In the bedroom, a man is taking apart and putting together our wardrobe. The bottom bit, once slanted and running away towards the floor, will now be put straight and brought back in line. Perhaps, fixed, the wardrobe will open onto a new world in which I can go and become a wizard and live a very long happy life where I can fix my own wardrobe.
It’s finally gotten cold in London. Scarves and overcoats abound. I’ve decided I need an overcoat. It would be good not to be cold. And also to look good. When I was younger, I knew that it was better not to be cold, but I didn’t understand how to look good–or rather, how to feel good enough to want, or believe, that I could look good. It seemed impossible. I was chubby and not cool and everything was expensive. It was much better to buy 4mb of RAM so that I could play Space Quest 6, than it was to think about having a really great pair of pants, or coat.
Now, I don’t think about RAM so much. Computers take care of themselves. We’re post spec.
When I was younger, the most I thought about clothes was that they could be big and baggy and hide who I was, and that if I didn’t put too much thought into them, then they wouldn’t say anything about me or my thoughts. Now, I think that saying your clothes say nothing about you is very much like saying stories aren’t political, which is to say that everything is political and, of course, how you present youreslf says something about you, however much you do or don’t think about it.
I do think about having a nice coat, now, and clothes that fit. My shoes come in a variety of colors. My scarves are bright. I’m happier with myself and happier to be seen.
Sometimes, being seen is a political statement.There’s something to be said here for wardrobes and closets and singing in the rain. I will leave it unsaid, though, as one must leave room for the reader to see for themselves.
Happy Monday, readers. You know who you are. If you don’t, find out. And then show someone else.