I’m not sure if this happens to everyone, but the last 12 months for me have been a jumbled mix of content and complacency. I’m at that glorious age where I’ve learnt a few things: not to take people at their word too much, to be a little more selfish, to still love the fuck out of everyone anyway – as much as possible. And while that’s all well and good, within this groovy new flow, came a blatant lack of care for my appearance.
To clarify, I never reached the ‘pyjamas at Woolworth’s’ level of complacency. No offense to those who have. But trakkie pants? For sure. Unbrushed hair pulled back in pony tail? Yes indeed. My whole make up routine consisting of a shower and tooth brushing? Yep, that’s it in totality.
I thought I was over it. Not life itself – life is tops – but over giving a shit about how I looked. Life is short, what’s the point in wasting time trying to appear a certain way? My motto became: ‘This is it, this is me, deal with it…or don’t.’ I let the grey hairs flow and only looked in the mirror to admire them.
Silver highlights, I call them. Grey glitter.
Then, a couple of days ago, a friend said to me, ‘What happened to that silly happy chunky monkey a few years ago?’ Yes, chunky monkey might not be the most flattering description, but I was a happy little chappie who liked to dress up sometimes and look nice purely because I felt good – so why not show it on the outside?
And while I feel still good now – perhaps more ‘centred’ than ever – I seem to have lost a bit of that ‘zing’ somewhere along the way.
So today, the chunky monkey straightened her hair and put on some lippy and a scarf. Chunky monkey is even eying off those oh-so-high heels in the depth of the wardrobe. She might even dye those greys… maybe.
Because when you think about it, aren’t these bodies our souls get plopped into kinda fun? Isn’t it sometimes nice to dress in a way that expresses our personalities? It’s a blank canvas, if you will… not completely blank of course, since we all have different features and such.
But you know what I mean…
A set of identical twins, for example, use their bodies to let their different personalities shine through. My mum and my aunty were identical twins. Mum blonde and aunty brunette. Mum straightened her hair, wore streamlined stylish businessy outfits with heels while my aunty let her mousy brown hair go curly, cut her fringe short and wears spotty tops with stripy pants and funky flats.
I think that’s cool – I love that.
Today, I’m thinking it’s kinda odd to normalise this experience of life by being complacent about anything. I have a body, this is cool. I have maybe 40 more years of this experience. Might just play dress ups, because why the fuck not? Why can’t ‘fun’ consists of the little things like being able to look a way that’s more closely aligned to how I feel?
Vain schmain. This whole ‘life’ experience is tops, but it’s all over in the blink of an eye. What matters more than the shit that doesn’t matter at all?