Whilst I wish I had the talent to write a ‘proper’ ode of the poetic persuasion, alas I’m not quite there yet.
However, despite my literary shortcomings, I felt that only by describing this little rumination as an ‘ode’ can I fully convey my depth of feeling on the matter.
I’ve written before that I am, by definition, a world-class faffer.
I followed this with the confession that the world’s recent history has made me realise that ‘I don’t need to have a perfect face to be able to appreciate life in all its bizarre, messy, tragic, wonderful glory’.
I still know that and I still love knowing that. But I’ve also since realised that just because I know I don’t need to have a perfect face doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when, against all odds, I’m willing to strive for one.
Put simply, faffing in pursuit of ‘perfection’ and being comfortable with ‘imperfection’ aren’t mutually exclusive abstractions.
As the ever-eloquent Taylor Swift puts it, ‘I dress to kill my time’.
People are endlessly frustrated by how long it takes me to get ready and I find myself apologising for it almost constantly.
Admittedly, when it makes others late, or makes me late to meet others, I genuinely couldn’t be more sorry.
However, more often than not, I simply leave myself more time to faff in an attempt not to inconvenience anyone. And yet, those not familiar with the surreptitious snare of faffing feel that it’s important to let me know that I’m ostensibly wasting my life on something that doesn’t really matter.
I won’t pretend to know the first thing about fashion (my sister often looks at me in disbelief as I flaunt my latest couture concoction) but I adore taking the time to curate an outfit. Top, bottom, shoes, jewellery, hat, scarf, gloves, coat. You name it, I’ve thought about it.
I understand that it’s an immense privilege to have such a freedom of choice, time and expression. Yet, like much of the fashion industry (for all its faults), I feel my faffing is often misunderstood.
The faffing I do takes many forms. Whilst selecting garments is the fun faffing part, the questioning of what to wear and the fixing of my face are two things I personally find to be less faffing, more necessary.
Because if I feel that my image isn’t perpetuating the person I am, or if I feel I look inferior in comparison to those I am with, I spend the duration of the day or night feeling at best uneasy and at worst miserable.
It’s likely everyone’s felt a little like this at one point or another. If one thing’s for certain, it’s that looking effortless does in fact take a colossal amount of effort.
Faffing isn’t flighty. Faffing, for me at least, is a quotidian crack at overcoming my hang-ups and feeling just put together enough to venture beyond the doorstep.
Because no matter how many people tell you that you ‘look great’, if you don’t feel it, it’s nigh on impossible to believe it.
So go forth and faff.
Feel good about that necklace it took you ten minutes to choose.
Don’t feel like a fool for changing your t-shirt for the fourth time in a morning.
The world can almost definitely wait for the sake of picking a comfortable pair of shoes.
Modernish 