I work at a hotel. This morning at 5a, a sight to see strolled in. This woman was easily 75+ lbs over weight and had stuffed herself into what had to be a size medium tank top (a feat I don't even dare attempt). Her cavernous tattoo cleavage spilled out of the too small bra and overflowed the tanks meager straps. Above the shoulder was a lovely combination of facial piercings, the largest hoop earrings I have ever seen and a rumpled, frizzy 'do. From the chest down we were greeted with a muffin top (see previous post) big enough to feed a family of fifteen for weeks. And the best part is yet to come. In lieu of pants or even a skirt she had on tights. Not just any tights. They were leopard print. And not merely leopard print, but see through leopard print complete with a pair of black granny panties underneath. If this wasn't already the best thing you have ever envisioned, as she wobbled away I noted the holes of various shapes and sizes in aforementioned tights. And to truly work it, she topped it all off with some too-high for her to walk in heels. Amazing. (I just want to point out that I attempted to photograph said creature, in case one thought she was nonexistent on par with Bigfoot or Nessie, however I couldn't figure out how to shut off the shutter sound on my camera. I was afraid that if I tried to capture her image and she caught me, she may smother me in her ample bosom. And for me to fear someone's chest, you know it has to be LARGE!)
I walk a very fine line between looking like shit and actually caring about my appearance (Recently, a guy friend told me I either look really good or completely shitty, never in the middle). I am usually to be found with at least makeup on, but it is anyone's guess what my hair will look like that day. Rushing usually consists of some form of a braid, or if I am really desperate, wearing it down and unstraightened. However the one thing I will never venture out of the house wearing is pajama pants. And that is because to me, pajamas scream "I really don't give an eff".
Now I am not hating on anyone else who chooses to stroll around in their pjs. It is just my personal standard for looking good outside of the home. Everyone has their own standard and that may or may not include a hairbrush. But to me, someone who is walking around like a hot mess really doesn't respect themselves. So why should I? It's one thing to want to be au natural, I know many people who don't like to wear makeup. However, that doesn't excuse basic hygiene. You can still throw together a nice outfit. Same goes for wearing a completely lovely outfit and looking like a smeary mess with your makeup.
Deep down, everyone knows when they look good. You may not want to admit it to yourself, that the smaller size you are desperately trying to squeeze into gives you an unflattering bulge or that perhaps that much skin showing isn't your best look. But when you look sloppy, people perceive you as sloppy. As much as it sucks, our society is vain and appearances matter. I recently read a scathing article about Hilary Clinton's makeup and weight. The woman is the SoS and clearly has more important things to worry about. Yet people still judge.
Rumpled, smelly, smeared makeup, ill-fitting clothes. None of these are good looks. You never want someone to look at you and wonder what hovel you currently crawled out of. Or how much it would cost to crawl into one of your bed...
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