I had already been salty about the staggering number of in/out lists I was seeing everywhere. And then, I saw a notable economist (who shall go unnamed) interviewed whereas he shared his thoughts on market related ins and outs. Don’t bother talking about a potential recession, but feel free to ponder rate stabilization or the strength of our workforce.
It’s hard to describe why this particular article was my tipping point, but it was. I didn’t know what an in/out list was before this December. I mean, sure, I understand conceptually what it means to say something is ‘in’ versus ‘out,’ but I didn’t fully comprehend how enthusiastically our lemming herd would cling to this trend.
Why make private resolutions or intentions, where you can cultivate a sense of accountability in a new year, when you can publicly decry fixing one’s typos and embrace the Scandi sleeping method (one bed, two blankets) or sleeping in two bedrooms altogether?
Why determine what’s good for YOU as an individual in a very personal and confidential manner, when you can publicly blast those who might subscribe to the thing you’ve decided is assuredly ‘out?’
Years ago, before we debated side parts and skinny jeans, before we had proper in/out lists with hashtags and glorious accompanying memes, someone decided that curly hair was out. Sleek, shiny, bobs were in. Or, long silky strands. Curly hair? Unkempt and confusing.
I have curly hair. I have since puberty. Does that make me an undesirable? Does that mean I have to find a way to conform to the new in? Straighten my hair or use copious amounts of product? Or both? At the time, I remember finding this fact amusing and then also, traumatizing. I think the laughable part was, as you might imagine, externally facing, and the grief, was wholly internal. When would curly hair be back in? Could I wait it out?
It wasn’t until years later that I stewed in the stupidity of that agony and anxiety. It wasn’t until after many months of circling the drain that I acknowledged how absurd the notion of an ‘in’ hair type or color is, really.
I’ll tell you that this was not my only maligned body hair. Not by a long shot. When big bushy, Brooke Shields in her heyday eyebrows were all the rage, I was nearly despondent. I’m not sure I ever had abundant brows, but after waxing them to tight, thin frowns for so many years, they seemed to give up the fight in my early twenties. My brows aren’t particularly out of control, but they aren’t what I’d think of as wild, either. And they are most definitely not full in the way the world was telling me I needed.
In the spirit of transparency, my Google search history likely looked something like…
Does microblading last?
Does microblading hurt?
Does Vitamin E really help eyebrows grow?
What is the best brow pencil for someone who doesn’t know how to use it?
I inherently knew that my brows were mini and I was going to do everything in my power to turn that around. My brows would be a statement or I would spend every dime I had trying.
Okay, that’s a lie. I gave up, quickly. I bought a Benefit brow powder and an Anastasia brow gel, and stayed the fuck away from microblading for fear I’d end up looking like a Muppet.
And guess what? 2024 is apparently the year of the normal brow. Wait a minute, I’m kidding. We are moving back towards skinny brows again.
This is where I have to put my foot down. There is zero fucking chance I’m leaning into the pencil lines I allowed the nail salon to craft on my forehead as I sat, wincing, and listening to Natalie Imbruglia sing her heart out in the 1990s. Not happening.
Is this whole post going to be about my body hair? Well, I sure as shit hope not. Particularly, because I’m trying to make this one a little longer to make up for my disappearing act last week.
I’ve shared before that I’m not really a resolution gal. I commend those who are able to write down resolutions and change their life trajectory as a result, but I don’t think that’s a common occurrence. To the contrary, I think that the resolution proclamations that we’ve often been so fond of, are a set up. They force us to escalate healing practices, for our bodies and minds, for our relationships. I’ve expressed that intentions might be a softer way to practice self-improvement, but with each year that passes, I’m beginning to think that might be horseshit too.
I want to be clear, if it matters, that I’ve read some really poetic in/out lists. Beautiful prose that celebrates authentic connections, seeking joy, getting more sleep, drinking more water, and living a bigger, fuller, more satisfying life.
They still make my skin crawl.
Why?
Have I turned in to a curmudgeon? Do I resent others who seemingly have a sense of how they feel about things and what they want their lives to be, and even, have control over their destiny? I don’t think so. I mean, sure, I’m as grumpy as the next tired gal, but I tend to be a ‘you do you’ and ‘live your best life so long as you’re not hurting anyone’ human. I’ve only ever really been jealous of the ease with which others heal from trauma and move through the world. And, age and time have shown me that most of my perception on that end of the universe, is misguided and patently unfair. People don’t tend to air the shit that plagues them. It’s the highlight reel all day, every day.
