The Identity Crisis

As I love sharing my most awkward stories with you all, I present The Identity Crisis.

A few weeks ago, I was shopping day with my mum. As I can't exactly drop everything and drive an hour to the mall in my non-existent car at college, it was imperative that we cover as much ground as possible. I'm not particularly prepared for this warm weather, you see. We drove the half hour to the nearest (half-decent) local mall and let the games begin.

One of the first stores we frequented was a department store, curious to our local area and typically populated by New Jersey moms -- NJM for short. Notable characteristics include heavy foundation (usually a tone too dark), heavy flowery perfume, and mom jeans. They are typically found perusing the clearance racks or looking at over-sized, 80's style earrings. It came as no surprise to me that there were at least half a dozen meandering around the store while I walked through the dress section.

"Excuse me?" An older woman who was an up and coming NJM, doused in what I have always envisioned Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds smelled like, looked at me expectantly. "Do you know where the men's dressing rooms are?"

"The fragrance dreams are made of"? So the matter of dreams is a perfume...?

 My mouth formed a round 'O'. "Um..." I had been going to this store since I was a wee lass. I could tell you where to find the wannabe snap-on bow ties, the sheer curtains, the maternity clothes, and the baby blankets, but no male dressing rooms. "Well, the guys' stuff is that way. There's probably a dressing room somewhere around--"

"She's not a saleslady," my mother said, coming up behind me. "This is my daughter." And she placed her hand on my shoulder in that semi-protective, semi-proud sort of way that makes you feel like it's your graduation.

The woman nodded a bit. She may have smiled, but I didn't really notice. "Thanks anyway." As she and her husband wandered off, I retreated to the dressing room in the thick of an identity crisis.

"Do I look like I work here?" I asked my mom as I looked myself up and down in the full size mirror. Sure, I don't really dress like other people my age. However, I thought my scarf-skirt-boot combo came across as as youthful and classy, not someone who particularly desired a 40% employee discount on high-waisted jeans and bedazzled velour tracksuits.

"You look like a young college student who is spending her break working and earning some extra money," my mom said, unaffected and looking over her haul of dresses and tops.

She meant it as a compliment. Didn't her little girl look so grown up? Wasn't she flattered that people finally recognized that she was indeed a young woman, no longer bound by the constrains of high school stigmas? However, her reassurance did me little good. I always thought my style made me look mature. Now I felt like the poster child for NJMITM: New Jersey moms in the making. Perhaps I could open my own store: NJMSH (New Jersey Moms Shop Here). Free lip pencils with every $50 purchase. My future was bleak and flower-scented.

I took a moment or two to summon my pride and give my mother fashion advice. Then I dared to venture into the shoe department unaccompanied.

Cue another woman, also with her husband. She wasn't the NJM type, though I still remember sensing thick perfume. I wondered who sold these stinky scents and thought of Prof. Harold Hill and the original NJM, the mayor's wife. Why, Mrs. Shinn! Prof. Harold Hill would exclaim. That style! That grace! That indescribable elegance! Why, there's only one thing that could make you seem even more splendid... She would have purchased not one but two bottles of White Diamonds on the spot.

The one, the only, MRS. SHINN.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"

The corner of my mouth twitched a little. "No," I said, "but perhaps I can help you?" In that moment, I seriously considered making a break for the nearest American Eagle. I was so desperate for a touch of youth that I was willing to don a standard teenage uniform of flannel and jeans. Perhaps if I had put on that pair of Uggs that were stuffed in the back of my closet, I could have been mistaken for sixteen, not have been approached, and left in ignorance of the confusion.

I was soon in the throes of a mini identity crisis. Ought I reevaluate my wardrobe? Binge on Top 20 tunes? Invest in some corny YA lit? Brush up on 21st century lingo? (I can use the words "swag" and "trippy" with moderate success... Is that sufficient?) Am I doomed to be middle aged before my time?

Okay, maybe only one of those questions actually popped into my head. The point is, why should I feel pressure to be anything other than myself? I do not look like a prospective New Jersey Mom. I like how I dress. I don't care if I don't look like a typical twenty-something. For one, I'm not twenty yet, and second, I'm not exactly thrilled with our cultural approach to dress, or much of anything for that matter. The mainstream media offers a pretty bland culture, one that has lost sight of goodness and truth. It doesn't offer identity -- it demands that everyone mindlessly conform. Well, I'm proud of my identity, because I have one. It's always changing, since I'm always learning more about myself, but at least I have one. So I'm going to keep seeking out the "good stuff" in life, and if that means opting for a different movie, opting for some better music, or dressing a little differently, so be it. Let the Mrs. Shinns of this world keep mistaking me for a saleslady! I could care less! (Just as long as they don't corner me in the perfume aisle... That's how the NJM syndrome spreads.)

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