boxes, islands, and lipstick
““I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks.” ”
It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative proI conducted a semi-experiment (semi — because I actually felt like doing what I did) yesterday by posting a status update about my manicure-deprived nails and tagging the woman that has been doing them for the past fifteen years. Just seconds after, a couple of my friends sent me screenshots of my status update (I’ve been receiving those ever since, actually), followed with dozens of shocked emojis and “I can’t believe my eyes! I was certainly not expecting this from you!” To come and think of it, it was just the night before that we shared giggles over a banal Facebook status posted by an acquaintance of ours, and I realized that I myself was being a total hypocrite (let’s revisit this statement slightly later).
What the experiment proved is something I have been thinking about for the past couple of weeks in particular, after this young man I met recently basically stopped speaking to me because of an innocent “public” joke and an undoubtedly funny .gif I posted on Facebook. Apparently, he has a reputation, an image to live up to and, despite the fact that the very joke had already been the highlight of our previous, less public conversations, apparently, I jeopardized it severely. “Holy cow,” I thought to myself.
As much as I truly care about being punctual and producing superior-quality work for clients, I don’t really have an image per se, which I try to live up to in particular settings. I like to think of myself as a consistently genuine person, and that obviously entails not being politically correct at times, sounding like a total geek that I actually am, talking philosophy and making dirty jokes with my girlfriends. In short, this is me — contrary to every expectation and standard that I am held up against since childhood (my mother still calls me every now and then, criticizing me for posting what I did, claiming “that’s not how people like me should be behaving”). That said, the incident with the young man referenced above forced me to dig deeper into the issue — as much as I am aware and lately even proud of being a nefelibata, I always question my actions and make sure I didn’t inadvertently screw up with someone that may have a different take on life.
I heavily contemplated his attitude towards himself and his so-called image, and truly felt sorry for what may be going on in his head. It all reminded me of the viral video featuring Cynthia Nixon, which was trending just a couple of months ago — and that’s not because I’m about to argue how I’m being held to insane standards as a woman. Actually, what worries me is the fact that we are constantly being held to an insane standard as humans — regardless of gender, sexual orientation or political views. Those standards dictate the way we are treated by others and, most importantly, how we value (or don’t, really) ourselves every day. If our father is a physicist, our science teacher expects us to be the next Einstein (true story); if we mostly write about philosophy, our friends expect us to never write about missing a manicure immersion during quarantine (again, true story); if we have a degree from Harvard, our shrink expects us to find a well-paying job at a large corporation (sadly, that, too, is a true story); if we are managing a large corporation, our audiences expect us to always appear in a suit and tie, with a particularly ceremonious look on our face. If we’re too serious — that’s a problem. “Relax,” they say. If we’re too lighthearted (seriously, what does that even mean?), “that’s not a good look on you.” If you’re being quiet, “speak up,” they say. If you’re being loud, “you must tone it down.” If you’re giving somewhat didactic advice, you’re “sounding like my mom.” And the list goes on, with a new ridiculous standard permeating our daily lives and brains every day.
Stereotypes are a riveting concept. I’ve noticed that it is a way of de-personalizing people around us, in such a way that simplifies them and allows us to place them in a particular box on a particular shelf, which is essentially how I picture our thought process. And that’s all too relatable to dismiss as wrongdoing. Our overwhelming fear of being alone determines who we choose to be each day. After all, being human is not an easy task: every morning, we leave our apartments with subconscious assumptions about being hit by a car, lied to or simply judged for the color of our lipstick. Had all that thinking been conscious, we would have certainly locked ourselves up in our rooms and failed to form relationships, which are solely based on trust and hope that another person is not going to hurt us. That’s the foundation of our social contracts and the reason why we (well, most of us) don’t go to sleep with guns under our pillows.
Of course, that social covenant comes at a price: we choose to share attitudes, conform to group-wide norms and live up to accepted standards. That is our form of “pro-social” behavior, our tacit consent to what we’re part of and the sole determinant of our reputation, which earns us a living or wins us prizes, gets us featured in the “top whatever number of whatever-aged” section of a trendy magazine and catches the eye of the very wooer our parents would want us to be pursued by. That is why we don’t fart in public and rarely think of wearing pantyhose over our heads when leaving the house. That’s why we mostly buy make-up and call instead of showing up unannounced. It’s all our way of showing appreciation for the social capital we have been blessed with and also a sort of guarantee that it won’t be taken away any day.
In that sense, I’ve been living on the edge. My hair has never been outrageously colored and I only have two piercings — one on each ear — which was my mother’s choice, back in 1993. I never stopped getting good grades and today was literally the first time I fell asleep during a lecture (online). And yet, when I turned 13, things got rough at school. The people I had grown up with were developing facial hair and projecting hormones onto bullyable members of our class. Standing up for the latter and doing homework was certainly not a sensible choice, if you wanted to fit in, which, of course, I naturally yearned for.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! Are you still planning on getting good grades? This is eighth grade, for God’s sake,” said this girl in my class, as she turned around and looked at me, completely shocked to discover that I knew the answer to the question from our Physics teacher. And believe me, the one thing I didn’t study properly was Physics — probably because everyone expected me to follow into my father’s footsteps — but the general respect I had for responsibilities applied, still.
Since then, I’ve been quite accustomed to being the odd one out — but not because I ever wanted to. In fact, the greatest struggle of my life has been my inability to conform — contrary to popular advice from friends or the unwritten rules of office politics that I never really got a kick out of.
Now that I’ve finally formed my tribe — though relatively scattered and heterogenous, contrary to common tendencies — I feel comfortable being myself. Yes, my quixotic character is still a subject for laughter and my decision to get a lip ring (which I didn’t) was greeted with absolute shock, but it’s generally OK to be me. At times, it even feels great, actually. But moments such as yesterday are a somewhat disheartening reminder that I, too, despite being accepted as an eccentric persona, whose actions tend to be not as shocking as before, have been placed in a box. The box is undeniably quite comfortable, with ample space for mistakes and sufficient room for surprises. But it’s a box.
And I don’t like boxes. Actually, who would?!
My version of personal freedom (and, naturally, freedom does come with responsibilities) resembles an island: a tiny chunk of the same matter that the rest of the world is made of, surrounded with water — again, shared by all; open to tides and joining forces; volcanic in nature, or covered with ice; at times, wrapped in tropical waters. We come in archipelagoes and sometimes, form continents — larger islands or embodiments of slightly more common phenomena. Sometimes, we’re barren rocks, or evergreen jungles — welcoming wildlife or staying mysterious, conquerable by few. Sometimes, we’re broken off the mainland, but still considered as part of the continent we once belonged to. And sometimes, we house skyscrapers, integrate modern technologies and connect with others through underwater tunnels. But, at the end of the day, we are islands.
And sometimes, we like to wear lipstick.ject to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.
Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.
