U3a Writing
What I was wearing. Sometimes clothes feel very uncomfortable. Sometimes they feel real good. Sometimes we know we look terrible. We don't know why we just know we do. As young people we are extremely conscious of what we are wearing. Clothes are one of the most important things in our lives. Very often we love our clothes. Very often the first grown up thing we do is chose an article of clothing that we have longed to have. Very often it is an act of rebellion to buy a certain frowned upon article of clothing. Very often years later we can remember precisely what we were wearing on a particular day. We can describe our clothes accurately. Some clothes are special. We can tell you how much we liked them. We can tell you where the clothes were bought and how they came to be in our possession. We can recall the very thinking that went into picking them to wear on the day. We can recall what we spent our first pay packet on. What we bought and how long we had it. We can be walking along the street doing something mundane and suddenly realise that our clothes do not match. The colours are wrong. We suddenly consider them to be the wrong size. Or out of fashion. Suddenly our day is ruined. We can meet an acquaintance in the street and suddenly realise that we are behind the times. We know that we have no fashion consciousness. The whole world is very fashion conscious. To an extent the world is dominated by fashion. Our leaders are always very fashion conscious. Our pop stars are always fashion conscious. They set standards. We always look for trends to follow. We look in magazines and see what royalty is wearing and then magically the same clothes are suddenly also worn by other leaders of fashion. It is known that if a manufacturer can get their brand mentioned on television or in the media then their sales will be affected positively. In March 1962 I was taken into Osmotherly’s Store in Murphy Street Wangaratta by both my mother and father. I was 16 years old. My mother wanted to buy me a new suit. A nice one to wear at weddings and at church as she explained to the salesman. Of course Madam. We have a new range just come in. Not too modern she said. Black please. I was put into a change room and told to take off my clothes. I watched through the curtain to my mother and the salesman deep in conversation. I hated what was happening. I knew they would pick something terrible and when he passed a suit through the curtain I saw he was right. It was black with narrow collars. It was made of thick patterned material. It was shiny. The trousers had cuffs. It had a fake belt. All these things were awful. The trousers felt like they didn't fit when I put them on. The material felt like it was made out of some abrasive material and chafed against my skin. I knew instinctively that I looked hideously ugly. I was made to come out of the booth and walk up and down so the salesman and my mother could see how I looked. Oh - very good said the salesman. Just the thing. When I came out of the booth I noticed that my good looking cousin had also come into the store. She had seen me. She was giggling and talking to her older sisters. Pointing at me. I didn't want to be seen especially by her. There was nowhere to hide. But she saw me in this awful suit. I could not prevent it. The salesman made some adjustments to the jacket to show what it would be like if I had a tie on. See – perfect fit he said. What do you think young man he said. But he did not wait for my reply but said to my mother – shall I wrap it up or do you want it on a hanger? I said nothing. I felt awful. I was conscious I looked ugly in this suit. It felt terrible. I knew I looked awful. I could not have felt more self conscious. I could not have felt more unattractive. I could not have felt more ill at ease. My father noticing my utter self consciousness took it to be resentfulness and chided me for being ungrateful. How dare I be ungrateful. I was hurting my mothers feelings. My mother was buying me a new suit. I should be happy. They were doing me a favour. Why wasn't I grateful? Whenever I wore this suit I felt it was dirty. I felt my skin was being tainted by something unclean. I knew I looked unattractive. I knew I looked ugly. I felt the normal reaction of all people looking at me wearing this suit would be to point and laugh. I would have worn the suit on less than 10 occasions at most. I felt extremely uncomfortable on every occasion. I couldn't wait to take it off. What happened to it I don't know. I can look back now and think about it with interest. I winder why it was so terrible. I realise now that it wasn't the suit that was terrible but it was the feelings inside me that it promoted that were terrible. I was for some reason worried about what people might think of me. I wonder why we give so much weight to the perceived thought or opinions of others. What others think weighs so heavily in our minds that it could be said that their thoughts carry real physical weight. These so called opinions of others are sometimes the most important thing in the world. But do we ever really know what others think of us. And do we even care when we learn actually what people do think of us. It is the perceived opinion held by others that we bring from within our hearts that does the damage. It is an unfortunate fact that most perceptions of oneself are formed in early teenage years. We look ugly. We have no sex appeal. Our bodies are repellent to others. We are no good at anything. People will always think badly of us. We are worthless. We will never be respected by others. Our lives have no meaning and will never amount to anything. We will always be misunderstood. We will never be accepted. We are all capable of thinking terrible things about ourselves. And these thoughts are always pretty well impossible to overcome. Unfortunately. Life would be better if we could. Who makes us feel this way? Why dont we reject it when it occurs?
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