You know those people who always look really put together and awesome every time you see them? I am not one of them.
Here’s a rare photo of me looking put together. I still look put together because I am still in the process of getting ready and have not had time to mess myself up.
Secretly, I’ve always wanted to be one of those girls. I know they exist, I’ve worked in offices surrounded by them. I see them floating gracefully across train platforms in ridiculous shoes. I’m just utterly unsure as to how these magical creatures (I believe they are called ‘proper girls’, or at least that’s what I have always called them) manage to move through the workday, the office, and indeed life itself looking so put-together and coiffed. For me it’s like observing some fascinating and utterly avant garde tribe, but instead of having lip-plates or large holes through their septums speared with wild boar tusks, they just have really, really perfect hair. I’ve long studied these women, but I’m at a total loss to see how they manage to stay so flawless.
What I look like as of 30 seconds ago.
I think that my default state is scruffy. My hair is always frizzy, my nails are often ragged and no matter how much I scrub them, the dirt always sneaks back underneath. My clothes are always ripping or springing spontaneous holes, usually around the butt area and I only notice after I’ve walked up large flights of stairs. My feet…oh my feet. My feet are like leather – I could probably walk across a boiling hot roadtop littered with razorblades and oystershells without feeling a thing. My makeup melts off my face (when I can be bothered to wear it) and I seem to attract dirt and stains like some kind of large, girl-shaped filth-magnet.
I start out with the best intentions and looking smashing. Then, as the day wears on I start to… the only accurate descriptor I can think of is to fall apart.
Not quite ‘falling apart’ like that…but close. (Image via zombiehub.com)
I know that in reality, these women devote a great deal of time to their visage, and truthfully – that is not something I’m willing to do. It’s only the rare ones that manage to look amazing on a daily basis effortlessly, and that’s not something that can be taught or attained – that’s just an innate thing. More often than not that smooth-skinned, shiny-haired, well-put-together type has spent a great deal of time and money to look that way. And when I think about it like that, it doesn’t seem as important. I would rather use that time and money for other stuff. To have adventures! To write blogs and see friends and earn black-belts and make awesome food. For me, the time it would take to attempt to wrangle my messy, dishevelled self into a state of put-togethered-ness would mean I’d have to sacrifice other things. And I’m not willing to do that.
See, at this point in my life I was far too busy having adventures to pluck my eyebrows. And I’m cool with that. In fact, I kinda miss those eyebrows…
I think the epic quest for aesthetic perfection and the pursuit of adventure and general awesomeness are two mutually exclusive paths. I’m not saying that someone who spends time trying to look nice is wasting their time – everyone wants to present a decidedly non-hideous picture of themselves to the world, and prettying yourself up can be a whole lot of fun (especially if you are with friends and there is cider involved.) But focusing too much on any one thing is unhealthy, and I kinda feel as if devotion to one’s exterior can sometimes lead to the neglect of one’s interior. Instead of spending all my time trying to look perfect, I’d prefer instead to attempt to scrub up my personality and try to be the best person I can be. And that requires enough bloody time all on it’s own…
It’s a natural thing to envy what you are not and see your own flaws in too minute a detail. It doesn’t help that we get bombarded with images of perfection in magazines and on billboards and parading across the telly. I guess it helps to realise that a day-to-day human being just can’t compete with that, and nor should they have to. It’s not real and honestly, it’s not that important. It doesn’t matter how frizzy your hair is, how many humongous zits you have cultivating on your chin, how dirty your nails or how wrinkled (and cat-fur-sprinkled) your shirt is. If you are kind, fun, happy, friendly and have mad skills, then other kind-fun-happy-friendly-mad-skilled people are going to notice that first, not the blackheads on your nose (or the huge hole you just ripped in the seat of your jeans.)
Are you oftentimes rumpled, ruffled, dishevelled and in disarray? Do you envy people who are well-kept or have you accepted your imperfect state?
I drive my kids to school in PJs. Enough said.
And, my 16 year old daughter is one of those put-together people. It cannot be genetic! Lol!
