"Sweet disorder in dress"
Sameness = forgettable
I was twelve before I saw my first cactus. Maybe thirteen.
Our family had driven 1,041 miles from Bozeman, Montana to Quartzsite, Arizona to visit my grandparents for Spring Break. Ours, not theirs. A stop in Las Vegas made very little impression, except for the then-family friendly Treasure Island pirate show.
The main attractions of Quartzsite are the months-long Rock Show and Reader’s Oasis Books, famous because the owner wears only a crocheted loincloth of sorts. He only wears that much because state law makes him. There’s also a Subway in the Flying J gas station, two dollar stores, and the Quartzsite Yacht Club (with no water in sight).
Only a few specific memories survive the intervening decades. Good thing I’m writing these survivors down before they too are gone.
Early-morning walks with our then-and-still spry Grandma in the desert surrounding the Gold Star retirement trailer park.
Attending a square dance as a family. One hard-of-hearing woman croaked loudly to another: “Them two girls look like twins, ‘cept one of them didn’t grow.” I am the one who didn’t grow. And my sister (6'0") and I (5'8+5/8") still get mistaken often for twins. The most recent occurrence was in December while at my birthday dinner. Arriving at our table from the side, our waitress began her usual greeting: “Hi, I’m Sophie and I’ll be your…are you TWINS?” A few minutes later, a coworker of hers stopped as he passed our table to ask the same thing. It’s like a really fun party trick our parents bequeathed upon us.
And we went across the border to Mexico. Border crossings were simpler then. No passports were required and would not be for more than a decade longer. The only things I remember about my first time out of the country are twofold and superficial. One, I bought a $5 solid silver (?) ring from a peddler. Two, I bought a pair of handmade leather sandals that used pieces of automobile tires for the soles.
This was in the mid-1990s, and Doc Martens were becoming popular even in small Montana towns. My lack of personal funds didn’t allow me to keep up with that trend, and I actually took some pleasure in knowing that my sandals were different from everyone else’s. I really liked how they looked with my green plaid shorts and a sweatshirt turned inside out. Cool, but not like everyone else—my own spin on popular fashion.
These unbidden but welcome recollections of the Arizona trip have made me think: What ever happened to wanting to dress or be different? Well, not different exactly. Wanting to just be yourself, whatever that looked like. Wearing stuff you liked whether it’s “in” or “out.” Not to attract attention or to be different, but not trying so hard to fit in and be just like everyone.
A phrase which has stuck in my memory, thanks to my “twin” sister—”the one who grew” and, I suspect, her college poetry class. It I believe comes from this poem by Robert Herrick.
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.
I’ve done plenty of trend-chasing and adopting. Overalls in the 90s, skinny jeans in the late 2000s (I was late), and a bunch of stuff in between and since. As I’ve become more and more minimalist, I’ve prioritized buying well-made clothing that I’ll wear a lot. And suddenly I have plenty of perfectly boring outfits. Admitting that beige is one of my favorite colors to wear makes me suddenly want to tell you that I’M ACTUALLY A BARREL OF FUN.
There have been chapters of my life when I had clothes that I wore all the time just because I liked them, and sometimes because I liked that they were fun and different. They had personality. They didn’t make me better than anyone, and I wasn’t wearing them for attention. A Vikings t-shirt I got at the Goodwill. Wasn’t even sure at that point what sport they played. A threadbare t-shirt in beige (apparently this love-affair started early) from 1979 that says in block letters “I LOVE A FARMER.” A pair of capris with embroidery around the bottom that I got at Walmart for $3. For years, I wore an Australian leather hat on all my adventures. It was a gift Uncle Kevin sent from one of his naval deployments.
Right now, I own exactly 1 interesting shirt. I bought it at a Goodwill thrift store and all the tags have been cut out of it. It’s happy and cheerful and maybe plays a role in my choice of yellow for the brand color here at More to Your Life.
The rest of my stuff is the same as everyone else. That’s not why I have it per say, just like you may not have it to be the same as every one else. Sameness is just everywhere and in some ways the path of least resistance, available to all of us.
While in Georgia the Country, I bought a NYC Park Ave t-shirt. From H&M. At the local mall. Madrid felt a lot like every other large European or Western city. McDonald’s in the Istanbul airport tastes a lot like the McDonald’s 2.1 miles from my house. We all drink out of the same water bottles. We shop the same brands and at the same places. We just don’t seem to see a lot of differences informed by true personal preference. It’s harder to come by.
We’re talking mostly about wearable and usable possessions, but sameness applies to our choices in all sorts of things: music, foods, reading material, travel styles, exercise preferences, accessories, hobbies. I vote we quit that. It’s boring. Let’s start celebrating and appreciating the things we uniquely like. A little bit of that “less than precise in every part” applied to a lot more of life. A lot more you in your life. Otherwise, we all end up the same and how boring is that? There’s nothing to remember about a person who has no contrary or interesting opinions or hobbies or interests or unpopular musical tastes. Worse, that kind of following or consuming life may not be memorable even to the one living it; it’s the exact same life a kajillion other people are living. There are none of those details that made my boat dinner friends memorable.
I, for one, want a memorable life. I want it to be my own. I’m not necessarily suggesting that we try to be different by wearing only a loincloth, crocheted or otherwise. For one, that would be COLD. I’m just proposing we do more listening to what actually lights us up—and not just because it makes us “fit in.” In Dear Fellow Dreamer, I have a vignette about honoring the unique constellation of things you discover you like. It’s almost like your fingerprint. We come with a unique one, but unless we get off default mode, it wears away over the years, slowly becoming just like everyone else’s.
Isn’t life cool and aren’t people interesting—at least the ones who get off auto-pilot? See you in the next one…
For the hundreds of you who read my essays each week, thank you. I’m so glad you enjoy these stories and my writings. I know it’s not in everyone’s budget to be a paid subscriber, but your appreciation in other ways—particularly comments and likes on these posts—mean a lot and help me grow this publication. I’m so glad you’re here. Emily