Accidental Ambivalence

Mission: Evasion

In an effort to stay out of the crazy space in my head, I've started a new personal project. I am attempting to update my style. No, to say update suggests that I had style before, which I certainly didn't. I am attempting to create my style. I'm paying attention to shapes and combinations and accessories and when I look hot. On Wednesday at work, my style-conscious manager Bubbles looked at me and said, "You always look so cute. You could help on What Not to Wear." Since I love Clinton and Stacy, I took this as a huge compliment. Admittedly, I looked adorable on Wednesday (black knee-length A-line skirt, navy blue half-sleeve sweater, black patent belt and ballet flats, and a white enamel cuff bracelet), but I can't imagine that I was worthy of the compliment.

Part of this is an effort to look outwardly put-together is a disguise against how inwardly fucked I am lately. Between obsessing about Hershey and taking his rejection personally (no matter how much I try to reconcile that in my mind) and dealing with the situation with the guy I work with (which is such a mindfuck that there isn't any other way for me to describe it) and all the bullshit that exists in the in-between spaces, I am honestly a mess. However, I feel like making sure that I look thin and appropriately and interestingly accessorized, combined with some exquisite self-control (I'm channeling Audrey Hepburn) will disguise my inner turmoil. I'm an excellent liar and very few people in my life can look at me and tell when I'm upset - and none of those people live in College Town.

It isn't a new idea, covering insanity with superficiality, but it is new for me, and so far, it's working. You don't see a girl in a brown cotton dress with a faux-python belt and pointy brown stilettos and know that she's going to go spend the night at home home, mopping the kitchen in nothing but teal heels*, black boy shorts, and a wifebeater. You don't see a girl in khaki-colored wide-leg pants with a black shirt and red patent flats and think that she's going to spend that evening in a nightgown, begging her neighbors to turn down their music and watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. You don't see a girl out in a bar in a silk dress with black patent heels and think that she's having an extremely emotional breakdown via text message and will go home to sob to her friend at 3:30 in the morning.

I'm hiding behind this facade and I refuse to let anyone see through it. In fact, I'm working hard to take the facade even further. And when people see me in flattering silhouettes** and carefully chosen accessories, and I'm wrapping myself in comfortable sweaters and tiptoeing around in wildly uncomfortable shoes, I'm going to let people believe whatever they want to believe about my personal life. They can think that I sleep with anyone I choose*** and drink every night and spend my weekends having crazy adventures. They can think all of this while I spend my nights and weekends hiding out in my apartment, napping with the kitties and flipping through magazines and watching Gilmore Girls and Sex and the City for hours on end. I'll continue to play with makeup in Sephora and find fun cocktail rings and search out the perfect pink cashmere scarf (which I desperately want for this winter). I'm going to surround myself with things and hide behind them and damn it, it's going to be fucking effective.

*To break them in, of course.
**Too much Project Runway, What Not to Wear, and Tim Gunn, I swear. Since when do I talk like this?
***I was told that I can by someone who clearly doesn't know me. One, no, I cannot. Two, I wouldn't sleep with someone just to sleep with them - that isn't me.

Labels: girl stuff, my insanity

posted by nicalyse @ 7:15 AM