As I left the house this morning for coffee, I paused for a moment, considering my outfit (see photo) and my sixteen year-old self heard my mom’s words, “you can’t leave the house like that!” spoken for the zillionth time I’d slunk out of the house in my pajamas or some other lazy getup. My mom always looks gorgeous, and she comes by it naturally, but she also gives a lot more of a shit than I ever have on this front, and it shows. I thought — and I know she’s always hoped ;) — that this would change, that I’d eventually come around to taking better care of my appearances all the time. But so far, no good.
So part of this is seriously about the fact that I’m provably never going to stop wearing my pajamas out in public. But it’s more about accepting the fact that there are certain things that I will never much give a weight of importance to AND SO BE IT.
Besides, the clearly homeless lady at Starbucks just complemented me on my “pants” and we had a nice exchange.
I read an interview with Cheryl Strayed once, where the interviewer asked what she thought about the cool factor of living in Portland (where she lives) and say, New York (where more artists reside).
Her response was, “The amount of fuck I give about that could not be any less.”
Exactly. So let’s own it, darlings.
(Sorry for all the swears, mom.)