeans and turtlenecks side of things. Not overly generic, but nothing special either. Nothing to tell people that I do have that rebellious streak in me, that I am unique, that I do like being non-traditional. And that’s ok with me now. I’m comfortable with who I am, and contrary to what you might think after reading all of the above, don’t really think a lot about what I’m wearing (and I hate, hate, hate to shop).
But there are still a few pieces in my closet that old sense of “uniqueness”, even if they don’t really stand out. My clunky brown boots. My long grey sweater coat. A burgundy velvet scarf. And a dress I bought last summer, knowing it was impractical. But it was funky and great….black halter top with a floor-length red/black printed skirt. It was very 70s looking, and I loved it. (And, most importantly, it was on sale.) So I have it in my closet, and wear it when Tad and I go on the very rare date. But it reminds me that, even if the world sees a 30-something mom wearing boring blue jeans and Polartec, I used to have a nose ring.
