A few years ago, one of my girl friends casually asked me, “Do you always wear flare jeans?”
Simple “yes or no” question, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
Allow me to demonstrate how somebody who scores high on “N” (that stands for “Intuition” on the Myers Brigg Type Indicator and basically means that I read into most statements instead of taking them at face value) processes what is supposed to be a simple question.
How a normal person interprets the question
How a strong “N” interprets the question
Sigh. Yeah, I go 0 to 100 real quick.
Anyway, fortunately for my friend, I took my own advice and exited the “N” train at the suggested stop #7.
Me: “Well, I don’t wear skinny jeans because I don’t think my legs or my butt look good in them.”
Friend: “What?? I was just asking.”
Me: “Oh, you weren’t implying that my jeans are outdated? Wait. Are they outdated,…?”
Friend: “I mean, I guess they’re kind of 90s, early 2000s.”
Me: “Okay, fine. Britney Spears was my inspiration. Yeah, I guess I only wear flare jeans. I just don’t think I’d look good in skinny jeans.”
Fast forward about six months later. I am honestly so vain that I couldn’t let the conversation end there. I just had to know – Could I make skinny jeans work for me? (That and, I didn’t want to out my age by continuing to wear “I’m A Slave 4 U” jeans. I swear, denim is like carbon dating for women.) I literally spent half a year on the ultimate denim chase, hunting for the perfect pair of skinny jeans.
Anyway. Y’know what I discovered?
My ass looks money in skinny jeans. MONEY.
My legs looked longer. My butt looked even better. Lord, I repent for my unbelief!!
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am going to start writing again.
“Because writing is going to make your butt look even better?” NO. PAY ATTENTION.
Maybe the medium of choice is different. Okay, fine, my previously preferred medium of choice is now irrelevant, outdated, obsolete. Do not judge lest ye be judged. (R.I.P. Xanga.com. R.I.P. Blogspot.com. Respect.) And, for some reason, I now need to have rudimentary coding knowledge in my back pocket and an arsenal of “visual components” in order to blog. On top of all that, I might want to hire a freelance consultant of the millennial variety to design a social media strategy. WTF. Is nothing easy anymore? I thought technology was supposed to make all this easier.
I guess I could just walk away from this. I mean, “this” isn’t much. But, am I really going to let a generation’s worth of developments on the Interweb stop me from pursuing an admittedly far-fetched dream of being a professional blogger and, perhaps someday, a legitimate author? Setting aside the impossible for a moment, am I seriously going to give-up before I even try? Am I going to write myself off before I even start writing again? Besides, isn’t every dream a far-fetched dream, an impossible dream? Isn’t every dream one that teeters between “so close” and “so far,” between an abyss of hopelessness and a horizon of possibility? I suppose it wouldn’t be a dream if it wasn’t, if it didn’t.
If I had never given skinny jeans a chance, I never would have known how money I look in them. Not only did I rediscover my backside and my legs (Glory, glory, hallelujah! Honestly, it still makes me wanna praise Him.), I also discovered that I don’t look as bad as I imagined I did – actually, that I look damn good – in a variety of cuts and styles. In fact, I discovered a whole new world of wardrobe possibility, not only in denim but also in every other clothing category.
What I am trying to say is – I would have remained in fashion and mental bondage if I had continued to limit myself to low-cut flares. Similarly, I will never know what I am capable of, where I could go, who I could be, until I try writing again. As Master Yoda would counsel, “Try, you must.” I would rather fall, fail, risk heartbreak and humiliation, than not try at all. Goodbye, comfort zone. Goodbye, pride. Goodbye, self-preservation. Isn’t there some inspirational quote that goes something like, if something is worth pursuing, it will always cost you something? Well, if I’m willing to buy designer skinny jeans, then I’m willing to pay $2.99/month and some heart palpitations, sweat, and tears to pursue this dream thing.
And, hey, if I fail, at least I fall on my cute butt. If I fail, at least I fail with style. And I wouldn’t trade that, any of that, for all the money in the world.