The boy and I, we rarely fight. Even though we’re both equally stubborn and judgmental from time to time, luckily we mostly agree on things – especially the things or people we dislike, turning us into a really really obnoxious couple. But there’s one thing that I have noticed about us where we are completely different: maintenance.
He will totally hate me for this, but let me elaborate:
What he does on a daily basis is: get up, take a shower, put gel in his hair, dry it, put on some pants and a shirt. Like, a button-down shirt. Every. F*cking. Day. He’d rather skip breakfast than his daily routine. He does own a couple of t-shirts, but he wears them in bed or when he works out. Not on a regular day, though. Not even if he’s not really planning to leave the house. God forbid.
Me on the other hand…
I get up and go straight to the kitchen. I prepare breakfast, no matter what. If I have to be somewhere really early, I’ll get up early enough to have the time to eat enough to get me through the first two hours of my day. Everything else is secondary. If anything.
If you follow me on Snapchat – @chaotete, hint hint – you already know this: If I don’t have to go somewhere important, I don’t see a real reason why I should get dressed. In winter, I do put on something over my pajamas so I’m not cold but in summer I literally have no reason to dress properly. Or do my hair. Or put on make up.
Why? Because I can, that’s why. Because I don’t have a job – yet, besides uni – that requires for me to look somewhat polished and trustworthy. Something that will change early enough and last for a long long while. Because I feel more comfortable that way. Cosy and free. Just natural, just me. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy AF, yes, but also because I believe that I’m – still – young enough to look acceptable without a lot of effort.
Because why would I need the extra effort? And for whom? For myself to look at my reflection wherever I walk by a shop window? Right…
I had this thought when I spent a couple of days on Mallorca earlier this month, equipped with a couple of basic clothes, mostly to cover my body for occasions like hotel breakfasts or strolls around town in the evening. No heels, no bags, not even deodorant. Not because I like to scare people off with my natural venom, but because salt water and sun did the job as good as any chemical you’d usually use. And makeup? Nothing beats a tan and a fresh face. Nothing.
But walking around town in the evening, there were so many girls and women, looking like they had spent at least an hour to get ready. For dinner. At a pizzeria. Or drinks from shared buckets with sparklers. With their parents, mostly. On Mallorca. You know what I mean?
And when I came home, I saw all those blog post coming up, of bloggers sharing their visual diaries from their trips to Thailand or other exotic destinations. In their pink Zara velvet pants. With their Valentino rockstud bag. And their curling iron, obviously. And 50 shades of lipgloss?
And I just rolled my eyes.
Yes, I know for some people it’s basically their job to look fake and ‘perfect’ and I know that other people do enjoy pampering themselves, feeling good about themselves, knowing that they put some effort into their looks. But somehow nobody ever promotes how it’s a great feeling to feel good about yourself, knowing that it didn’t take 25 different products, seven outfit changes and way too many f*cks to get you into a presentable state.
I mean, I’m not judging if you’re somebody who enjoys dressing up 24/7 – it’s not like I never use makeup or totally overdress occasionally. Me too, I like a pretty outfit with a matching bag. I also don’t despise personal hygiene, to the contrary. With ‘less effort’ I don’t mean ‘less showers’.
It’s just that I sometimes have the feeling that people don’t even see not changing their appearance on a daily basis as an option. Or that their poor makeup skills ruin more than they help, just like a lot of other fake stuff people do to themselves which I obviously have a clear opinion on…
And I think they are missing out on a huge luxury. A privilege. A brief moment in life that might be over earlier than we think: Youth – the time when literally everybody looks good without a lot of fuzz. Yes, it’s cheesy, but trust me, you’re beautiful without your daily shield of wall color. You don’t look a fraction as hideous without makeup as your silly brain tells you. And whoever tells you differently should perhaps exfoliate his/her skin, set some life goals and contemplate why they have reached this point.
Ask your granny. She’d take your #iwokeuplikethis any time, trust me.