After a great
vegan dinner last night at Blossoming Lotus (how nice of Chad to tolerate my ever-changing dietary experiments), we drove down to Mississippi Studios to hear live music. We walked into the Bar Bar (no, I didn't stutter - that's its name) that serves as its entrance, shut the door behind us, and gasped at the alternative universe that surrounded us. Willowy, pale-faced hipsters slunk around us exhibiting an enormous range of facial hair styles. "Is he wearing fishing lures on his lapel? See there, on his leisure suit?" Scarves, hats and leg warmers abounded. "Did they all walk here?" Chad asked, concerned. (Probably.) Cousin It sat at the bar, quietly drinking her flaming coffee. We wondered if we had unknowingly stumbled into a costume party and decided to pull up a seat.
I dug through my purse for a pen and paper and began scribbling notes. This place was unbelievable. At a nearby table, two guys in identical outfits (red wool beanie, flannel shirt, long beard) sat drinking Pabst, and I held my breath for them to burst out in laughter and turn to me and say "WE FOOLED YOU! Haha, it's really Lumber Jack Day!" But, they didn't. One the two guys, the clearly better looking of the duo, seemed to be at a disadvantage with the ladies. I suspected that they were actually turned off by his handsome face and wondered if they snickered about it in private: "He's nice, but he looks like such a
frat guy underneath that beard!! I'm just so not into that." His poor genetic blessing had turned into a curse. And a guy that was truly NOT at disadvantage was sitting behind me, facing Chad. In any other city, he would have been labeled homely. But, here, truly, he was captivating. Coiffed, gelled curly hair. Handle bar mustache. Brown rimmed glasses that were so large, they extended half-way down his cheek. Bright green vest, almost life-vest-like. Chad was entranced by him and his initial laughter melted into admiration. "Wow, mustaches are really making a comeback," he whispered, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "That green vest is actually pretty cool."
What was so fascinating to me was that it seemed like everyone was in costume and that we didn't get the invite. We were still wearing the costumes from our last party, which was at a decidedly less funky place, but required costumes nonetheless. At Texas A&M, I thought it was a hoot that all of the girls there wore bobby socks, white shoes, silver and leather belts, lots of jewelry, denim, and big hair while I wore tie-dye and Doc Martens, still in Maryland mode. And in Georgia, we laughed that men were ubiquitously in black leather when apparently the American multi-colored look was far superior. Every place has its dress code, its way of delineating tribe members from non-tribe members. And here, in my circa 2004 Banana Republic pants, I am clearly still an outsider. Sometimes being an outsider is a wonderful blessing, an opportunity to look at all of human nature and ask why it is that we behave in these adorable and hysterical ways. Beneath the big bangs and handle bar mustaches, peeking out at me through thick layers of scarves, my eyes met those exactly like mine at that age.Searching, shy, nervous, hopeful, and exhilarated with this life. And it was just so sweet.
