A un-dedicated follower of fashion

I’ve never followed trends or, if I have, I’ve always been a step behind. I had my own sense of style in my teens but it was mainly fuelled by working with what I had. I was tall and skinny with no boobs. I was self conscious of my legs and bum (too chunky) – a feeling that I have struggled to shift all my life. I had very short hair. I tended to wear jeans (no change there), flat boots or shoes and a low-ish cut top (or body – remember those from the 90’s? Hideous adult bodysuits with poppers at the crotch. Why on earth?) topped off with a man’s suit jacket or blazer. I NEVER wore skirts or dresses and rarely wore heels, being conscious of towering over everyone. I never seemed to get very tall boyfriends (and K is only an inch taller than me) and have never been very confident walking in heels anyway. My “style” as such as it is has always therefore been erring towards comfort more than high fashion. I’ve always worn longer tops or jumpers that cover my bum and tops of my legs because of this ingrained self-consciousness of those areas. I tend to wear dark or neutral colours and mainly trousers or jeans. A night out with friends would normally be a black top and smart jeans and maybe a less flat shoe than normal.

I don’t know whether it’s A’s love of fashion and expressing herself through her clothes that has started to rub off on me or if it’s my age and the feeling of wanting to look like me as I am now (not sure that would make sense to anyone under the age of 45) or maybe it’s just a phase, but I have started to question my clothing choices more and have started to read up and get advice about dressing my body shape and trying a different approach.

Over the last few months (and maybe encouraged by the restrictions of lockdown and not being able to go anywhere to be seen and ridiculed) I have started using some of the knowledge I have garnered and I’ve started to make small changes: wearing tops tucked into my jeans/trousers; wearing belts with my jeans and trousers, meaning they sit where they are meant to; I’ve worn dresses and skirts; and I’ve worn different colours (I’m an autumn colour, apparently); I’ve sifted through my already meagre wardrobe and weeded out the unwearables and have bought new things (new to me, mostly secondhand through pre-loved sites or charity shops) with the proceeds of my sales of the unwearables.

I have not undergone a transformation, it’s not as drastic as that, but I am starting to wear things that make me feel like me. I feel like I might look almost stylish on occasions (I wore a dress for a night out with friends recently and was told I looked “stunning” by my lovely friend – she’s always been one to exaggerate! – and have even been wolf-whistled by my husband when I appeared in a skirt one morning – that has NEVER happened before) and I feel more confident that I know what would or wouldn’t suit me on the occasions when I find myself shopping. I’ve had several people tell me I have lost weight. I haven’t. I’m just dressing better.

For the first time in my life I almost feel excited about clothes and trying something new on. It’s a little bit addictive. I have started to look forward to going out, but have also started to just wear the stuff that I would normally reserve for an “occasion”. I don’t have many occasions happening at the moment – does anyone? – (which the introvert in me obviously loves) so instead of letting things just sit in the wardrobe, I am wearing them even if I am only going out of the house on the school run. Please don’t misunderstand, I am not sitting around in ballgowns or sequins (I own neither), I’m talking about smarter tops or a slightly more dressy necklace. I still have days where I’m in an old pair of jeans and scruffy jumper and I love my walking clothes, but most days I am making more of an effort and it feels good.

Half term happiness

A has been mainly revising this week for her mock exams which start next week. She’s being remarkably calm (for now) and seems to be taking it all in her stride. Long may it last.

To break the week up and have something to look forward to, she asked T if he would go to London with her on his day off. She wants to go to Shoreditch and Brick Lane and other places where there are “edgy shops” that cater to her more recent fashion sense. He agreed willingly and today was set as the day to go. As the week has progressed she’s been increasingly despondent as the weather reports looked awful and she was convinced T wouldn’t want to go if it was raining. Not so. I have just dropped them at the station.

She is beyond excited to be going. As she got out of the car I said “have a great time” and she almost squeaked her reply as she hurried off to catch T up (he strides along so quickly and although she is not lacking in the leg department I suspect she will spend most of today jogging to keep up with him).

She is excited to be going to these shops that she’s wanted to visit for months but she is equally excited (if not more) to be going with T and spending the day with him. He is less excited (he doesn’t really do excited) but is happy to go. They are good friends at the moment. I say “at the moment” because these things go in cycles and he is currently at the older brother, feeling adult because he has left school and is working stage and she is younger sister needing advice and support and he is happy to step up to that role. He loves her, there is no doubt. He winds her up, teases her and that is also part of his role as her sibling but he supports her hugely and she respects him enormously. The squabbling, bickering pre-school and the shouty, annoyed pre-teen years are well behind us and the “friendship” years are upon us and it brings me much happiness.

It reminds me so much of how my relationship with P evolved and how my idolisation of him and his abject disinterest in me turned into a mutual respect and support of each other as we entered our late teens and early twenties. I will never forget the day he took me (along with a couple of his friends) to see U2 in concert at Wembley Stadium when I was about 19. For me that marked the real beginning of our sibling friendship. I am so pleased that A is able to have a relationship like this. There is nothing in the world more reassuring than a hug from a parent but a hug from an older brother is something very special indeed. He is a safety net; he has the shared experience of growing up in the same family; he has a sense of humour that you have known all your life; he has a perspective of you that no-one else has and never will. It’s really very special.

Full circle

Seven years ago, when T started at secondary school, he also started attending a youth group at the local church. Today, he met up with the youth leader for the fourth time in the last couple of weeks as he’s helping set up a new group for the current year 7’s which he’s going to help run.

