So my mom complimented me on my purple shirt and scarf combo the other night, and I uncharacteristically refrained from saying, “Thanks, I got it at Salvation Army.” At the time I thought that was a sign of progress, because I feel like I can never just accept a compliment without revealing some backstage insider information that somehow diminishes what’s on stage. My pride in finding cool stuff that costs next-to-nothing is often interpreted with suspicion by the audience, especially when my mom is in the front-row seat.
Reviewing the game film of this encounter, I now think I should’ve spoke up. Defended the dignity of gently-used clothing. But at the same time, I also harbor this fantasy: What if, as I remake my smaller-sized wardrobe from secondhand garments that span the globe as well as generations, I could quietly rack up enough compliments so that one well-timed revelation had the impact of a hundred smaller ones?
Just a fantasy. But it’s fun to think about.
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