I am the first to say that we shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover, but I am also the first to take one look at that book and say “What utter trash! Where are that book’s parents?”. As a feminist (who is super 1950’s when it comes to lifting heavy shit) I know it is wrong to think that because a woman dresses a certain way, one can draw conclusions about her morals, her work, her interests, her potential or her probable life’s trajectory. In fact, it’s very easy to make really grave errors about people when you make your assessments based on their fashion choices.
I am a case in point.
Leg warmers. I wear leg warmers, but, believe it or not, I am not a ballet dancer.
Although I have the petite, lithe and athletic form of a professional classically trained dancer, I stopped taking ballet when I was 5. There was some talk about me being 20% heavier than the other girls in my class that may have turned the tide on that possible career, or an early discomfort with outfits that quite clearly accentuate my crotch, but a dancer I was not meant to be.
|Not sure what move I'm making here. But it's true, it's never too early to start breast self-exams.|
Still I wear leg warmers, and some people might be fooled into thinking that I am possessed by the dance.
I am not.
In the past I’ve worn yoga pants, even though I’m opposed to them on a philosophical level (see above re: issue about outfits that emphasize my crotchal area). I do not do yoga, even though I look super fit and bendy. I took pilates for awhile, and it was kinda expensive, but the only muscles that I really developed were my “Do not fart in public” muscles. Worth every penny.
I own a couple pair of cowboy boots but I’m afraid of horses and I hate looking at cows because I think they are mad at me. So, no. I am NOT a sassy cowgirl. To be clear. Even when I wear a plaid shirt, you can’t just assume that I’m a cowgirl, OK? I am not at home on the range.
|Seconds later I fell off this pony and was nuzzled near to death by the other ponies in the tiny pen we rode about in.|
|Brian tries to show me how safe horses are.|
|Threatening, judgmental cow.|
Also, I have, on occasion, worn stockings. If people know I am wearing stockings they automatically assume that I am a super sexy sexypants sexpot sexington.
However if they knew how I actually looked in stockings, they would know that I am the opposite of sexy sexypants sexpot sexington. I am tall so most stockings only reach up to a little below my knees, creating a look not unlike this:
I am also a little on the puffy side which means that even if I do get stockings long enough to go anywhere near ‘all the way up”, my thigh fat spills over the top in a most unsexy sexypants sexpot sexington way. Like this:
If it's Valentine's Day, and I wear stockings to seduce my husband, I wear a thick, heavy trench coat that completely covers my stocking inadequacies, I keep the lights off and only let Brian touch my shoulder with a fake mannequin hand I stole from Old Navy. He must never ever know what I really look like.
Some people think that I am very very very intelligent because I sometimes wear glasses. The truth of the matter is, it’s just regular old age related eyesight deterioration. And it’s a kind of a damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation because if I don’t wear my reading glasses and I squint a little, then I look like I’m thinking about serious things like politics or lawyer things. But, believe it or not, I’m just trying to make out the words on the menu. So people think I’m a genius either way. Wouldn’t be lying if I said I didn’t try to work it a little. I find that if I keep my mouth shut, the charade can be extended.
If you see me wearing sweatpants with dog crap on them, you know you’re seeing the real me. It’s sad. I’d much rather be a sexy cowgirl yoga dancer. Clothes, in my case, do not make the woman.