Recently, I’ve been thinking back to an encounter I had at an Oktoberfest last year. Someone walked up to me and asked if I was on a show with beauties and “smart guys.” Very smooth… But she was merely a scout, chosen in large part because of the large rock on her finger that showed both that she was married and that you wouldn’t want to get in the way of her left cross.
After establishing my identity as a cast member on Beauty and the Geek, she walked back to her group of friends, at which point one of them came running out and yelled, “You were my favorite!” She then leapt into my arms and gave me a huge hug which would have been much less awkward if my girlfriend hadn’t been standing five feet away when it happened.
We talked for a while and she told me that she used to be a size 1, but… well, she wasn’t big, but she wasn’t a size 1 anymore. I don’t remember her story—it’s been almost a year since this happened—but when explaining the situation, she wasn’t concerned about having lost her petite figure: “I just don’t give a shit.”
[As a side note, I want to point out that this girl wasn’t unattractive. She was pretty cute, but asking for someone’s phone number when your girlfriend is within punching distance… that’s a recipe for disaster. Truth is, I like when a girl has nice curves. Being able to see her ribcage… major turn-off. But asking someone to take off her shirt so you can look at her ribcage when your girlfriend is within punching distance… yeah.]
So the statement about her larger figure is what’s been lingering in the back of my head as of late. “I just don’t give a shit.” It has such a negative connotation, but when I think about it, I wonder whether I have a similar opinion about myself.
My current job doesn’t have a very strict dress code (if it does, I’m probably pushing the guidelines a little). Slacks and nice shoes, no t-shirts, then there’s casual Fridays (Yay for jeans!)… But there may be a lot of unwritten rules that I’m breaking because they’re not written.
Haven’t shaved in a week? “No biggie.”
Wrinkly clothes? “Whatever.”
White socks with black shoes? “I’ve committed a crime against humanity and I should be hunted down by the fashion police and shot on sight.”
In other words, I’m not overly concerned about my appearance. Why? I don’t think it’s because I don’t give a shit. Admittedly, I don’t worry much about what people think about how I look. I’m comfortable with myself and want to be comfortable in what I’m wearing (Yay for jeans!).
So that’s my internal debate: is that lack of concern the same thing as not giving a shit?
The more I think about it, the more I find a slight difference between the two. Not giving a shit implies that you don’t care about anything and have no qualms about letting yourself turn into a gelatinous blob of human flesh on the couch (as long as you can still watch Beauty and the Geek on TV…). My lack of concern tends to focus more on other people’s opinions. I’m cool with not shaving or wearing wrinkly clothes, but there are some things I do want to avoid.
I give a shit about putting on too much weight—I like being able to see my toes while standing upright. I give a shit about showering and shaving sometimes—I want to maintain some semblance of cleanliness once in a while. I give a shit about what I wear for certain occasions—when I was a groomsman for a friend’s wedding, “Yay for jeans!” never crossed my mind. Hard to believe, but it’s true.
It’s possible that the girl felt the same way. She may not have been worried about how society looked at her because she was happy with herself. It might have been the alcohol stating her opinion in such a negative manner (it was probably the alcohol giving me that giant hug, too…). Truthfully, I’d thought about mentioning something when she said it—it’s okay to not worry about what people think, but don’t just not give a shit—but it’s possible that she didn’t remember meeting me the next morning anyway. “Jen, did I give some guy a hug last night? I didn’t give him my phone number, did I? … Whaddya mean, I let him look at my ribcage?!”
So I guess that’s where I stand on the matter. I do give a shit, but only in particular situations. If the situation doesn’t call for something special, don’t be surprised to find me unshaven and wearing wrinkled clothes and jeans. If you can’t handle that and want to report me to the fashion police… as long as my socks match my shoes, they probably won’t give a shit, either.
