At Brown, there’s a nagging pressure to have a unique style and general vibe; unfortunately, we’re not all as “different” as we may choose to believe. Before leaping into my first year at Brown, I purchased the obligatory “I enjoy quinoa” accessory: The Birkenstock. But upon arriving on campus, I was hit with the harsh reality that every third person was wearing the exact same shoe as I was: the identity crisis ensued. If I wasn’t “the cool, hippie, vegan girl,” then who was I? Not only were there people who were more socially and politically conscious than I was– they dressed like it too! I primed myself for a college experience where my personal style, academic achievement, and all aspects of my life would be consistently validated. I was shaken to my core when I happened upon the realization that I’d have to work to make myself seen.
Great, I thought to myself, now I have to reinvent myself so that I’ll stand out. Is it too much if I just tape hemp all over my body? No, that’s ridiculous, where would I find that much hemp? Maybe if I squirted fair-trade squid ink on my eyelids as eyeshadow… Hmm, that would be too expensive.
After approximately 57 prolonged and arduous attempts at creating a unique image for myself, I conceded. I was missing out on the opportunity to form long, lasting relationships and ya know, study for tests and all that. I left for summer break feeling horribly un-unique.
Over the summer, I wore Birkenstocks during 95% of my summer activities, because at home in Maryland, Birkenstocks are not yet mainstream. I basked in the swamp-like heat of Maryland and DC, while sporting the shoe I had tried to abandon. I fell in love all over again with the way it molded itself perfectly to the contours of my foot, and it was good.
I returned to Brown revitalized. The sight of our colorful campus reawakened the desire to cover myself in hemp.
I sat at the feet of our friendly neighborhood bear, Blueno, pondering the pressure I put on footwear as a mode of self-identification and I began to admire the pristine lines of tan left on my foot by the textured leather strap. Suddenly, it hit me: what does individuality matter when my foot is being embraced by a curvaceous cork sole? What does it matter if it’s 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside and my toes begin to numb, if I’m enveloped in the warm embrace of a heavenly leather strap?
We can’t allow the actions of others to define and limit the way we express ourselves. A solidified identity must stand, unshaken by the appearance and opinions of others. I can’t shave my head and hide my body every time some creep catcalls me. I can’t go home and change whenever someone says my pizza socks “aren’t professional”. So yeah, having squelched my existential crisis, you bet I’ll be rocking my Birks and socks all winter long.
Image via Sarah Clapp.