Last night, after watching two episodes of “What Not to Wear,” I was forced to dive into the world of female inadequacies. Huddled beneath a blanket in sweatpants, my keeper and I, who, coincidently enough, had recently cut our hair in an attempt to feel better about ourselves, found it hard not to ooooh and aaah during each make-over reveal. As I watched women tear up from seeing themselves in a new light, I felt conflicted. I wanted so badly to believe in this “life changing process,” to duplicate it for myself, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in doing so, was I really just a consumerist sell-out?
Upon arriving home to my apartment, I resisted the urge to psychoanalyze my closet and sat down at my computer instead. I posted a quote on my facebook recently by my favourite silent film actress Louise Brooks: “A well dressed woman, even though her purse is painfully empty, can conquer the world.” Similarly, should I believe that “a well dressed woman, even though her body is full of pain, can conquer her Lupus World?” Headaches, nausea and days spent in and out of bed seem to be a trend lately. I’m drained. Faded. There’s no zest, no sparkle. I blend into my bed sheets. In an attempt at liveliness, I had my hairdresser give me bangs. BANGS. God, that sounds ridiculous. I know I need to dig deeper.
Pain isn’t sexy. Neither is dependance, cognitive blips, or needing 3 hour naps. The self-doubt, self-loathing and fear that comes with all of that, well, that’s what not to wear. That’s where the ugliness is, not in the disease itself. Ah, so easy to say, but harder to live when you’re pacing across your living room trying not to puke.
Here’s some passionate, slam poetry inspiration to counter my evening of make-over reality t.v.: