When we were little, playing dress up was a pretty normal occurrence and socially acceptable. We dressed up with our friends, real and imaginary, for Halloween, for our dance recitals, for school dances, for other rites of passage. But somewhere along the way, playing dress up became something so many of us poke fun at.
I’m guilty myself. My friend and I giggled and side-eyed, a little mean girl style, some Comic-Con attendees on a recent trip. We were there on “serious” business and looked down on their kooky costumes. But did that get in the way of their fun? NO. Because they weren’t playing dress up for us. They probably knew they looked ridiculous dressed up as Pokemon and friends while roaming the streets of Atlanta. The beauty was they didn’t care. Not at all. The ridiculousness of it was part of the fun of it.
And who was I to judge them? I play dress up every chance I get. When I was a teacher, Homecoming Week was my favorite week of the year. I dressed up as Dumbledore, as part of KISS with full face paint, as one of the Sanderson sisters, as Marge Simpson with the blue beehive wig and yellow body paint. And I did it all unashamedly. Dressing up was acceptable – because I was doing it as part of a group. Dressing up made me feel more a part of something.
As long as we are part of the festivities, it’s all fun and giggles. But when we’re outside of that, we laugh at it, poke fun at those playing dress up – because deep down, we want to be included, to be part of the excitement. And when we feel excluded, we often respond with ridicule to avoid admitting to pain.
We see too many selfies on Instagram – we label that person snotty, self-absorbed, arrogant. We see too many Facebook posts – she’s starved for attention. We watch ridiculous TikTok videos – what are they thinking? They can’t dance. Why are they wearing that? They’re too old to be on TikTok. Ouch. That last one is personal. My friend and I posted a promotional TikTok video for our boutique’s kids’ club launch. We put on the fake blonde side ponytails, the neon tutus, and danced like fools – and we laughed so hard that she snorted and we both almost peed our pants (because between the two of us, we’ve birthed six kids and we’re both over forty – admittedly, maybe we are too old to be jumping). We had a darn good time, though…even though we knew there would be screenshots and snide remarks. And there were. And they hurt my feelings NOT A BIT.
Y’all, why do we care what other people post or wear? Really, do those selfies or videos hurt us? Or are we just seeing the fun they’re having and hating the loneliness or boredom or restlessness we’re feeling? Does denigrating them make us feel better about ourselves? Does it make us proud? I know it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies.
Friends, if their dressing up bothers you, quit looking. Stop the snide remarks already. Get off your phones, stop worrying about them, and WEAR THE DANG TUTU!
