Man in the Mirror

David Sedaris suggested that I start a journal or some method of writing everyday. Yes, this blog started that way, but it's tough to find the time to sit down and do it everyday like you can when physically schlepping around a notebook. Luckily for me (and all of you blogoteers out there), the entries from the latter can be transferrable to the former. Today's entry addresses vanity.

Anyone who has been following me on Twitter has seen that I am prone to ranting against the self-indulgent tendencies of those around me. For instance, one thing that grinds my gears like you wouldn't believe is when someone uses the "iPhoto" or "Photobooth" feature on their Macbook to take multiple pics of themselves. When I say multiple pics, I mean ENTIRE FUCKING ALBUMS. I have friends on facebook that do this all the time and it bugs me to no end. How self-absorbed can you be? What makes these people think that we want to see 35 variations of the same damn picture of just them? Using it every so often to create a new profile pic is one thing, but to stand/sit in front of your camera for that long to create 35 throwaway shots of yourself striking poses and making ridiculous faces IS NOT an ideal employment of the "variations on a theme" idea.

Really, random chick, really? REALLY???

Just last week, a girl in my Anthropology (DAAAMMMMMN, ANTHROPOLOGY???) class sat there and took various shots of her making kissy faces and perky boob shots. In the middle of class. A class with 300 other students. Far be it from me to get on someone's case for not paying attention in class, but really though? Is that what's hot in the streets? Nevermind the fact that this chickenhead wasn't particularly cute; how could anyone have that kind of wanton disregard for the people around them? There's healthy self-esteem and then there's brazen self-absorption, and this girl nailed option #2. I could never ever, IN A MILLION YEARS, sit in a class with that many people around me (read: ANY people around me) and do something that incredibly audacious. Needless to say, me and the few people who caught her doing this founds ourselves laughing together at the brash and oblivious vanity we were witnessing. I laughed to the point of tears, though those tears were mostly from weeping for my generation.

One reason why I would never do anything like that is that I'm self-conscious to a fault; I'm always thinking about how I will look in front of people, so I try not to set myself up for embarrassing things like that girl did. That sounds like a bad thing -- which it certainly can be most often -- but it makes me acutely aware of my strengths and my weaknesses for the most part. I know I can come off as judgmental and pretentious, but that's only because I'm twice as hard on myself, and with that in mind, I've been slowly coming to the realization that I'm a pretty vain guy myself (I mean, why else create a blog that may or may not be read by people?). Not outwardly vain in the sense that I'm braggadocious and like to draw attention to myself amongst a group of people like most vain people, but in the sense that I am not afraid (read: look for opportunities) to interject personal stakes in conversation and I care -- perhaps way too much -- about how I look. Let's just say that I'm always fully cognizant of and ready to use any mirrors around me.

For example, I have a hard time wearing clothes that don't match at least somewhat. It's a tough, self-imposed burden that I have to live with, but even when sitting around the house, I can't really bring myself to wear clothes that conflict in color. Not only do I want them to match, I want them to look good together. It gets even worse when I leave the house. One time, I recall wearing dress clothes to school all day and then coming home and changing into something more comfortable for a couple hours, only to change back into the dress clothes from earlier when it was time for me to go back out. What was I going back out to do, you ask? I was going back out to do one of the activities most people come to associate with formal wear, of course -- BABYSIT. I mean seriously, how absurd is that? Where they do that at? I still remember Gossip Girl getting on me about it that day ("Why are you wasting time changing? Those kids aren't going to care what you're wearing"). The irony of GG warning me that the dress clothes were a bad call is that I'm constantly perplexed by her insistence on getting far dressier for parties and bars than I do when we go out. Me and her don't always see eye to eye on things like this, but I generally dismissed this as the cultural differences between a young African-American male and a young Caucasian woman -- she just wouldn't understand my sense of style and my taste in clothing any more than a cat understands a dog's insistence on human companionship, and vice-versa. But guess what? GG was right, OH so right. I got to the house -- these kids lived in a trailerpark, I might add -- and those kids gave less than a damn that I was dressed up. I was clearly casting my pearls before swine, as they climbed all over me and tried to have me running all around and jumping up and down just like any other day.

I'm not vain.... Unless this is considered vanity

I tried to assuage some of my disappointment in their ignorance -- I looked sharp! I didn't dress like this just everyday! Couldn't children of 10, 7, 3, and 2 years of age appreciate that? -- by telling myself that more than anything else, dressing up was about making a good impression upon their mother, who certainly couldn't have been used to having a babysitter put in that kinda effort. Both of her arms were fully functional, so I was puzzled as to why she wasn't patting me on the back when I realized that this woman was questionably -- at best -- qualified to be a four-time mother, let alone give out recommendations based on the impression she got from the dapper-looking young man watching those kids. But when it really came down to it, my own vanity had as much to do with me wearing those dress clothes over there as anything else did. I wanted people to see me looking good, so much so that I deluded myself into thinking that such a thing might matter to these people. FAIL.

I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that I'm somewhat of a pretty boy. At times, I accessorize outfits like a teenage girl, and though I'm not particularly proud of that, it's just the way I am. I cannot say in full confidence that I own many clothes -- or any shoes at all -- that I would be totally comfortable getting dirtied. Yes, I know I have exposed some of my more effeminate qualities here today, but I am what I am; so sue me.

Y'all see where I get it from. 

The obvious question is: where do I get this all from? Well, the older I get and the less I want to admit it, the more I notice some of my own qualities in my dad. He came to visit a couple weeks back, and for all of the ways that we can butt heads on our differences in opinion, conflict can arise amongst some of our similarities as well:; most notably in this case, our affinity for getting dressy for banal activities. When he showed up here, he was decked from head to toe in formal wear featuring various shades of blue. He got to the house and sat around all evening and night in these clothes and shoes, which, at first glance, appeared to be gators. He insisted that they were, but as a gator perpetrator myself, I knew better; you can't bullshit a bullshitter. But throughout the weekend, I felt at times that I was looking into a slightly more compact body-length mirror. That mirror became even clearer once his late luggage finally arrived and I realized that he had packed very little in the way of clothing that could be of even any use on a potential camping trip. I guess it's a good thing that I quit the Boy Scouts so early as a kid.

My tangential anecdote was not so much about his visit as it is about the light that was further shed by it: my sometimes misguided sense of vanity is hereditary. While someone's sense of "style" is subjective (me and him differ A LOT in that regard), their obvious vanity is not quite so much. As I find myself speaking out more and more against the various forms of arrogance and self-absorption that permeate my world, it's only fair that I point those judgmental eyes at the man in the mirror.

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off.... Yall stay classy now.