I confess: I judge people by the way they look... I'm immediately attracted first to people who have similar style as me. Who look like they may even shop at the same boutiques. Take me away. I am guilty...
But I'm not the only one who judges. I'm not the only one who scans the surface before they take the plunge.
The other day I posted a review over at Babble for super hot checkered-heels that I really loved. Shoes I would wear to the playground. To the store. Wherever. Because they're hot. Because I liked them. Because I felt they suited me and maybe they would suit other women who also happen to be moms who read the site.
But after reading one reader's perfectly acceptable comment, which was, "Is anyone really chasing their kids around the playground in $243 checkerboard heels?" I had to re-think my decision for a second.
Um. I am. Is that so wrong? Is that bad? Am I an asshole because I like to dress up?
I examined myself in the mirror. I changed outfits. I gave myself a complex for no good reason.
And then I thought about all the times I judged other women. Other mothers. Other people. For the way they presented themselves physically. And how shitty that is. Because who am I to knock someone else's style if that's what makes them happy? And in turn, who are they to knock mine?
Like the woman in the spandex 80's style aerobi-thong (doesn't every gym have one?) who I roll my eyes at whenever I see her at the gym. Or the mom of one of my childhood friends who always dressed like a hooker. Tits exposed. Red lipstick. Leather skirts. Knee-highs. And how I always hated her guts.
But why? Why did I hate her? Did I feel threatened? Most likely. Frightened by her huge bangs? Uh-huh. I didn't know her. Still don't. I just thought I did. Based on the way she dressed/looked/wore her makeup.
Yesterday I wrote this. In defense and also in apology. Because although it's natural for us to judge it's also extremely cool that individuals exist. That we all have different tastes and styles. That some people feel more comfortable in spiked heels and nipple clamps than sneakers and tees. That some people don't leave the house without their eyebrows drawn on. Or their cowboy hat. Or fedora. Or purple paisley poncho.
Whatever floats your boat. Whatever gets you off. Whatever makes you happy. Confident. Yourself. Comfortable in your skin...
And I'm sorry for all the times I judged based on book covers. Missing out on potential soul-mates. And friends. And stories.