Wouldn't it be lovely to be one of the beautiful people?
I am fascinated by how they dress, the set of sartorial choices they make each day. I can, in one glance, take in every detail of an outfit and I have uncanny photographic memory of clothing. I go through Internet-search-frenzy days and try to source something I have seen on a stranger. This week the Internet has failed; I can't find the one item I have been coveting so I have had to revert to my existing wardrobe and make do. Quel dommage.
My friend, when we were in Chamonix, commented that she noticed her reflection in a shop window and did not recognise herself! And not in a good way. We concluded that unless you have the aforementioned Dr Zhivago style, ski wear is hardly flattering and extreme weather does not allow for good hair days or glowing skin. I got her point though. I imagine that I look fabulous in some outfit or other and then see a photo or catch a reflection and I think - really?!! It's the same as when you present a photo to your hairdresser saying 'make me look like this' and of course, the bridge between fantasy and reality is wide.
Pinterest - I blame (and love) you.
I suppose we all have a view of ourselves that we hope to project outwards. Or at least that's how it is for me. A bit like when your phone camera swivels to face you and you see what your close-up selfie would look like! Shock! There's a reason why selfies are the domain of the young; such an unforgiving camera angle. Get over yourselfie.
I wonder where my self-perception comes from. There is something deeply ingrained in me about not looking the same as everyone else. I notice that my demographic wear a type of uniform. The school run is populated with women just like me. In much the same way as new mothers have their nappy bags and their buggies, mothers of school age children (particularly teens) are always seen with car keys and iphones in hand. Wearing ankle boots, skinny jeans, knits and parkas. I like the look but I also recognise it as formulaic. My contemporaries are also, usually, crazy fit. There is something about the 40th year that makes women start to train. I think back to when my Mum was my age and she did not go running or do yoga classes. Some of her friends might have played recreational tennis or squash, but never did they train.
I heard a radio programme recently where the matter being discussed was what to do when an elderly relative no longer cares about their appearance. Should an intervention be staged? Why does presentation matter so much? Or does it only matter to some? I am torn; I am always on the side of striving, but by the same token I wonder whether it really all matters?
