Associative Displacement

I know that I am not your average sort of gal. I never have been. Ever since I can remember I have had a very different perspective on this thing called life, and the dominant species on the planet has always perplexed me. For the most part what I see has the Scooby Doo effect on me haarrummmph? I just don’t get. The things that are of import to the masses just don’t interest me much- or shall we say not to the same degree. Perhaps my value system needs to be reset to the common calibration because I am way off the mark.

Take fashion, I’m into it, I like to look good, in fact at times the idea of a well crafted outfit is the only reason I can find to leave my house, (Last year I had an obsession with accessories it was all about pearls) however I refuse to go into debt to look hip, and I will certainly be damned to hell if I ever spent $3,000 dollars on a bag (if I ever did -know that it came with $2,950 cash sewn into the lining). That being said if I were guaranteed to carry that bag at least 1,500 times I could rationalize paying $2.00 for a purse (that is how I rationalize my Prada coat). So I am not immune to fashion per se. Albeit I can’t comprehend fad fashion, in one season out the next, you would think with all this, “Save the planet - go green” rhetoric we would start to see a shift – um, not so much. Well let’s just make vegan shoes, that are biodegradable you can bury them next season when you buy a new pair guilt free.

Conceptually I don’t fully get the Fad Fashion because I can’t see why would I want to look exactly like everyone else? I find it very depressing when you see a group of girls heading out for an evening and they all have on skinny jeans, satiny patterned umpire waist tops, foot wear ranging from the strappy pump, or booties and their hair is flat ironed within an inch of making them Asia. Somewhere in their minds they think they are going to stand out! Even the fashion deviants look alike, ride the L train across 14th street and you can always tell who’s going past 1st avenue into Williamsburg. No matter how you slice it, it’s all a uniform, I’ll pass. Once a scouting representative for the Rockettes asked me if I would be interested, my wry reply was” That, is my worst nightmare, standing in a line of 30, girls all wearing the same outfit, why would I want to do that?!”

I do not view what a person wears as a barometer of how “cool” they are. Trust, a well tailored jacket and a rocking pair of boots rarely escape my notice but I take it for what it is, a smart fashion sense and in some cases a willingness to live beyond one’s means. I am more impressed by what comes out of a person’s mouth, then their closet. I care about what you stand for, not what pumps you stand in. If you are a fashion do and an intellectual don’t you’re done for me. Looking good isn’t enough; it’s being or doing good, and having a point of view that matters. We don’t have share an opinion but at least take a moment develop one. As a society, beauty and hip-ness warrant exemptions. You can be stupid, untalented, mean, arrogant, rude, discourteous basically an *sshole but if you look good and are dressed well then it’s all good. It’s ridiculous, in my book if you can look good while holding a decent conversation I hear a choir of celestial angels sing. On the other hand if you’re a crappy dresser with bad skin and a glowing vocabulary you are welcome at my table anytime.

I am really outside of the norm when it comes to relationships. Ok, ok, I know what you’re thinking, relationships become hard when you don’t like people. True enough but even before I realized that I wasn’t a fan of the species, I never subscribed to the idea of Dating to Eat; going out with a guy just to have something to do, or have a great meal, even when you know good and well you have no real interest the person beyond having them pay the bill. Look, whether in feast or famine, recession or a booming economy it is my belief that people work too hard for their money to be toyed with. Personally there is no meal worth sitting across from a person I have little interest in for two hours, I’d rather go to the dentist, at least there’s would be a point.

Where Sex in the City was supposed to exalt the lives of single, independent women it actually ended up highlighting how desperate and pathological single women can be. I can’t get down with being with someone, anyone just so that I won’t be alone. What is so terrifying about being alone? Barring the fact that it might take a week or two (depending on the weather) for authorities to find your dead body in your apartment, being single isn’t so bad. It’s better than being in a bad relationship, but perhaps that’s just me. I like being alone, and some of the best conversations I have had have been with myself, I’m quite witty and insightful, sure I can be a ball buster but I’m rather entertaining if I don’t say so myself, and myself agrees.

There is also this general consensus that you can be a self absorbed, self involved, ego maniac, and inflict that sort of behavior on everyone in your life (parents siblings, friends, co-workers etc.) yet someone should want – should feel privileged to get to spend the rest of their life with you. Whenever I hear people talking relationships 95% of the time they’re talking about what the other person is doing for them. A guy’s great because he buys her x,y, and z, he pays for this or that, gets her hair and nails done, and takes her here or there. Seldom do I hear about what they can contribute to the life of the other person. It’s all about what you can get, not what you can give. It strikes me as odd.

What it boils down to is a sense of loathing for superficiality. I mean the majority of people flocking to yoga in the states are less concerned with the spirituality of the practice as they are about what it’s going to do for their guns and abs, yet they run around saying “Namaste” with that cylinder mat carrier on their backs clueless. I hate the idea that people think that having the hot new bag or phone or car makes them any more or less, I hate that it has trickled down to our children. I hate that even as much as it should be true when you tell an authentically odd looking child that it doesn’t matter because they are a beautiful person inside, that we know it’s not true in this world, and what’s worse is that they know too. I hate that people are more concerned with being ”hot” Then they are with being informed, and that instead aspiring with age to grow more comfortable in our own skins, we are compelled to pull it tight and cut it off. Haarrummmph- I just don’t get it, but now I’ve done worked myself into a tizzy I best be grabbing my yoga mat to in the hopes of finding some peace, or just the peace of mind that I’ll look hot in my bikini come Spring break! Namaste…

For the record:
Namaste- two Sanskrit words - namah + te - meaning " I bow to that (divinity) inherent in you."