Permanently Croc Shaped
I used to be really stubborn when I was a kid. Really stubborn.
When I was two and a half and in preschool (in China), my teacher would ask me a hundred times to change out of this one tank top with a pink bunny on it into my napping clothes and I would refuse. Everytime I wore it to preschool and the clock struck noon, my teacher would beg me to take it off but I calmly refused each and every time. I kept it on. It was special to me.
On one magical day in second grade, I was standing in line for hot lunch and my legs started to itch. I was wearing these straight leg blue jeans with a blitzy butterfly print on them and right then and there, I was convinced that my legs were alergic to jeans. After that day, I swore of jeans. For good. I was also 100% sure that I was allergic to all denim, which I refused to approach. In stores and whenever I went over to my friends’ house, I would keep myself at a 10 feet distance from all denim materials. My friends and my mom would beg me to at least try on a pair of jeans and make a fashion friendly choice, but I would refuse each time.
Not only did I refuse to wear jeans, I religiously kept my wardrobe a flare sweatpants, knee length socks, and oversized-free-T-shirt zone. All other clothing, except for underwear, which I used to wrap in thin styrafoam sheets for half an hour each time the laundry was done, were barred from entering. Additionally, I only wore crocs.
On a side note, this is a decision I heavily regret for physical reasons. If you ever have a kid, no matter how stubborn they are (like me), PLEASE BEG THEM TO NEVER WEAR CROCS EVERY DAY OF THEIR LIFE FOR 5 YEARS STRAIGHT. If this is the one thing you take away from this article, please remeber this. To this day, I can’t fit my feet into Sperry’s of my size, nor can I fit attractively into most high heels. The reason is that my feet are permanently croc shaped. They are fat rectangles that cannot be slimmed down. They are the waxing moon, permanently affixed… I digress.
Anyway, I would pair oversized crocs with neon, knee length socks, and stomp around the world. This is how I lived my life from the second to seventh grade.
After starting middle school, I stopped.
Was it because of puberty? Was it because I met a boy? For the first time in my life, I was conscious of my looks. For the first time in my life, I lost my confidence and I think I fell from a peak in my life. Looking back, I don’t think I have the bravery nor the confidence today to dress the way I did or act the way I did back in my elementary school days. While dressing may be superficial, it is the first impression that people get of each other and is thus incredibly important, especially in new environements. Looking around, I don’t think anybody else I have ever met has the confidence to dress the way I did either.
I envy the past me, the me that was carefree, the me that was comfortable, the me that was confident in whatever she did. I miss that me, but most of all, I miss the me that was so happy all the time no matter what she wore. Today, especially with media’s influence as well as others around us, it seems important, if not second nature to dress as best as you can (afford) and to make fashionable decisions, sometimes over comfortable ones. I think that it is imporant to abide to cultural decency norms and standards so that people do not mistake you for a psychopath, but at the same time, I wonder if this mindset has degraded me from someone different into just another special person who is special unlike the next 7, approaching 8 billion people on this Earth.
Sometimes I wonder if I made a wrong choice caring about how I look. Today, I often find myself spending at least 30 minutes a day in front of the mirror. I wonder if it matters at all and what this time does anyway. But most of all, I wonder if I am happy. When I was so carefree and exploring the world in my crocs, I was happy and I was somehow transcended above judgement. I had friends, I was popular, maybe even well liked. But now, in my Vans and Ugg boots and Vince Camuto heels, I think about how people think about me all the time and I don’t think their approval of me has gone up, maybe it’s even gone down. While I do believe I am more attractive while making fashion conscious decisions, I wonder if this is for the better or for the worse.
This ultimatley boils down to a question of ignorance vs. bliss, but what I wear and how I feel about it is something I can control unlike trying to forget a piece of information. Someday, I’m going to roll up my neon, knee length socks again and don on those trusty pair of oversized crocs stored up high in my wardrobe. That day, I’m going to walk all over the world and that day, I’m gonna be happy.
