Of Ornamental Value

Summary

The author reflects on the evolution of their perceived attractiveness and social status, contrasting past ridicule for their unique fashion choices with present compliments on their style and appearance.

Abstract

The author recounts their transformation from being an unappreciated 'boring bookworm' in their youth to receiving compliments on their appearance as they age. Despite past ridicule for their distinctive clothing choices, such as a tartan kilt and beret, they now find that their fashion sense is admired by both teenagers and peers. The author notes the irony of being praised for their looks rather than their intellect, especially in the context of job interviews where their professional attire is appreciated but not sufficient to secure employment. The narrative culminates in the author's musings on the shallow nature of being admired for superficial reasons, questioning the value of such praise when it's the highlight of their day.

Opinions

The author feels that their intelligence was once undervalued and their appearance was criticized.
They express surprise at receiving compliments on their appearance later in life.
The author reflects on the fickle nature of social acceptance, particularly in how their once-mocked fashion choices are now seen as stylish.
There is a sense of irony in the author's appreciation for compliments on their looks while also lamenting the lack of recognition for their intellect.
The author seems to question the significance of being admired for superficial reasons, suggesting a preference for being valued for their abilities or wisdom.
They hint at a feeling of futility, as dressing up for job interviews does not lead to employment, leaving them to wonder about the true value of their efforts.

A poor substitute for worth

DJ and Me: personal photo

Never in my youth was I lauded for my looks, ungainly geek that I was. As social slug and boring bookworm, I was disparaged for my smarts.

Persistent unemployment has sent my brain on hiatus; these days I’m rarely hailed for wisdom. To my amazement, as age encroaches, I garner compliments on my appearance.

In my miserable middle-school days my peers gave me no quarter. Jeans and Tees were the order of the day, and I was not in order. I cringe to recall how my tartan kilt and beret combo earned me excoriation that endured through eighth grade. Today, a similar Scotch-French hybrid is deemed stylish by my fellow oldsters.

My funky fluorescent get-ups get thumbs-up from the teenage contingent. One of my daughter’s friends dubbed me “Mom with the Coolest Clothes.” I wonder whether I’d have been an outcast or a trend-setter, had I been a peer. The former, more likely.

Nowadays, setting out for the increasingly rare — and persistently fruitless — job interview, my confidence is boosted by friends’ approval of my smart attire. Alas, the twenty-something denim-clad interviewer — after duly noting my professional demeanor and dress — invariably dismisses me politely. Thus, the leftovers from my erstwhile employment resume their chase of dust bunnies in the bowels of my closet.

Then there’s Wednesday night Oldies Dance, nostalgia tunes for us euphemistic middle-agers. Casual wear rules, but I glam it up. As to my blatant over-dressing, one might think I’d garner glances askance. Quite the reverse: there is much gushing over my gowns.

Once, in my prime — when I put her on the spot — my mother, wincing, deemed me “attractive” (read: not a full-breed bowser). Now — thanks to high fashion and low lights — at last I’ve arrived: belle of the ball.

I suppose being superficially admired beats being overlooked. Still, how low have I sunk that the high point of my day is getting all dressed up with nowhere to go?