clothes.

(a model wearing my wig, boots, and a dress I designed.)My mother always let me get away with wearing whatever I wanted.
There were of course the wigs, particularly the black, pulp-fiction-style one I wore everyday during the last 3 months of high school. There were my velvety bell-bottoms, the fur coats, and the bright pink $6 second-hand dress I wore to prom. There were my initial experimental sewing disasters; things so ugly I should've never walked out the door.
But if my mom were here, reading this post over my shoulder as I typed, she would say:

"But you always seemed to be expressing yourself. If you would've been trying to dress immodestly or fit in with a certain crowd, I would've worried."

Ah, the numerous blessings of a culturally unconventional mother. (I can't imagine the repercussions on my life if I'd been born to someone concerned with maintaining and upholding status-quo.)

I've developed a habit of dressing meticulously. I dress according to weather, mood, event, who I'll be seeing that day, and how I feel around them. I typically change something about what I'm wearing every morning at least once as I give it more thought.
It's about more than appearing to be "cool" or even presentable. It's become a way of navigating through life, an outward identity to which I've given a lot of thought and effort; a mix of aesthetic design, utility, and expression.

Maybe it's my immersion into the BYU art department, but I've been feeling somewhat exposed in terms of my dressing habits in front of all these people who pay attention to visual detail as much as I do. Not a day goes by that someone doesn't comment on something I'm wearing. And it's not always something like, "I love your scarf." These people are perceptive. They read me. I feel like they know why I chose the black leg warmers or the yellow shoes. Everyone wanted to know the "real" reason I shaved my head when I did it.

It's not like I'm going to change; I don't even know if I'm capable of changing. But it admittedly throws one more factor in the equation when I'm dressing myself in the mornings.

spring fever.

deliberation.

I have described myself as having an "intense" personality. While I still believe this is true, I've thought of a more detailed or accurate way to explain it.
I am a deliberate person. A calculated person.
I'm constantly weighing and evaluating the implications and effects of my actions.

This may be best illustrated by my kissing record. I have kissed ten boys in my life and I'm not proud of it. Only two are what I would consider "rape" kisses or kisses completely against my will. Preceding all of the other 8 kisses was an hour< (longer) discussion of what the consequences would be if "we" kissed. I guess I could say I've missed out on a lot of cute/ romantic moments.

I think other people think, "Hey, I wanna kiss you+ you wanna kiss me+ we both like each other= lets kiss." And then without saying it out loud, they tuck some shiny long hair behind a delicate ear, or slide a hand behind a neck, move in closer, and go for it. Right?

I admittedly sometimes regret this aspect of my personality simply because it seems that others may have more fun. Whitney explains the decision to shave her head during high school like this: She's hanging out with her friends and they are feeling crazy. Someone says, "Let's shave a head!" and she says, "I have a head!" Done.

Being someone who has shaved my head before, I describe it much more has an action that breeds excitement because I'm feeling all of the implications of it at once. I'm understanding how much I'm defying cultural norms and I'm loving getting away with it. I'm wondering what people will think. I'm feeling powerful, in a way. The first time I shaved my head, my hands shook as the clumps of hair dropped to the floor.

Ultimately, I don't regret being like this. Although I never have the excuse that I "lost control," I prefer the alternative. I don't tend to do things that I would deem unwise.
Conversely, I have made many bad decisions in my life, and they tend to be enduring because I've reasoned myself into thinking that those bad decisions are decent-- or at least okay.