Maintenance, cont.

Taking up where the last post left off, another form of maintenance we can talk about is in appearance. As I said, I don't do a lot in terms of grooming. I'm not into makeup, or high-upkeep hair. I get a mani-pedi about once a year as a big splurge. My cuticles are the stuff of nightmares. Where I do put some time and effort is my clothing. I believe strongly that it does not take much (time, money, discomfort) to present myself in a way that makes me feel collected and confident. Not every day is a success, but I shoot for an over-50% success rate in not feeling like a total disaster.

And that is at the root of why I do put care into my appearance. "Appearance" is a fraught subject for people of all kinds, obviously, but in this case I'm writing about it as a young, white, feminist, biologically female and also self-identified as female. So what I will discuss here is my relationship with physical appearance coming from that place, which is the only place I can speak from with any authority. Having established that, I can move on to the actual point: there's really no winning in this arena.

I've always felt torn between wanting to be presentable and wanting to be valued for more than my looks. There is an assumption I've felt more than heard that a woman who is concerned with appearance is categorically vapid. On the other hand, there's the pervasive valuation of women based on physical and sexual merit that we see in every ad, magazine, novel, everywhere.

To be clear, I do not try to dress well because I want to be more attractive to men. I don't do it because I feel I'm only worthy if I assimilate. I don't do it because I want to be admired for my sense of style. There are all manner of terrible things you can have in your head when you're getting dressed every day, and I try not to listen to them.

I put in the effort because I view clothing as a way to construct an exterior identity. No matter what I'm feeling inside, I can use the things I put on my body to project what I'd maybe like to be feeling, or to help me feel differently. When I'm sick, or exhausted, I tend to dress up more because my clothes can make me feel excited, composed, and sometimes awake, even if I am none of those things. And I do believe that clothing tells people about us before we can open our mouths. For example, I think it's pretty clear from my wardrobe that I do not dress for the benefit of straight men. You'll not find me in many miniskirts, resplendent with cleavage. My ex, in fact, always used to say, "I like that you dress so modestly."

Nor am I a classic twinset-and-pearls, though. I am more likely to wear the twinset with this fantastic, gaudy, alligator broach I found at a flea market. Or to wear the pearls with mixed patterns and a hat. These choices reflect fundamental aspects of my personality. I am largely composed and polite, with a sense of humor and a streak of snark a mile wide. I'm interested in fashion, the arts, and other fine things, but can't stomach pretension. If you know what you're looking for, you can see all of this in what I'm wearing. Today, it's a Scottish wool scarf with a cable-knit cashmere sweater, slim-cut maroon pants with hot pink polka dots, and  patent driving mocs the color of Kermit's face. It's all there, just a different way to read me. I don't think this is frivolous, nor do I think it's the only interesting thing about me. It's one more aspect of me, and one of the few things I can control.