Break Out the Mothballs, It's Time to Get Dressed

Well, it’s official…I can no longer get dressed. When the world opened back up in March, it meant that I would also be opening my closet back up. There would be no more rolling out of bed twenty minutes before I needed to teach my students. No more wearing sweats, or shorts, or not having to worry about the clashing of color combinations. Shoes would now be a thing. Pre-pandemic, I prided myself on coordinating my shoes with the color of my shirts. Now, I can barely find the energy to dig through my basket of flip flops. I spend what feels like days in front of my closet just staring in. I have no idea how to get dressed anymore, for people, that is. My cats don’t care if I’m wearing a seafoam green t-shirt with olive-colored shorts. They also don’t care if I wear deodorant, or that my shower schedule has dwindled down to three days a week. 

After over a year of staying inside, it seems I no longer know how to “this”. By “this,” I mean simply leaving the house looking somewhat put together. In the habit of driving 0.6 miles to the drive-through Starbucks without wearing underwear or a bra, that’s pretty much been the extent of my journeys out into the world. I just haven’t cared, because I didn’t anticipate having to physically interact anymore. Of course, we all knew that someday humans would be released back into the traffic of Los Angeles, but I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly. As someone who tracks the status of covid each day, it now doesn’t feel real to see under three hundred cases and zero deaths. I suppose I should be happy, relieved, excited to return to a more social lifestyle. Instead, I feel unprepared. Unprepared to be seen by others. 

It’s not just the clothes. There are other contributing factors. Like the gray hairs that I’ve let go an extra two or three weeks because, well, who really cares? Or the fact that my skin hasn’t felt or seen the sun. As someone who has always sported a consistent tan, I’m now coated in this sickly beige hue that accentuates things that I never knew existed. Every day is a new horror show, as I discover hidden freckles, bumps, and this one course black hair that’s chosen this particular moment to jet out of my face. At least three times a day, I can be heard muttering what the hell is that? 

While others have taken this time to wipe the dust off of their treadmills, develop new grooming habits, or learn how to cook healthier, I’ve taken a more sloth-like approach. It involves sitting for ten to twelve hours a day on zoom, and taking steps only to the bathroom, to the kitchen, to the sofa, and back to the bedroom. On occasion, I may step outside to get the mail. Other than that, it’s pure hibernation mode. 

I have all these things around me. Hair accessories, necklaces, earrings. Who would’ve thought that a simple glimpse of these items would cause me to emotionally shut down? My favorite silver hoop earrings now reside in a pile on my bathroom counter, covered with some strange gray powder. It’s not a good sign when I open my wardrobe and moths fly out. I mean, it’s been a long time! When everything stopped, I did too. The struggle to start back up feels like some massive peer pressure from the universe. A gradual shift would’ve been a welcome reentry back into civilization, but that didn’t happen. What did happen was a sharp shove off of a diving board ending in an excruciating belly flop into water that only recently thawed. 

With little time to accept the return to what once was, I’ve taken minor steps to reacclimating. Let’s start with masks. Here’s what I’ve learned. You can’t wear Chapstick due to the stickiness that sucks the mask to your mouth. Sunglasses are out because of the fogging, so I’m left to squint my way through daylight. Sneezing is disgusting. You know those adjustable ear straps? They hurt, especially after eight hours of use. However, here’s what I’ve also learned. I don’t have to worry about food in my teeth, or whether my breath is bad! If that weird hair grows back on my face, no one will know! If I don’t feel like smiling at someone, I don’t have to! Most importantly, I’ve learned that I’m capable of adjusting. In March of 2020, we were sent home to teach our students on something called Zoom. And I found myself saying similar things. What the hell is that? Is that what I look like? How do I do this? I’ve been here before. It’s time to get some moth balls, shake off the earrings, and buy a mask in every color.