On Goffman, Shorts, and Confidence

On a cold, and I mean really cold morning on one of my first days in the Yukon, I met Madelyn. I’d never met her before, but in our brief interaction, I learned that she also lived in Beaver Creek, and that she worked at the school. We chatted for no more than a few minutes and carried on our separate ways.

Months later, after I’d started working at the school and Madelyn and I had become friends, she confessed that after that interaction, she’d gone back to work and said something like: “I just met a new community member. She had on a full face of make up in -40C weather! She’ll never make it here.”

When Madelyn told me this, I laughed. It’s true – I’d worn a full face of make-up to walk the dog. I’d been wearing eyelash extensions. It was forty below. And, perhaps most importantly, I’d thought I wouldn’t run into anyone on that outing. 

Years ago, in an undergraduate sociology course, I learned about Erving Goffman’s ‘looking glass self’. The theory explores how individuals develop their sense of self and identity through interactions with others and argues that our self-concept is shaped by how we imagine others perceive us. Essentially, Goffman suggests that we use the reactions and judgements of others as a mirror to reflect back our own self-image.

I have never really had much of an interest in the artistry of make-up. I haven’t sought out the best products or spent hours studying YouTube tutorials on proper application. However, make-up has been a part of my life since I was in my early teens, and I’ll admit that I first wore it to cover or to augment or to change me. A picture of me exists in the ether. It’s an embarrassing one, but now, nearly 20 years since it was taken, it provokes deep belly laughter when I see it. It’s a picture of me. I am as orange as an Oompa Loompa due to the haphazard application of discount tanning cream and poor-quality sparkly bronzer. My lips are coated with silver gloss and my outfit is questionable at best. I wanted so badly to fit in. To be perceived as beautiful. Looking back, of course, I want to shake the 15-year-old Hilary and say, “You are beautiful without all this!” Hindsight, right?

I’ve come a long way since then. My make-up application is slightly better, for sure, but more importantly, I tend to wear make-up for myself rather than for others. (Tend to, ok?). And that’s why, when I think back to the day I met Madelyn, I don’t feel ashamed. I guess I actually feel proud. First, I disproved her assumption that I wouldn’t make it in Beaver Creek, and that’s something we laugh at now. And second, the full face of make-up I wore that day was for me and for no one else. On that day, a week or so into my life in Beaver Creek, I didn’t know anyone. It was a frigid day, and I was near certain I would not run into anyone. I didn’t wear it to evoke a response from anyone. 

Nevertheless, there’s something to Goffman’s ‘looking glass self’. The way in which reactions and judgements of others act as a mirror. It rings true and it’s also left me wondering to what extent we should internalize others’ opinions, perceived or not.

I’ve never been a big fan of shorts. On myself, that is. I guess, it’s because I’ve felt I don’t deserve to wear shorts. Or perhaps shouldn’t wear shorts. What with thighs that rub together and visible cellulite. 

So, for years, I’ve worn leggings instead of shorts. But this year I had a wedding to attend and I noticed I’d started developing a pretty wicked three-quarter-length pants tan, I realised I might have to force myself to wear shorts so as to even out the odd and obvious tan lines. And I did. I wore shorts every day and the more I wore them, the less uncomfortable I felt. It came to a point where I opted for shorts over other options. 

The shift in my relationship with shorts has led me to reflect on the reasons we care what we wear and what we look like. It’s caused me to think about what it means to wear shorts. Whether it’s an act of acknowledging that judgements from others don’t matter to me, or perhaps that I’ve decided to embrace who I am and what I look like. Or maybe that I no longer need to prioritize how I look?

In a way maybe it’s a bit of each of those and none of those at the same time. I think that in deciding to wear shorts I gave myself some space to accept and embrace my body’s perceived imperfections and to recognize that it’s just me. It’s allowed me to acknowledge that what I wear and how I look should be a reflection of myself rather than a reflection of how I feel others perceive me. 

In years past, when I have worn long pants and subsequently have been dripping in sweat on hot summer days, C has encouraged me to wear shorts. He’s reminded me that it comes down to confidence. The confidence to wear the damn shorts. 

The clothes and make up I wear are not a part of me. My body, my spirit, my soul, my personality, my essence– they stay the same regardless of the clothes I choose to wear. And if that’s the case, I suppose what’s at the root of all this is my own desire to embrace and celebrate exactly who I am. 

Make-up or no make-up. Shorts or no shorts. I’m not doing myself any favours when I can’t confidently be me.

Hiding ‘neath uncertainty

Unveil with confident glee,

True self wants to be free.