"It's my work uniform," he says. Part of going through his closet and making sure he has the right shirts and suits. Of tailoring even inexpensive clothes so they fit exactly and throwing out the ones that don't. To the serious-minded, it can seem like an over-focus on outward concerns.
It is, in fact, the opposite.
"I don't think about my clothes because I know they're all right," Robert says. You do the pre-work to get rid of the things that make you feel bad so you can do your best thinking and your best work.
This resonated because I'd just gotten new luggage for Christmas, and, inexplicably, I felt better about how I presented myself to the world. I overpack when I travel, and my old luggage didn't have wheels. I'd drag bags across airport floors or teeter under their weight. I'd sit anxiously in the gate area trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to haul everything with me to go to the bathroom.
Monica Barnett, a Washington stylist, says the new year often makes people consider how they present to the world and how much more head space they want to create. Think about the ill-fitting outfit. "You spend more time tugging at it, seeing if something is riding up, than you do being present in whatever situation you're in," she says.
I was reminded of a scene from X-Men when Mystique struggled to lift a barbell while also trying to appear normal. The deeper message was that if she lost her self-consciousness about being bluish-purple and scaly, all her powers would be available for weightier things.
For years with my own appearance, I coasted on youth and the blanket forgiveness it brings. But that's no longer an option, and without undue stress - the luggage cost barely $100 - I realized I needed to get more deliberate about my appearance.
Last month, I attended a memorial service with people I hadn't seen in years. I'd meant to do my nails the night before. But somehow I still found myself sitting in the service with my red polish chipped and peeling.
It was an inspiring celebration, but I was so distracted by the need to keep my hands under my coat, I didn't want to clap when the music moved me. I didn't want to wipe away my tears.
A writer friend says she doesn't like to interview people when she feels drab or raggedy. And apparently I won't even hug people I haven't seen for years, if my chipped nails are whispering insecurities to my head.
"When you look good, you feel good, and when you feel good, it changes the game," Barnett says.
We should try to have a game face not to look expensive, but so we have one less thing to fret about in an endlessly fretful world. So there's energy enough to make our insights sharp, our conversations sparkling, our inferences next-level. At the very least, so we can stop burying our Amen hands, or get up from our chairs and confidently roll our luggage into the bathroom.
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