Clothing (or lack thereof)

I have a post-Oscars confession to make: I like clothes. It's actually a rather recent phenomenon, as my sense of style in high school and the first year of college was disastrous. My idea of a nice top was a V-neck with 5% spandex of some pastel-ish color; jeans were old or hand-me-downs; shoes were flip-flops, Reeboks, or black chunky heels with a square covered toe. Most of the time though, I just banged around in my riding clothes. Of course, I know that equestrian stuff is fashionable nowadays, but not dirty paddock boots with old tan breeches and a red Huskers sweatshirt. Needless to say, Vogue did not call me for a photo shoot.

As to hair and make-up in those Neanderthal days, I wore chapstick, mascara, and brushed my hair 2-3 times a week. I washed my hair, put it in a ponytail, wore it that way all day, slept, and started the whole cycle over again. Only for the sake of my scalp would I actually take a brush to it. (Upon going to get a semi-annual/annual haircut, the stylist always looked at my ends and said, "Do you swim in chlorine, like, everyday?" When I explained that I swim but rarely, the stylist says, "Oh honey, your ends are so bad." Quite honestly, I enjoyed making the stylist feel that he or she had made a difference in the world by giving me fresh-clipped ends.)

Any of the hard-earned cash that I could have spent on trendwares at the mall was spent on horses, so I made myself quite content with my wardrobe. Most of the great unwashed (aka as "males" in my dictionary) in my small town liked girls that didn't wear make-up and looked like they just stepped off of a soccer field; I doubt that my dating life would have been any more promising in high school if I had gotten with the popular program.

This was not the case, however, in college. Arriving at a private Christian school as a 17 year old (nearly 18) was somewhat of a culture shock. I hardly knew what affluence was until I looked around and saw the Coach bags, Uggs, Gap sweaters, and North Face jackets. The pitiful gathering of clothes in my closet could not make an honest showing amongst such splendor. But alas, unless one is, inactuality, affluent, one cannot turn one's wardrobe on a dime (excuse this ridiculous pun). I wore my tired old t-shirts and four year old sneakers around with some measure of reluctance. Once, when I bought a new brown t-shirt--quite cottony and non-descript--one of the more stylish girls of my acquiantance said that the shirt looked "fresh," as if my other shirts were "moldy" or "moth-eaten" or just plain old.

With my instinctive sense of Darwin's principles of survival of the fittest and natural selection, I began to gradually accumulate a wardrobe that some might describe, considering my budget of Christmas and birthday money, as quite accomplished. I like both classical and eccentric combinations, and I also make an effort to brush my hair at least once a day. I've started to enjoy looking nice; sue me if I like to look groomed and feminine. I may have ended up, inadvertently, appearing disturbingly similar to some of those blase, cookie-cutter Christian private school girls, but at least I no longer exist on the fashion outskirts.

If I wanted to, I could end the post right here. However, as you may have noticed, the eye-catching title of this entry has to do with both clothing and non-clothing. This is the non-clothing section, mostly prompted by an unpleasant experience that I had today at that great bastion of American fitness, the YMCA. Perhaps because I enjoy clothes, I simply can't understand why people don't rush to get into them. Allow me to explain: after swimming a few laps at the Y, I went back to the adult women's locker room to get a shower and head back into the world of rational, sugar-eating people. However, upon opening the door from the pool to the locker, I was immediately assaulted by more naked mothers and post-mothers than I should ever care to share space with again. I really just thought that it was men that liked having conversations and acting like things were normal when they were naked. Apparently I have been misinformed. Women were walking around in all states of undress and couldn't have cared less, no matter how wrinkly or pudgy they were. One completely naked skinny woman in her 40s stood about a foot from a large woman wrapped in an enormous towel and proceeded to have a conversation with her for about 10 minutes. What is the purpose of this? Does not this exercise in socialization make you the least bit uncomfortable? Why not use a towel? I made it a point to shower in my one-piece, skuttle over to my locker, and throw on gym pants and a t-shirt over my wet suit. I don't know any of you people, so I am sure as heck not gonna hang around naked. Sorry.

I am sorely tempted to offer more details on this subject, but I find myself crossing the limits of family-friendly blogdom. Too much Comedy Central maybe.