The Shame of Not Being Trendy Enough

Every day I ride the bus to work, and I’ve recently come to realize I dress up solely for that purpose. I don’t dress for work, or for someone special. I dress to "ride the 41," a bus I like to refer to as Louis the XLI (41). A large percentage of the riders are affluent women in their twenties, carrying Louis Vuitton, and wearing designer clothes that probably cost more than my last filling. I’m not kidding.

This realization made me wonder if I’m guilty of caring what other people think about me more than I consider my own comfort... and is that normal?

Yes, apparently it is. As women, we tend to dress for other women not necessarily to entice, but to impress. We want to be at the front of the fashion trend. Maxi dresses are back. Wait, now its oversized sweaters. No, it’s actually tight AF, high waisted jeans. Ahh! How do we keep up with all the new trends? Unless we spend every few weeks shopping for entirely new wardrobes, we are guilty of falling behind on the latest fashions, and therefore feeling ashamed of our thigh worn jeans.

Sadly, in order to keep up with the trendy ladies of Bus 41, most days I wear stylish outfits adorned with heels. Those of us living in the hilly parts of SF understand how painful this can be. Hiking in heels has turned my standard legs into pavement smashing machines. I can haul up Gough Street in heels without breaking a sweat. But this ability doesn’t make me any happier.

All this 'keeping up’ is fairly exhausting. So, I decided to stop dressing for everyone else, and spent a week dressing for myself. I’m happy to report that I didn’t lose my job or get kicked off the bus for wearing flats and straight legged jeans.

Yet, I am unhappy to report that as women, we are painfully hard on other women. We can cut each other down with just a stare. Is this learned or is it just part of our genes?

During this week of dressing for myself, my Mom asked me to go shopping for the day. I left behind all accessories, didn’t dry my hair or doll up on makeup. I was a vision of comfort. As we walked into the first apparel store, a woman came up to us and asked if we needed help. My Mom replied with a fairly saucy, “No, No, I have my stylist with me.” Without hesitation, the woman turned to me and blatantly looked me up and down. At first I felt ashamed of myself, but then I caught the self-blame in my throat and responded to her glance with, “I know, can you believe it,” all the while moving my hands up and down my outfit in a showy manner, as if on display.

It seems we tend to forget the smallest of gestures can hurt. Maybe we get so sucked into our own lives we don’t stop to think that raising an eyebrow at another woman’s outfit might actually hurt her self-esteem. It's likely to make her despise herself, instead of loathing others for the sting of their judgments.

On my morning commutes last week, I silently chanted self-empowering thoughts to brush off the hard-to-stomach looks from across the aisle. There were more than I ever thought I might receive, and it wasn’t like I was unshowered and stinking up the bus. When my week of comfortable discomfort ended, I put my heels back on and headed to the bus. As I climbed aboard, I once again became invisible and melted into the background with the other trendy ladies. I felt like a stray accepted back by the herd.

This mentality started to wash back into me, and I am ashamed to admit that only days later, I ‘eyebrowed’ someone.

A confident woman entered the 41. She was wearing washed out tight jeans that came up to her waist, and a tight-cropped top that showed a hint of her stomach. Her hands were covered in red paint and she wore the biggest smile on her face. I glanced at her hands and unconsciously raised my eyebrows. Yes, I was guilty! It took me only moments to realize it was jealousy, not judgement that had fueled my glance. I wanted to be her in that moment, free to paint and with a body to show off. Then I pondered ... was envy the motivation behind some of the looks I’d received the week before? Were they looks of personal desire to wear a favorite sweater instead of a tight, crotch squashing pant suit? As I thought about these questions, I noticed her smile fade and she tried to rub the paint off her hands onto her jeans. I was so ashamed that my look was most likely the cause of her response that I spoke up in earnest and said, “I am so jealous, I wish I’d just spent the afternoon painting instead of in a grey, walled cubicle.” She smiled broadly and started in about the mural she was working on, which sounded beautiful and so full of life. She and I parted ways at our stops and exited with smiles on our faces, leaving any self-loathing on "the 41" as it pulled away from the curb.

Learning about another woman’s passion and seeing the positive change effected by my behavior was empowering. I kicked off my heels and spent the waning afternoon light walking my dog and wearing the biggest smile on my face. During that glorious hour, I met a handful of people who told me about their days, talked of their lives, and even imparted wisdoms and a few bless us alls.

How can we not want to spend every day like this, focusing on people, instead of focusing on what we wrap ourselves in?

with sore feet and understanding,

the guilty raccoon

#beauty #theguiltyraccoon