Four years ago he joined the local Police Cadet group which he attended faithfully every fortnight. Tonight he’s been on a Zoom call with the leaders of the group in his position as a newly appointed Cadet Leader, in preparation for their return to regular meetings next week. Along with one of the “older hands” he’s going to help run the sessions for one of the newly formed “bubbles” and impart some of his knowledge to the new recruits.

It’s so amazing to me how things have come full circle for him in such a short space of time. I know it’s a cliched parent thing to say but it really only feels like months since he started secondary school and even shorter time since he started at cadets. Now he’s waiting to have his application approved to join the police force while becoming a youth and cadet leader himself. Just bonkers, but also a real source of pride for this perpetually winging it and never quite sure if she’s hitting the mark mum.

In a (nut)shell

I hate parties or any form of large gathering. Even as a teenager I hated them – not that I got asked to many and when I did I normally talked myself out of going because I knew I would hate it. I hate making small talk, I hate trying to hold a conversation in noisy environments, I never really know what people find to talk about. I’ve often thought thought this meant I was boring, especially in the far reaches of adulthood. Surely everyone enjoys being at a party, surrounded by friends and aquantainces, making new friends and aquantainces?

When I met K he was really into clubbing. Living in Birmingham, the night life was slightly more ramped up than round here, to say the least. (I went to our local “club” once in my teens and hated every single minute of it.) The story of how K and I met has been told many times, but I think I was going through an “outgoing” period in my life. I was skinny, I was blonde, doing well at work, and I was out to have a good time. We met in a bar on the island of Kos. I was terrified by the huge group he was with (there were about 25 of them and that was just his immediate group, another 10 or so had also gone out at the same time) and I was horribly intimidated (I was there with one friend. One.) But as K was most definitely the least outgoing member of his group we hit if off. I think he thought I was a bit of party girl, and had confidence enough for both of us. It was certainly the impression I was trying to give. All faux confidence and loud laugh. The vodka helped. As we got to know each other better over the next few months he soon realised that I was not into clubbing, hated dance music (no lyrics, no tune, just dmph dmph dmph, AWFUL), and really wasn’t a party girl at all. Much happier in a quiet pub with a cosy fire or watching TV on the sofa. He joked a few times that I’d tricked him, but really I think he was relieved. Whenever we had to go to a party or a night out I glued myself to his side and smiled through the pain of trying to talk to people he had known all his life, certain that they were wondering what on earth he saw in this boring, quiet girl who didn’t dance and didn’t really even speak. When he moved down here and we moved in together thankfully our lives became much less about parties or clubs. He insists he never missed any of it, it was just what they did, he didn’t really love it.

When we had the kids I made friends with a few mums from playgroup or school and we developed a bit of a social life. The odd house party, night out, Xmas do – even hosting some of them ourselves (excrutiating – you can’t leave early when you’re the host). Without exception I spent every event wishing I was at home, not having to try and be fun, not trying to make conversation with people I didn’t know, drinking too much to hide my nerves, grateful for needing to get back to relieve the babysitter, wishing I could be more fun, more outgoing, more confident. Gradually, we (I) stepped further and further away from the demanding friendships, the hard-work ones, the ones who wouldn’t take no for an answer or didn’t appreciate that we maybe didn’t have the funds to do certain things. It’s all been much more low key for a good few years now and it’s lovely – dinner at home or meals out with other couples (one at a time thanks, let’s not go crazy – 6 people is really my limit). But, I still worry that it makes us seem boring. I have wondered if there is something wrong with me. That old teenage angst of worrying why I don’t enjoy social outings.

Lockdown/social distancing has been very enlightening. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a pain in the arse, worrying and sad and I particularly miss hugs (from certain people) but from a social point of view it’s been pretty nice. We have had a few quiet evenings sitting in the garden with our lovely neighbour friends and I’ve been able to go to socially distanced book club meets (book club remains the one group activity that I genuinely love and have NEVER wished I hadn’t gone to). But not having to feel like we should be doing stuff, we should be out, we should be being sociable has been very freeing. It’s made me realise how much I love being at home and that that’s OK.

While working from home (every day rather than just the usual two) I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts and heard someone talking about being introverted. Everything they said really resonated and I found myself nodding and saying “yes! – that’s me!” : anxiety about group gatherings; feeling physically and mentally drained by them; headaches after being in a noisy environment; pushing themselves to do things outside their comfort zone – speaking in public, chairing a meeting – when it makes them feel physically sick to do it. The list goes on. It was a bit of a eureka moment for me. I’m not boring (some may disagree), I’m not a hermit, there’s nothing wrong with me – I’m an introvert.

On recommendation, I’ve started reading a book called “Quiet – The power of introverts in a world that won’t stop talking” by Susan Cain. She explains the birth of the extrovert back in the 1920’s – the dawn of the “Cult of Personality” – when how people were perceived by others started to become more important than being “of good character”. She goes on to explain how as a society we have been taught through the decades to see only outgoing people as successful, to think that being an extrovert is the only way to be good at anything and that being introverted is a bad thing; how this has given way to the world we live in, filled with so-called called celebrities and influencers. She talks about how we are influenced by this at every turn: from what we are told in school as young children “s/he’s very quiet”, “s/he sits and reads alone a lot”, “s/he doesn’t contribute much in class”; to workplaces where the extrovert dominates a work meeting and the quiet, studious colleague can’t get an important point across. How group dynamics and results can be heavily influenced by the type of leader they have – extroverts are less likely to listen to ideas from the group whereas introverts are more likely to take on board others opinions but may be swayed to take a wrong decision due to lack of confidence. It’s really interesting and I am not even a third of the way through it.

But the verdict so far is that I am in very good company and that many, many seemingly outgoing or hugely successful people are in fact just like me. In a nutshell – we’re not boring – we’re introverts. And it’s ok.