Spying myself in a shop window while I walked Roxy this afternoon made me realize I have to start dressing better.
Really, even a strong advocate of “clothes don’t make the monk” like myself has to draw the line somewhere.
Pretending I’m Charlize Theron in the movie, “Sweet November,” is not working anymore.
Let’s face it, Charlize wearing a ratty poncho still looks like a million dollars.
I still look like I’m wearing a ratty poncho.
Such is life.
In my defense, the day doesn’t seem to have enough hours.
It seems to pass by at lighting speed and before I know it, I only have a few minutes before Roxy has an accident on the carpet, or the Son starts screaming, “I’m sixty seconds away from gnawing on the legs of the dining room table!”
Is this the time to color coordinate an outfit and select the right accessories?
I don’t think so.
And so, with the intent of taking care of business before I have to witness the Significant Other trying to slice through a frozen pound cake with a butter knife, I’m out the door wearing whatever I threw on in the morning.
Today’s outfit consisted of a pair of pajama pants emblazoned with the word “groovy,” an old T-shirt that once upon a time used to be black but now has taken on a muted shade of gray, and a pair of old Birkenstocks I bought at a thrift shop ten years ago.
Hardly the epitome of groovy.
Tonight, I pondered why it is that some of us abandon our inner fashionista at a remote truck stop, never to be rescued again.
Do we do this because we’ve become too lazy to bother with our appearance?
Or do we do it because the older we get, the more our enlightened state tells us that clothes are not part of our spiritual essence?
Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter what we tell ourselves or how we try to convince ourselves there’s nothing wrong with our schizophrenic wardrobe choices.
The reality is that we should invest time on ourselves.
We deserve to put ourselves first.
Before our spouses, before our grown up “children,” before our furry friends.
It’s important for us to realize that we also matter.
Regardless that we may think that outward appearances aren’t important, the reality is that much of the time, looking good means feeling good.
And so, after much soul searching, I’ve come to the conclusion that perhaps it’s time to modify my “monk” mentality.
Because while it may be true that a badly dressed monk is still a monk, wearing a pair of pajama pants that say “groovy,” doesn’t mean I’m looking groovy.
How important is it for you to look nice?
Today I’m linking up with Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.