Is elegance innate?

cc licensed ( BY ND ) flickr photo shared by Helga Weber

From across the street, I watched her.

Her red pashmina had caught my attention the moment she had stepped out of the car.

I looked on as she expertly drew the pashmina around her shoulders, transforming it into a stole.

She looked so elegant.
So sophisticated.

Just then, almost as if the universe took delight in mocking me, another beautiful woman waited for a car to pass before swiftly crossing the street.

Dressed in a beautiful black knee-length coat, with a pearl-colored scarf delicately wrapped around her neck, she resembled a graceful gazelle.

I couldn’t help noticing how the ends of her scarf floated behind her like wings.

As I slowly made my way home, I wondered how some women have the ability of making elegance seem so effortless.

Convinced that they were born with a special gene, I sought comfort in the fact they were but a lucky few.

Nevertheless, I sighed as I thought how wonderful it would be to have that look.

That look of “je ne se quois.”

That look of sophistication that says, I am beautiful and I know it.

These thoughts put me at war with my belief that all women are beautiful.

Yet a part of me conceded that while it was true that we were all beautiful, this didn’t necessarily mean that we all had the ability to exude elegance.

Determined to put this theory to the test, I called out to the Significant Other to bring down the basket where I store my scarves.

Bewildered, he looked on as I hurriedly threw scarf after scarf on the sofa until I found the one I was looking for.

Holding it up, I noticed how it sparkled against the beam of light that emanated from the reading lamp.

I smiled as I remembered my mother’s words the day she gave it to me.

“Here you go, Bella. So you can feel pretty and warm.”

I carefully wrapped it around my shoulders, trying to mimic the movements of the woman I had seen on the street earlier.

My breath caught as I spied my reflection in the glass.

There, standing in front of the Significant Other and Roxy I stood– looking like a badly wrapped burrito.

“Dare I ask what you’re doing?” I heard the Significant Other ask.

My sharp look and pursed lips indicated that this was not a good time.

Convinced it was my lack of expertise in arranging the pashmina just so, I pulled out another scarf.

This time, a luxurious cashmere little number I had bought back in the day when I didn’t have to worry about college tuitions bleeding me dry.

Twice around the neck, and voila!

I turned once again to look at my reflection.

This time it looked like I was wearing a high end neck brace.

At that point, I jammed all the scarves in the basket and instructed the Significant Other to take them away, no questions asked.

As I poured myself a cup of coffee, I thought that perhaps the look of sophistication was learned and not innate.

Perhaps these women attended a special “elegance learning” school where they were instructed in the fine art of tying scarves, faking the look of a stole, and walking in a way that prompted their scarves to come to life.

Or perhaps they all looked like badly wrapped burritos and it was my ID who was romanticizing their appearance and making them appear like unstoppable goddesses.

Calling out to the Significant Other, I stopped him midway up the stairs.

Reaching into the basket, I pulled out the pashmina.

“Don’t ask,” I hissed as I walked back to my room.

Opening the small cabinet door, I carefully placed it on top of the clothes already stored there.

It was irresponsible of me to conclude that my theory was right or wrong.

I would have to put it to the test once more.

Tomorrow.

I would try again tomorrow.

Do you think elegance is learned or something a person is born with?

Do these pants make me look groovy?

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.

Me?

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?

Photo Credit: The Son

Today I’m linking up with Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.

How did I go from Starbucks to this?

This weekend I did something I rarely do.

I went window shopping.

To me, this pastime is not only senseless, it also serves to remind me that “if you ain’t got the money, you ain’t got the honey.”

Nevertheless, prompted by the fact the Significant Other was standing in line at Starbucks, I wandered into the shop next door.

I immediately walked past a display of handbags in front of the shop.

Never having been a purse addict, I failed to see the purpose of perusing the “winter” collection.

However, three steps later, I walked back.

Something compelled me to feel, smell, and look at one of the items that brings women to their knees.

No sooner had I grabbed one of the bags from the shelf, when one of the sales associates appeared as if by magic.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“She?”
“Yes. I consider handbags female since they’re women’s best friend.”
“Are they?”
“Most definitely! Why don’t you try it?”
“No, really…”
“Please. I insist. There. How does it feel?”
“Like a purse I neither need nor want.”
“But doesn’t it make you feel special? Doesn’t it make you feel powerful?”
(At this point, I was wondering, who is this woman and when did she fall on her head?)
“Not really. I think I’ll pass.”

A second later, the bag was being whisked from my arm and replaced on the little stand.

And I was being given a dismissal look.

Fortunately, the Significant Other was calling my cell phone to ask where the heck I’d gone off to.

Minutes later, as I drank my coffee, I pondered the sales associates’ words.

Seriously?

Has self presentation really dwindled down to things non-related to our level of kindness, compassion, and integrity?

Have we become so obsessed with the image we want to convey that we spend outrageous amounts of money on something as ridiculous as a purse, believing it’s what best represents power and who we are?

When did “presenting” take over “just being?”

Sadly, it would seem that just being has been defeated by the need to use artifacts to gain respect.

As a society, we continue to be fed the false belief that we have to buy, think, and do “this and that” if we want to create an appearance of status.

In order to impress others, we have to buy overpriced items like the purse in the shop, to send the message, “Look at me! I’m chic, trendy, and ahem, powerful!”

This leads me to think that somehow along the way, we’ve stopped placing worth on our “humanness” and instead, transferred presentation value to inane things.

This makes me sad.
Very sad.
And angry.

Ladies, we’ve come too far and worked too hard to prove our worth, power, and influence as productive members of society.

And last time I checked, a purse, shoes, and designer labels had nothing to do with it.

I say it’s time we empower ourselves through our acts of kindness, our willingness to help those in need, our intellect, and our ability to influence others with our experience and knowledge.

And really, expensive designer label purses?

Present me with one that provides me with the aforementioned qualities, and I’ll happily buy it.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to pass.

Do you feel we’re placing too much importance on material things?