THE BEFITTING ROOM

Primping is something that I really find hard to do. In my late teens, self-maintenance/care started feeling a bit vain and confrontational. Caring too much about my appearance felt like a right reserved for far more put together individuals. As I have become older, it has become hard to unlearn my messy/clumsy nature.

What has become more apparent to me is that I’m obsessed with the old ugly duckling trope. I often let myself go and live for the 5 odd hours it takes me to get ready for a night out on the town. It’s something straight out of Cinderella, feeling like I can live out my alter ego dreams for one night only, slipping straight back into my dowdiness when the clock strikes 12.

I would often ask myself what was wrong with me. “Why can’t I be like other womxn?”. I’ve had family members and friends joke about my “tendencies”. I remember dating a guy who once asked me why my nails weren’t done and why my lipstick was smudged (in a perturbed manner, might I add). I remember one instance where someone implied that I ate with my whole body because my face is always covered in crumbs. Sometimes you find yourself laughing along just to mitigate the humiliation. Other times you really question if you’re an alien trapped on Earth.

What I’ve learned since then is just how intimate self-maintenance practices are. No single person is the same and so there is no standard of upkeep. In my case, my skin is extremely sensitive. Any form of epilation either hurts, scars or promotes ingrowns. Perfumes smell divine but either cause my adenoids to run amok or give me a rash. Fragranced creams give me an eczema flare up. It’s because of all this that I’ve become accustomed to being bare.

So bare that sometimes, I just want to wash my face with just water and keep it moving. I let all my unwanted hair grow out. I let ingrown hairs heal in their own time without incessantly scrubbing my skin. I go from months of getting my nails done on the reg’ to months of not GAF. Sometimes I go for Afro treatments at the natural hair salon and other times I leave my hair on the verge of becoming dreadlocked. Sometimes I coordinate my outfits with such attention to detail. Sometimes, a garbage bag will do.

I think in a world that prompts us to internalize the demand for perfection, it is important to decide for yourself as to what works for you. Your body, your threshold, your say.

I’m in awe of people who have it all together and never have a hair out of place. People who are always war-ready and never want to be caught “slipping”. They never seem to have lint on their clothes or scuff marks on their white sneakers. Everything they own has a compartment and every compartment has a lid.

I need to remind myself, however, that I am not them. Sometimes we need to accept ourselves with the same eagerness and openness with which we accept others. Furthermore, self-care begins within and no matter how many movie make-over montages I may want to emulate in real life, those swan moments are only peripheral. Outer beauty is amplified by beauty that radiates from within. At the cornerstone of that beauty is a celebration of self in EVERY single state of being.

Sometimes, an unwaxed, exposed roots, bushy browed, nail-biting, mismatched winged eyeliner-ed YOU may not be the version people want, but it’s the version that they ARE going to get.

*A special shout out to Lara Jean Song Covey from To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before; even with a sequel, she still never got around to tidying up her room. Guess what – she’s still popping. Lara Jean walked so that the rest of us Messy-nistas could run.