So this is definitely not the post I had lined up on our editorial calendar (what? you thought we were just part-time bloggers with other real jobs winging it? well excuse me, but we’re part-time bloggers with other real jobs and an editorial calendar, biotch. Have some faith).
But last night I had a mini freak out about life. You know, one of the freak outs you have when really everything is fine but its not, and you don’t know why and why is it not fine???! Of course then afterward you feel guilty about the whole thing because, you know, you’re not dying and you don’t live in a war torn region and you generally really like your life. But that doesn’t stop them from coming, as Dr. Seuss once said, because they come. Of course he was referring to Christmas and a certain Grinch and I’m talking about me and mild panic attacks, but I think there are lots of parallels to be drawn here. Shall we?
So the Grinch hated Christmas because it represented something he could not control. I see lots to love in this. Let’s face it, being in control is a lot better than not. This is something I get from my mother. So what does the Grinch do? He decides that he is going to make it not happen, even though – at a philosophical level (and this is what Dr. Seuss is all about) – you can’t make something that you don’t control go away, so the whole enterprise is futile.
But whatevs, he sticks the beard on the dog (early DIY) and Boris Karloff does some singing (please you know we’re not talking about the Jim Carrey movie version on this blog) and he learns that its better to accept your limitations and embrace the beauty in the spirit of the thing rather than trying to fight the inevitability of it. Now I love Dr. Seuss and all, but he makes this part look way easier than it is in real life.
So back to my panic attack. I had it, felt mired is the muck of my own making, which is generally led by a tendency to over-commit. How am I going to file my quarterly taxes, meet my former boss for coffee, get in 7 hours of consulting work, write a blog post, go to drinks with a friend and do all of the other 47 ongoing tasks that must be done daily in only 24 hours. freak. out.
And then, as is always happens in romantic comedies and sometimes in real life, I have a *moment of clarity*. This morning, my cat freaks out while I’m holding him (he takes after me, obviously). And claws my chest and right arm as he rocket launches off my body. We had been putting off the nail trimming for a while, so he really gets me. Blood, long scratches, everything. WTF – I have a million things to do and I don’t have time for bleeding arms or the fabled cat scratch fever that my mom always warns me about.
MOMENT OF CLARITY. Just put on a long sleeve shirt and be done with it.
Now why is this a moment of clarity? Because. Because I get so sick of hearing people talk about how fashion is superfluous and wasteful. You know the drill. You must be either completely vacuous or materialistic to really love fashion. Well I call bullshit. Fashion is just as utilitarian as anything else, and it can be elevated into a fine art. And a form of self-expression. How many things do that? On a daily basis?
So when it comes to ‘buy’ or ‘not buy’ fashion, I say buy. Embrace it because you can’t control it: people will judge you by what you look like. And if it looks like you had some suicide attempt gone terribly awry all up your left arm they will judge you negatively. But if you cover it up with a fabulous bought-on-clearance classic Jean Paul Gaultier for Opening Ceremony nautical long sleeve shirt, the too cool for school hipster who works at your coffee shop will give you a respectful nod and say ‘nice stripes.’