I used to have an imgur account called ‘average simplicity’ and I thought that was super unique and ~aesthetic~ and now realize it’s kind of just smushing two words together that don’t really belong.
But one of those words keep coming up in my head lately, as I go through my days with an awesome sense of averageness.
I mean, on a good day, I wake up, make myself some coffee and toast, read about mental illness for school. Make a playlist, pet my cat, shower, throw on a t-shirt and jeans and stroll over to my local coffee shop to keep reading or write blog stuff. My hair is short, so I don’t need to do much to it, and my makeup routine is essentially down to some crazy lipstick, so I never feel like my face is melting off.
And it’s all so grand, it’s like… if I’m dressed the way I want to, and not the way I think I ought to, then everything in the world is funny and nothing is stressful. Because theres no sense of insecurity.
Occasionally I stop what I’m doing and laugh at how mortified I would be if me, five months ago, met me today.
Why didn’t you put any effort in? Don’t you know who you’re up against? Don’t you realize that you have to look the BEST at all times? If you don’t dress to the nines you’re going to feel awful and then you’re going to hate yourself for not looking better than the rest. Coffee? That’s just going to make you jittery and sweaty for the rest of the day, and you won’t be on point. Don’t eat before evening, you can’t afford to look bigger or more bloated than anyone. If you’re hungry, smoke. And for Christ sake, would you put some eyeliner on? What are you, going to the beach?
It’s funny how much a person’s ideals can change. And I always wonder what the cause could be. I always assume some mid-life crisis, a means of survival. And I suppose that applies to me.
I guess five months ago I just found myself surrounded by people that were either so impeccably beautiful or so disgustingly try-hard that I needed to measure up or be exiled. So I stepped it the hell up, and it was fun for a minute– playing dress up and all. But that’s the trouble, when playing becomes a chore, the fun disappears. I can’t imagine what an entire existence built around playing dress up would look like. Probably miserable.
The point is, I found after the adjustment period of losing the xxxtra doe eyes, the floral print vibrant enough to drown out the constant uncomfortable whine and the necklaces heavy enough to break my neck if I wasn’t standing pretty– I realized how okay I am in my own skin. I am in love with my tank top and jean days. Throw an old mechanic’s t-shirt over it all, to stifle the breeze. That’s all I need.
And if I could go back in time, I would tell myself that. But she had to learn it the hard way, I ‘spose.
Love the simplicity of yourself, dude. Do what the fuck you wanna do, and don’t let your actions be determined by a need for competition, or to ‘match up’ to anyone. If you’re down with yourself, you’re already in the lead. But I mean, don’t race. Don’t run for anyone. Demand a strolling pace at all times.
Funny, I’m really starting to feel True Again.