Crafting Identity
Over the weekend, I met one of the most unusual individuals one could meet. Believe me- I’ve known some characters in the life. There was Robert, an American in China, who was slow-talking from a decade of English teaching, completely benevolent and dearly loved prostitutes. There was Elvin, a Welshman in Thailand, who could not read, but had inhuman cross-cultural charisma and pool skills. There was Christian, a Belgian in Morocco, who was a French legionnaire dying of cancer giving his last bits of wealth to the widows of his fallen comrades. There was Nikka, a Japanese rapper who was completely convinced that my meeting him was part of a Buddhist cycle of destiny. And there’s Shoffy in DC, who truly hates no one and has never lost touch with a friend.
I went with my sister to a party hosted by her friend, Stephanie. One could best describe this woman as an 85-year old grandmother in the body of a 33-year old. Her voice wavered up and down like a whooping crane and she puttered around her apartment like a panicked mother on Thanksgiving. She dressed like Judy Garland in a red polka-dot dress complete with a high-riding belt and a bow in her hair. We were offered cupcakes and tea with very fine rice-paper napkins.
Her apartment was consistent in theme and style. The sofa and table were antiques. The chairs, the fan, the frames, clock and the cabinet were all retro as if out of the twenties or thirties. Her coasters sported Shanghai flapper girls and even her cat was a long-haired Himalayan that fit perfectly with his surroundings.
It took me a while to put it all together, but I got. Stephanie had just finished her Ph.D. in women’s literature. Her lifestyle, her dress and her apartment were all post-feminist expressions. Rather than feminism being equated with an androgynous woman, her interpretation was a throwback to the very strong and very feminine woman of the twenties.
My sister said that it all reminded her of Nora Dinsmoor from Great Expectations. Loony and living in the past, she wore an old wedding dress and had her mummified husband in her bed. The weird thing about Dinsmoor is that she spent so much effort on preservation. Many elderly, through laziness or fatigue, quit paying attention to new trends and fall behind. To Dinsmoor’s extreme, though, one would need to put intense effort to keep it up.
I recall the beginning of college when people put a lot of effort into image. Eventually, the various styles faded into t-shirts and jeans. People couldn’t be bothered to work so hard on their identity. It’s that or people conclude that identity cannot be faked.
Still, Stephanie is not alone in her lingering desire to craft identity. Many of may feel we should read the Post more and watch TV less. We may want to get into opera or jazz music, but just can’t seem to actually like it. We are pretentious and hope that if we practice being something long enough that we will eventually be it.
I went with my sister to a party hosted by her friend, Stephanie. One could best describe this woman as an 85-year old grandmother in the body of a 33-year old. Her voice wavered up and down like a whooping crane and she puttered around her apartment like a panicked mother on Thanksgiving. She dressed like Judy Garland in a red polka-dot dress complete with a high-riding belt and a bow in her hair. We were offered cupcakes and tea with very fine rice-paper napkins.
Her apartment was consistent in theme and style. The sofa and table were antiques. The chairs, the fan, the frames, clock and the cabinet were all retro as if out of the twenties or thirties. Her coasters sported Shanghai flapper girls and even her cat was a long-haired Himalayan that fit perfectly with his surroundings.
It took me a while to put it all together, but I got. Stephanie had just finished her Ph.D. in women’s literature. Her lifestyle, her dress and her apartment were all post-feminist expressions. Rather than feminism being equated with an androgynous woman, her interpretation was a throwback to the very strong and very feminine woman of the twenties.
My sister said that it all reminded her of Nora Dinsmoor from Great Expectations. Loony and living in the past, she wore an old wedding dress and had her mummified husband in her bed. The weird thing about Dinsmoor is that she spent so much effort on preservation. Many elderly, through laziness or fatigue, quit paying attention to new trends and fall behind. To Dinsmoor’s extreme, though, one would need to put intense effort to keep it up.
I recall the beginning of college when people put a lot of effort into image. Eventually, the various styles faded into t-shirts and jeans. People couldn’t be bothered to work so hard on their identity. It’s that or people conclude that identity cannot be faked.
Still, Stephanie is not alone in her lingering desire to craft identity. Many of may feel we should read the Post more and watch TV less. We may want to get into opera or jazz music, but just can’t seem to actually like it. We are pretentious and hope that if we practice being something long enough that we will eventually be it.
posted by American Dilettante at
5:16 PM
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