21 August 2013
Rebellious teenage roots
Ewan, my friend over at Lucid, Inc., accused me of returning to my rebellious teenage roots when he saw my undershave haircut.
Before you can ask, here's a pic. I left the sides grey and do the top a nice red/brown/auburn color.
Maybe he's right. And maybe that's ok.
dictionary dot com defines rebellious thusly:
defying or resisting some established authority, government, or tradition; insubordinate; inclined to rebel
When I think about it that way, I truly believe he's on to something.
Nobody designs clothes for real women these days, deodorant manufacturers believe that I am worried about what color the skin of my armpits may or may not be, cosmetics companies try and sell me on the idea that my face should look like porcelain, car makers try and sell me on the idea that my car is not cool enough/safe enough/technologically advanced enough, magazines try and convince me that my sex life isn't hot enough and my body is not thin enough and my clothes are not trendy enough, big pharma bombards me with ads that tell me I need this medicine or that one, and republicans try and convince me that they know what is best for my vagina.
When I look at all the messaging that's out there, I really start to feel rebellious. I may not like my thighs, but I mostly really like me just the way I am. I'm tough, I'm smart, I'm strong, I'm funny, I'm clean (and sober), I earned every damned one of my grey hairs, I laughed my way into those lines around my eyes, I'm a survivor--I'm just all around beautiful and awesome exactly the way I am.
I'm tired of conforming to society's ideas of what I should look like, act like, smell like, and think like.
Maybe there is some rebelliousness going on with the new haircut, the tougher clothes (all deconstructed or minimalist bordering on severe), and the multiples of pairs of new boots I have recently added to my shoe wardrobe. Or maybe I just realized that I have reached that age where I can do what the fuck I want and not give a shit what other people think about me. I've almost reached that age where I am not rebellious or weird, I'm eccentric.
The new items in my closet, the new shoes on my feet, the new haircut--these things all fit my lifestyle better. They also fit my personality better.
My personality has reached a point where it doesn't care about looking like everybody else looks, it doesn't care about what marketeers and magazines say my skin/hair/body/clothes should look like, it doesn't care that my car isn't cool enough in some circles, it doesn't care about conforming to society's norms. It just wants the best for me according to me.
And that kind of fits the definition of rebellious. So I guess Ewan was on to something after all.