Thanks to everyone who read my piece "Seeking Invisibility," and special thanks to Roxane Gay who retweeted it and thus brought it an enormously higher profile than it would in my modest (but supportive!) Twitter world. I swooned.
Since the piece, I've been thinking about why it resonated with so many folks, and whether it still resonates with me. If I want it to still resonate with me. I went shopping last week and bought a bunch of new clothes, including a pair of flappy, structureless, exposing shorts I would typically believe only stick-thin hipster girls could pull off. But I let myself wear them, and enjoy them, and they worked. They werked.
Reading more Roxane Gay (always so much to read, always so satisfying). She writes:
Today I went to a clothing store. I wanted to find a few nice things to wear for someone I want to look nice for when I see them soon. I am caring about my appearance. I am caring about myself, maybe. This is new and I think I like it. It’s embarrassing. Nothing makes sense anymore. I am blushing.
I don't have a "special someone" to dress for, but then again maybe I do and it's myself. Linking caring about my appearance and caring about myself seems slippery. My instinct is that it is somehow antithetical to my feminist principles to assert that varying my wardrobe may represent a step towards self-love. But aren't we all just bad feminists anyway? There is so much freedom to be had beyond those labels.
Just something to chew on.
Writer, eater, feminist, musician. Let's talk.