Fucking shoes.
Mar. 10th, 2011 11:39 amIn retrospect, shoes have become symbolic of every moment of obligatory gender and other role performance that required to go out of my way and to some expense and personal discomfort-shading-into-agony for something I do not want to do.
I am a person who voluntarily wears the same pair of shoes, black knee-high stockings, a mid-calf or longer black skirt, a black top, and a black knit cardigan, week in, week out. (Currently I've the four good everyday black skirts and the one that needs mended, plus some better-than-everyday skirts.) Since 2000, I have leveled up from shorts and a tank top to everyday business casual that is simultaneously comfortable and allows me to perform minor feats of athleticism above and beyond what I am actually capable of doing, and it is good.
In my everyday clothes, I do not have to think about what I am wearing, either while I am getting ready to put it on, while I am actually wearing it, or while I am washing it. ( I explain, and complain. )
Even the anticipation or fear of clothing discomfort is sometimes enough to make me completely flip my stack, and rationality is no longer a part of this conversation. In short?
SHOES. FUCKING SHOES. I HATE FUCKING SHOES.
I am a person who voluntarily wears the same pair of shoes, black knee-high stockings, a mid-calf or longer black skirt, a black top, and a black knit cardigan, week in, week out. (Currently I've the four good everyday black skirts and the one that needs mended, plus some better-than-everyday skirts.) Since 2000, I have leveled up from shorts and a tank top to everyday business casual that is simultaneously comfortable and allows me to perform minor feats of athleticism above and beyond what I am actually capable of doing, and it is good.
In my everyday clothes, I do not have to think about what I am wearing, either while I am getting ready to put it on, while I am actually wearing it, or while I am washing it. ( I explain, and complain. )
Even the anticipation or fear of clothing discomfort is sometimes enough to make me completely flip my stack, and rationality is no longer a part of this conversation. In short?
SHOES. FUCKING SHOES. I HATE FUCKING SHOES.