The next two blogs, which will close-out the Suffering and Self –Yummy period of my practice, are a recap of the homework Mae Yo gave me to look at my own experiences to see how I use stuff to feed and sustain the self. Part 1 will be evidence gathered from my belongings. Part 2 will address my body directly.
Fishing through my wardrobe I come across an outfit I love: tall black boots and a long jacket. Even just thinking of putting those two things on and I feel like a sexy badass. But really, in the dim light of a packed Victorian closet, the boots are just boots, the jacket just a jacket. So what exactly is going on here? Is it like Clark Kent in a phonebooth, throw-on a shiny, skin tight, costume and I am transformed into a super hero? Where did this idea even come from?
I remember my first pair of tall black boots. I bought them late in life, already in my 30s. I found them at a goodwill and as soon as I zipped them-up, I felt transformed. Sharper, sexier, bolder, stronger… I honestly don’t know where any of this came from, but since that fateful day, a tall black boot is a wardrobe staple.
The jacket, I have a bit more memory of. I had a friend in university, Amber, who always wore a long jacket/sweater. It was her signature look and damn was she sexy: a strong, take charge, take no shit personality I frankly always wished I had. Me, I’m a bit timid, I shy away from confrontation, the best I could do was to make friends with someone so bold. That, and buy a long jacket.
But, do the clothes really make the woman? Back when I was in elementary school there was a brand of pants, Z. Cavaricci, that was all the rage. I was desperately unpopular at that age and even more desperate to become popular. Before the new school year started I got it in my head that it was a fashion problem. I convinced my mom to take me to the store and I bought a rainbow of Cavariccis, armed to make myself popular in the new year. But on the first day of school, I arrived in my new pants and I was greeted by taunts and bullying. Each day I wore a new color Cavaricci, but not one pair –not even the pink ones—did anything to get the other kids to like me.
I started looking around my house and my eyes fell on my dining room table, a 6 foot long mid century piece by the famous designer Finn Juhl, a gift from an old friend. Sitting at the table always makes me feel so special, so loved. It’s a unique, museum quality piece that affirms my awesome design sense and the fact that my awesome friend gave it to me…well what better evidence is there of my general awesomeness. And wrapped-up in that table are the memories of so many gatherings, so many dinner parties, so many occasions to affirm that I can surround myself with people who love and adore me.
Each thing in the house really seems to serve 2 purposes: One is the actual use; clothes to cover my body, chairs to sit in, books to read. But these objects, in my mind provide something else, they prove me; clothes to make me badass, furniture to make me fashionable and loved, books to make me seem smart. But, even my own experiences show the objects fail, they don’t do what I want them to do, they don’t make me who I want to be, after all, a closet full of Cavaricci never even made me 1 friend…
Each object took effort to acquire, to care for, to preserve. I try to make the objects, like my green purse, permanent. But they break and fade or like a Cavaricci go way way way out of fashion. I try to use those same objects to make me permanent, to make me what I want to be, but even when I’m wearing those tall boots and a long jacket, I still find myself shying away from a confrontation. Alas, Alana the badass is in my mind only, she isn’t born with a quick wardrobe change.