So yeah, it’s not my disposition. It’s my distaste for a paradigm that sets us up as humans. I am comfortable in my own skin, generally. Are there things I would change about myself? Yes. Am I actively working on improving as a human? Definitely. Do I still feel a twinge when something I enjoy has found its way onto copious out lists? Yup.
I know, you are probably shaking your head right now. Poor sap. How could I be so vulnerable and so insecure that I’m impacted in this way. Oh, fuck all the way off. You are too. I’m just owning it.
How my niece felt at 12 when her friend told her that her sparkly shirt is babyish (yes, I want to end her friend) is the same I felt in my late 30s when a girlfriend told me I should let go of the wide legged pants I adored. Yes, she had my best interest at heart. She did. She mentioned how I am a smallish person and how the pants weren’t “doing me any favors.” But, I fucking loved those pants. I still wore them after that day, but if I told you that her words didn’t bounce around my head every time I slide them over my legs, I’d be lying to you.
What if one hundred influencers tell me that I am not supposed to impulse buy in 2024? That is out. Dunzo. But then, what if I’m in a tiny store on the coast of Ireland and I try on the most perfect pair of pants and I decide to buy them, spontaneously. IMPULSIVELY. I don’t need more pants. But, they fit my ass perfectly and I love knowing that every time I put them on, I’ll think of the sleepy, small, beautiful, friendly little village I stayed in for a week. Does that mean I should put the pants back on the rack? Should my pant purchases be more thoughtful? Should I take more time to find a place for them in a capsule wardrobe (in!).
No. I shouldn’t. Because I want the damn pants. Because I know they aren’t the key to happiness but they bring me a spark in that moment and will do so for as long as I own them.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t find in/out lists or public assertions of resolutions to be inspiring and motivational. I think they’re a set up. I think they encourage people to forever question their own goals and decisions and likes and dislikes. I think they bring about a pause for most when no other obstacles exist.
I’m super fucking glad that some bayootiful gals have decided that bows are ‘in’ because I’ve been wearing them in my hair for at least twenty years. Strength training? Thank god sometime deemed it acceptable because when I mixed that into my training, it was a game changer. Five years ago. I overdress because I dress for me and not others, so I’m pretty happy that the taste arbiters are comfortable.
I’ve never been a big drinker, so while I fully support folks’ journey towards sobriety (truly, and celebrate it), I don’t need to vilify alcohol or swear it off. My intake is, more or less, the same as it’s always been. Save an unfortunate freshman year in college which was filled with gallons of cheap, citrus flavored vodka (cue the dry heaving).
I read whatever the fuck I want, and the range is terrifying. The same goes for my musical inclinations. Romance, science fiction, memoirs, post-apocalyptic ponderings, classical, gangster rap, country, and pop. If someone has determined a genre of anything to be passe, I’m afraid I can’t get on that train.
Listen, I applaud anyone who wants to dive deep within their soul and ask the question of what no longer serves them. I do. This is an exercise that I subscribe to on a very regular basis. And truthfully, since I turned 40, I started doing something about it, which feels pretty fucking magical. I’m just wondering if everyone, and in particular, those who have power or influence (or both) can keep that shit to themselves. Can we possibly agree that what’s good for one or some is not good for everyone?
Do we have to condemn someone because they’ve been loyal to one shade of MAC lipstick since they turned 20 and have no plans of changing it up? Can we live with someone who still likes doors opened for them in 2024? Can we still be friends who someone who loves a full fat latte with (gasp) cow milk?
If I have to create an in/out list for 2024 that I find acceptable, this is what it would look like:
Ins
Love
Compassion
Patience
Change
Wearing whatever the fuck makes you feel good
Moving your body in a way that lights you up
Connecting to those who belong in your life (based on boundaries you’ve established for YOU)
Eating or drinking what nourishes you or makes you happy, or both
Outs
Public lists for everyone detailing what works for YOU
Hatred (racism, transphobia, sexism, homophobia, to name a few, with all the others to follow)
A one-size-fits all approach to likes and dislikes
Yeah. That’s it. Make your list if you must, but instead of publishing it on social media, maybe just tuck it close to your heart. For you, and you only.
Can we do that?
Thanks.
Lots of love (from a medium browed, curly haired, Converse wearing, chai latte drinking gal).
X
L.
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