contradiction

Our-dentity

And so tomorrow morning I will wake to my alarm for the first time in 5 weeks. My body will remember how to get to work and I hope my legs are ready for pumping pedals so early. I’ll shower and for the first time in 20 years I will not put my hair up. I will reach for my product and hope for the messiest look, one that will cause eyebrows to raise wondering if I intend it to look that way or maybe I am just off to the bathroom to fix it.

I’m now not sure what to wear. It would seem natural now I can almost pass for gender indifferent to go with my boyish (although I’m not sure at 43 that fits) short hair look and go all shorts and shirts. But I have found myself drawn to skirts and all things considered feminine including…a dress.

So I’m going to enjoy this week of reintroducing my-selves, in all genders and ages of expression. I’m struggling with this 40’s decade because I am way too old to be young and definitely too young to be considered old. In fact it is a strange way of locating people and putting them in a particular place this chronologically appropriate thing.

So maybe I need a skate board to go with the skirt and short hair and really mess things up. Think an orange skate board would look great beside my bike, with my plant and other more serious mature counsellor things like….ummmm…I’ll get back to you on that.

Back to the hair. It still interests me just how powerful hair length represents identity. But where is the ‘I’? Who is the ‘I’. So I’m ditching identity for ourdentity. Who’s with us?

Faking It – Just Tantastic

It is officially summer…apparently. Kiwis everywhere are readying their bodies to embrace the sun, our skin will burn before it actually gets warm here. I Love living in a country where you can be wearing a jacket and beanie and be worried about burn time…if you had skin exposed beyond your face. But I have a confession to make, I get nervous toward the end of October knowing that at some point I will be exposing my legs to the world which have hibernated for some months. The skin on them is a bit like a chameleons – it changes colour depending on the temperature and conditions. It can range from pale blue, pink and sometimes blotchy purple. I believe that riding my bike could pose a hazard to motorists should the sun strike them and reflect off them. But my upper body face and arms are quite different, they just quietly move to a gentle toast tone, you know the one, where your bread just looks golden but not overly brown – perfect for butter and marmite (the toast not the skin). So I feel it is my duty to ensure public safety and succumb to tanning moisturiser, it is a sacrifice I feel passionate about and take very seriously. But I do wrestle with the irony of my own self-consciousness at times while I try and talk about diversity. Then again, I am comfortable being in a contradiction, it’s like a comfy sofa now, well worn.

Body consciousness is usually talked about weight but more than ever skin tone is seen as just as necessary – models typically boast perfect tan. It’s not enough to be buff, you need to be buff and brown. The only exception is if you are a pouty vampire, or from a dystopian future and are clad in some skin hugging item, or a dystopian vampire. Then you can be as pouty, pale and pasty as much as you like. But then it is the opposite for teeth – OMG you have to have the white teeth, to match the tan, or no tan if you are a vampire. Those canines better not have stain on them or be yellow, crikey it’s off to get some whitening for you. There you go, another dose of chemical correction.

Ok, back to tanning. Those of you who use these creams will know the trials and tribulations. It is not as simple as slapping it on, it’s more like painting a house or cleaning windows. Then later you realise you missed a bit or over did it in a certain place and get the streak effect. Then there are the areas of demarcation – those skin surfaces that should never look tanned in the same way your legs do, like below your ankles. Do you rub it in or leave it to soak in? Oh the anguish, the mirror checking. Sometimes it pays to remember your age when factoring in how much to put around your knees because they soak in extra and can end up looking perpetually bruised or dirty. And don’t forget to wash your hands – the orange palms are a dead give away. But once that colour starts building it pays to know when to stop or ease up because there is a fine line between golden brown and oompa loompa orange. That could work for blending into my bike, but beyond that maybe not.

Ironically, I was watching a piece on a guy – Neil Harbisson who only sees the world in black and white and has a chip implanted in his head to hear colour. He is an artist and does sound portraits of people. Curiously when he scans for skin colour everyone comes out as a version of orange. There you have it folks proof deep down we are all working for Willy Wonka.

Sure, it’s probably toxic, with numerous chemicals that could cause all sorts of horribleness but for a few weeks a year I will maintain my regime of faking it. Heck at least I’m being transparent about it.