Tuesday, October 05, 2010

BloomingtonGirl as Biking Babe and Commentary on Trying to be Beautiful

Loyal Readers, your BloomingtonGirl has turned into a regular Biking Babe, now that she has some bee-you-tee-full new jerseys to wear. I did not buy them, Loyal Readers. No, no. I got them for my recent birthday and I couldn't be happier. Okay, two of them were technically ordered by yours truly, but I used a birthday gift certificate (Yay! - I love gift certificates, except when my husband gives them to me and causes me to have -in Jack's words - a nervous breakdown.)

Here are my lovely new fashion statements for your viewing pleasure:

Aren't they all so purty? I have to say that I have developed a lust for cycling clothing that surprises me. Perhaps it is because I am not buying any regular clothing these days or maybe it is just that I have been fatally bitten by the riding bug and am enjoying cycling in a way that I hadn't before. Who knows? I just feel so mighty in my bike fashion as I zoom down the road. I am truly a legend in my own mind. A fashion legend, that is.

If only I'd had my biking gear on when I got stuck standing in line next to the resident supermodel in town the other day at Target, I might have felt just a teeny bit better for those absolutely dreadful five minutes. But no. I was wearing jeans and a bazillion year old flannel shirt. I wore no makeup and my hair was limp and stupid looking. And there she was, also without make-up, hair piled into a cap, skinny jeans, UGHs, a long sleeve T with no bra (yeah, they're perfect and they don't even look a bit fake)...and yet, she was perfectly beautiful in an American textbook way.

How does someone look that good in real life with no airbrushing? And, she's not a youngster, either, I might add.

I realized then that the very beautiful are a slightly different species altogether. And, it was a weird relief to understand it. To feel pressure to look like a model is silly and futile. It would be like trying to be a pretty bird, or perhaps an exotic fish.

You cannot be something you're not, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much "help" you get...

And, the really wonderful thing about it all is that it just does not matter. I wish I had known this twenty years ago, ten years ago, last week, even.

It just does not matter.

For now, anyway. And, if it starts to matter at some point in the future - and I know that it will - I'll just put on my sassy biking gear and go for a ride.


Anonymous said...

Great jersies! Great wisdom! MKP

Paul said...

Isn't it strange the way beauty strikes us. It's one thing to see it in lustrous black and white photos, classic or exotic faces, any number of fetching female forms, shapes. lines,but something else to stand next to it in a checkout line. It has the effect of a stun gun or an anti gravity machine that yanks us out of our own reality and gives us cause to get all comparative. For the record, it happens to guys too who end up standing next to a guy the equivalent of your town supermodel. In the end, if i start heading down the rabbit hole, I just remember that I'm pretty fabulous at dancing, easy enough on the eyes, and can make an outstanding fritata in case said supermodel fixes her gaze upon me and insists on coming home with me to show me the silky little teddy she just purchased, and spends the night with me because I'm not trying too hard and I make her laugh with wry comments that show her I see right through her beauty.
Who says guys don't like to shop?