I’ve often thought about going to the shops in my robe. I’ve never done it, but it’s tempting, ha!
Oh dear Molly, you sound just like me! I try on occasion to look all put together, but sadly it just doesn’t last. I seriously thought I was the only one who ends up with melted face when the makeup slips off 30seconds after it’s been put on!
At last I am no longer alone in my scruffiness! I’d rather be comfortable and dazzle people with my wit and personality than be a super hot, supermodel any day
Thanks for the afternoon grin-inspiring post!
It’s not just you. Try and try as I might, I just can’t keep my person neat and tidy. It just doesn’t happen. I’m getting more and more comfortable with my lack of put-togetheredness, but it’s taken a while. (I blame my oily face for the make-up slippage. Probably also my lack of care in putting it on in the first place.)
Dude, I’m a fucking mess. I never wear makeup, even though when I do, it’s like night and day and I *know how* to put it on. I just can’t be bothered with the skin care routine that comes with it. Of course, my current day-job occupation means it’s pointless to get dressed up. It’s not that it’s a constantly filthy job, but without fail, the one day I decide to wear slacks instead of jeans, or a pristine white tee shirt, is the one day some client surprises me with an issue that requires me getting on their floor and getting filthy. So I don’t bother.
Let me tell you a little story – just yesterday, because business is really slow right now, I was sitting around doing very little in my tattiest jeans and a faded t-shirt. at 545pm, I get a call from someone asking if I can go tune a piano downtown *right then*. They needed it tuned for an event that started at 7pm, and were willing to accept whatever and pay whatever. So I said okay and high-tailed it. Turns out the “event” was a very upscale, formal political fundraiser taking place at the fucking St. Regis hotel. Even the cleaning staff was in formal attire. And there I was wandering around and photobombing in torn, faded jeans and a tee shirt, with my unbrushed hair in a ponytail. WIN.
Being a Piano Tuner is the most obscurely awesome job ever! Having an ‘odd job’ myself, I love it when others tell me all about their non-usual employment.
Torn, faded jeans are the shit! They are my go-to on a day to do basis. I joke that I spend most of my time dressed as a 14 year old skateboarder boy from 1997. It’s a good time.
Totally with you there in envying those who can look oh-so-perfect all the time. I barely wear any makeup. I wear clothes that are covered in cat hair and need to use the lint remover often! Thanks to my cats, I also have threads hanging from some work pants. (Sigh) Y’know who I also envy: women who ‘work out’ at the gym and hardly break a sweat…their hair remains perfect even after a workout. Me? I look like a hag after a workout. A sweaty hag.
Me too! When I finish working out I look like a red-faced, sweat-shined mess with awful hair. Awful! Thanks for stopping by!
“I think the epic quest for aesthetic perfection and the pursuit of adventure and general awesomeness are two mutually exclusive paths.”
As a former Trad-Goth-who-clubs I feel it is worse than that. I think the epic quest for aesthetic perfection and doing anything more than look decorative are two mutually exclusive paths. My predisposition toward overheating even at low temperatures killed my attempts at highly complex make-up, but most of my wardrobe was killed by impracticality. I still have the time to Goth up but cannot be bothered with the faff of changing to clean the bathroom or cook then changing back again.
Wow, I’m totally a recovering Goth too! I gave it up because at heart, I’m just too much of a dag. I mostly gothed-up for the clubs too, and some of my fondest memories are of the hours my friends and I took getting ready. If I think my make-up melting problems are bad now, you should have seen us halfway through a night out at Vortex, circa 2004. Oh, good times. Being a goth is pretty much the most impractical sub-culture you can embrace, especially during Australian summers.
I would not categorise myself as recovering: I still read the same literature and listen to the same genre of music; I just do it without enough slap and layers to insulate a medium sized house.
As well as being impractical I found full on hardcore Goth to be quite expensive, mostly due to the combination of make-up and dry-clean only clothes.
Pingback: Recovering Goth | Woah, Molly!