you know, sometimes you are trying on clothes and it makes you cry.
You’re standing there in the dressing room, half-naked in front of the mirror and this is the fifth piece of garment you’ve tried in the fifth store you’ve entered into and it still looks fucking ugly on you, or it doesn’t fit or it’s all wrong. And you know in your mind that it’s not your fault, that the garment should be made to fit you, not the other way around, but everything in that particular moment, in the hellish day you’ve been having (and it had started so well, too!) tells you otherwise. From the said piece of garment stretching awkwardly across your chest and pinching you under your arms, to the four others you’ve tried before that in that particular store, to the other ones you’ve tried in other stores, to the bright white neon light that flatters nobody and seems to be pointing at every single imperfection on your body from the stretch marks on your thighs to that zit you tried to cover this morning (and thought you had done a pretty good job at it), to the loud music playing through the speakers that you hate and that is giving you a headache, to the salesperson knocking on the door of your dressing room asking if they can help you and all you want to say is “yes, yes, please bring me one piece of garment, one shirt, or one dress, that fits me and that makes me look pretty. Just one, that’s all I ask”.
And when you get out of the dressing room, possibly after shedding some tears while getting dressed again and trying not to look at yourself in the oversize mirror (or looking too hard), you decide you might as well buy that awkward shirt you were trying because you don’t want to leave this store, like you left all the others, empty handed. You don’t want to go home and all you have in your bag are earrings, a book and maybe some chocolate, because you entered the mall wanting something new and pretty and fun to wear to your cousin’s birthday party.
And then you go home and you feel sad and weak and fucking ugly, but most of all you’re angry at yourself because you let it, all of it, get to you while you know you know better. You let the fuckers win and that’s horrible. And you vow that it will never happen again but you know it will because that’s the kind of society you live in. And while most of the other times you might exit the mall and give it a giant fuck you on your way out, knowing that you are as wonderful now as when you entered it full of hope, there are other days where you know you will find yourself again crying on the floor of a stupid dressing room.
"if an object or expression can bring about, within us, a sense of serene melancholy and a spiritual longing, then that object could be said to be wabi-sabi."—asymmetry, asperity, simplicity, economy, austerity, modesty, intimacy and appreciation of the ingenuous integrity of natural objects and processes