Like a Freak
Why do life's simple pleasures make us feel so freaky?
My daughter was flipping through a catalogue. She spotted a “make your own holiday wreath” kit. She was in a silly mood. “Can we get this, and decorate it, and hang it on the door… like a freak?!” she asked.
We laughed. A holiday wreath hardly seems freaky. In fact, many would call it “basic.” And yet, she somehow tapped into something I think about often – how my love of crafts, home décor, colorful outfits, and other indulgences often makes me feel like some sort of freak among “normal” people.
There are no normal people, obviously. We all have our own weird little quirks and passions whether they’re expressed or suppressed. The neurotypical cis straight ideal is an unachievable construct of capitalist productivity (both commercially and reproductively). And yet, many of us unconsciously beat the drum of conformity in our own quiet ways.
I recently had a stranger in my home for an event. She was captivated by my wall decorations. She spotted some paintings I’ve done of whales. I think she was genuinely admiring them but the way she expressed it was to ask, “what do you have like a thing for Moby Dick?”
I laughed. The short answer to that question is no, but the longer answer is yes, I have a weird thing for whales. I don’t know why. It’s just one of those things I’ve always liked, since the moment I laid eyes on their freakish little (big) bodies.
My 6-year-old has a holiday performance coming up. Her class is dressing in a Diwali theme. The school requested she wear white pants with pockets (colorful scarves to be provided). Most children don’t own white pants for obvious reasons. So, like other parents, I quickly ordered some of the cheapest white sweatpants I could find (with pockets). They arrived at our house. My daughter tried them on.
She freaked out.
She struggled to explain what was wrong with the loose fit as I tried to explain that that’s the beauty of sweatpants. She locked herself in the bathroom in tears, like a heartbroken teen or a gorgeous Disney princess. It’s rare for her to get so upset. I felt horrible.
But also a little confused.
I was raised on hand-me-downs and “you get what you get” New England values. And growing up “tomboy,” I wore each prized pair of filthy sweatpants into the ground, one after another. My parents actually had the opposite problem with me and my siblings – we hated performing according to our assigned-at-birth gender.
As my daughter cried in the bathroom, I remembered our tearful childhood pleas. My sister forced into a dress. My brother forced onto a soccer field. Me scolded for dragging trash from a neighbor’s junk pile to build forts in the woods. I realized this was more than just a child greedy for new clothes. This was about her being her.
My daughter has an endearing habit of deeming days “the best day of my life.” Her upcoming school concert is already a “best day” in her mind. So it was silly of me to think my fashion-loving femme would sing her little heart out while wearing baggy boy’s sweatpants. And so, in a move some would call “wasteful” I went online and ordered a fitted pair of white jeans (with pockets) with her approval. We’ll give the sweatpants to someone else in her class.
I know someday she’ll move on from certain preferences in the same way that she’s moved from pink to purple to (I can’t actually remember the current favorite color). Just this week, I got her to overcome her disgusted reaction to the concept of potato skins and admit cheese and potatoes actually taste really good together.
I have no idea who she’ll turn into or what she’ll like. But I do want to make sure that whoever that future her is, she knows that her pleasure matters. And that the beauty of life is in being your own little freak of a self.
I think that’s best modeled by letting myself be a bit of a freak (in the streets or at home). If I can let my kids go to town with the hole punch from time to time, certainly I can let myself get a little messy.
I’ve been feeling a pull to share more of my home décor online, along with some writing (yes, sort of like what you’re looking at here). But a thousand voices erupt in my head with reasons not to share and the myriad ways it will offend other people’s sensibilities. They question “Why?” “What’s it for?” “Isn’t that a waste of time?” “Where is this going?” “Who cares?”
“So, you’re going to write a lifestyle blog like some sort of self-obsessed white lady freak?”
I guess, maybe I am.
I get that there’s a lot of privilege wrapped up in choice. For people around the world, the consequences of “liking what you like” are often violent. Even if what you like is just food, housing, and bodily autonomy. And for all of us there are practicalities. Bills to be paid. Shady governments to live under. Pants that need pockets.
But to live only by those parameters, is not to live well. It doesn’t get us as many “best days” of our life. And, the thing is, at the end of the day, a lot of us have been given a chance.
And if you get the chance to sit it out or dance…
Dance (like a freak)!