"I really admire you people who wear color."
That's something SIO said to me the day he left, as he watched me dress. I said it cheered me up, changed my mood. I'm also a little obsessive about it -- on any given day, my socks will match my shirt. Seriously. Ask me to show you some time. Generally, my underthings will also match my outfit, or at least not clash with it. This is true even if the outfit itself does not match -- blue jeans, pink shirt, red cardigan, brown and turquoise belt, black shoes = red underwear, pink bra, turquoise socks, black jewelry. It makes me feel harmonious, like the parts of me are all on the same page. I also like to balance out the different aspects of my personality -- hippie, hipster, neurotic, East Coast JAP, et cetera -- with emphasis on whatever's most dominant at the time. Theoretically, this careful harmony should keep me from walking into doorframes and saying things I don't mean. But it doesn't.
Today his words came back to me, as I looked down at my typical "been home for hours, not goin' nowhere" ensemble (black shoes, dark purple socks, hot pink sweatpants, turquoise sweater, long maroon cardigan hoodie). I thought about his regulation black, and how it was different from my wardrobe. I got sad. Was he trying to tell me something else? Or am I just getting something else out of it, something big and basic about the way we get along? I used to admire his tough-luck charm and ragged humility. I used to love dressing dark and tough because I knew he'd like it. But I'm not dark and tough all the time. In the morning, I dress exactly how I feel, or, in the event of not feeling anything, how I'd like to later. Does it work? I've never really thought about it. And do other people notice? Do people make assumptions about me when they meet me? Of course they do. But are they surprised when they see me again, most likely in a new set of sartorial circumstances? And does the lack of having a consistent look make me appear as one of those drug enforcement agents in Phillip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly," wearing a suit that cycles random, rapid fire images to create a composite of an unmemorable everywoman?
This week, I'd like to try something. Instead of my usual mix-and-match approach, every day this week I will dress in one color, or in one style, every day, and see who reacts to what and how, if at all. But you can still ask to see my socks.
Today his words came back to me, as I looked down at my typical "been home for hours, not goin' nowhere" ensemble (black shoes, dark purple socks, hot pink sweatpants, turquoise sweater, long maroon cardigan hoodie). I thought about his regulation black, and how it was different from my wardrobe. I got sad. Was he trying to tell me something else? Or am I just getting something else out of it, something big and basic about the way we get along? I used to admire his tough-luck charm and ragged humility. I used to love dressing dark and tough because I knew he'd like it. But I'm not dark and tough all the time. In the morning, I dress exactly how I feel, or, in the event of not feeling anything, how I'd like to later. Does it work? I've never really thought about it. And do other people notice? Do people make assumptions about me when they meet me? Of course they do. But are they surprised when they see me again, most likely in a new set of sartorial circumstances? And does the lack of having a consistent look make me appear as one of those drug enforcement agents in Phillip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly," wearing a suit that cycles random, rapid fire images to create a composite of an unmemorable everywoman?
This week, I'd like to try something. Instead of my usual mix-and-match approach, every day this week I will dress in one color, or in one style, every day, and see who reacts to what and how, if at all. But you can still ask to see my socks.