When I was younger I would often envy the older guys on the train. I would see them in their nice coats, fitted jeans, leather boots, and wish I was one of them. I envisioned them probably hopping off the metro, (this was back in D.C. where we say metro not subway), and meeting up with friends for a drink. I vividly remember coming home and telling my mother that all of my clothes were ugly and I simply wasn’t fabulous enough. There were also tears.
I can’t have kids.
The other day I was strolling down the street in my houndstooth medium trench, complete with jeans/sweater from J. Crew and it hit me.
Have I become one of those guys?
I walked into my apartment in my houndstooth trench, and had to get ready for a party. I swapped out the jeans for red chinos, my Nikes for blue suede shoes (from Old Navy lets not get carried away), a fierce navy turtle neck (thanks to FashionNova), and gave the drama with my father’s vintage full length camel trench from Italy.
Yes, I have become one of those guys. It’s funny when you look up and you are the person you’ve always wanted to be, while also wanting to be someone else.
The party was for my agency, which is the child company of a bigger agency solely devoted to models. I walked in feeling fabulous and then immediately felt out of place. Everyone was tall, impeccably dressed, and a MODEL.
A couple of days later I was at work and admired some of the regulars at my restaurant. I thought to myself: “I want that. I want to have a local spot to run in and be treated well. I want to over tip and maybe get a splash more of liquor in my cocktails.”
Fast forward to the present. Tonight I have on my leather boots from Target, jeans from the thrift store, sweater/button up from H&M, and rocking my houndstooth trench. I’m posted up at the end of the bar drinking a whiskey neat.
I am that person.
It’s funny how we always think the grass is greener on the other side, but we never stop to look at our own.
Those guys I used to admire probably got their clothes from consignment, or just use credit cards. The parties they go to where everything is free might actually be miserable. Oh, and the models you meet might be working 4 jobs just to pay the rent. Oh, and being a regular at a restaurant just requires going in. Again, who is to know how these people actually live?
Well, most of them are dropping $200 on drinks and “snacks” while not even batting an eyelash - That ain’t me.
However, I have steady money and I’m working my ass off to get to where I want to be. So what does that make me?
The person I should be.
Tonight’s whiskey is to me. To me and my grass that’s pretty green if I only just take my eyes off of the other side.