Stranger in the Village- Appearances Can Be Deceiving

 I have never understood the whole concept of appearance. All your life you’re told to dress up nicely so you make a good impression. The only impression that I seem to leave on people is that I’m incredibly uncomfortable all dressed up. It would appear that individuality is a good thing. Television, magazines and all the other messages thrown in your face say, “be yourself!” Then again, if you look closely you’ll realize that there’s a fine line between being yourself and being outcast. Oftentimes people will put on an act in order to fit in with the crowd. However, one thing I’ve realized is that no matter how hard you try to maintain an appearance, it can all be shattered in a moment when something happens and true character is revealed.

A few years ago I was lucky enough to get the chance to attend a dinner party for some prestigious politician. I personally was not invited, but the family that I was vacationing with was brave enough to bring me along. Having grown up in a family where mealtime is a mad dash for the last slice of pizza and parties always end up with someone being thrown in the lake, formal gatherings were not my specialty. Nothing that I owned was appropriate for the extravagant event, so I was stuffed into a borrowed dress and primped and poked until I transformed into something presentable. The only problem was the shoes. The spiky heels that my friend had lent me were just about three sizes too big. With time running out we crammed a pair of socks into the toes and hurried out the door.

Pulling up to the modest castle my knees were knocking out all sorts of music and my eyes were watering from the stench of hairspray. My friend gave me a reassuring smile as I took my first shaky steps out of the car. Prancing up the walkway I held my head high and was actually reassured by the fact that I looked like everyone else. Wearing my borrowed identity nobody would even guess that I had the Gilligan’s Island theme song stuck in my head, or that my dress was duct taped to my back. I pictured myself as the savvy individual who pleased everyone with my rehearsed “yes sir’s and “pardon me's." We reached the parlor door and I prepared to make a grand entry. Just then the shoes that I could never fill caught the tip of the doorframe and I tumbled forward into the entrance hall. I caught hold of a nearby statue to keep my balance, only to have it come crashing down next to me as I toppled over into a white haired woman with a sour smile. I watched in horror as the broken pieces of statue skittered across the floor mixing with my shattered ego. The dark colored Greek figurine had smashed open to reveal a porcelain interior.

With a feeble laugh I scramble to my feet, turned to help the white haired woman and gasped in horror to find the perfectly curled locks replaced by a mat of bobby pinned gray hair. The snowy wig was snatched from the floor by a stern looking man and I realized that his harsh expression matched all of the others in the room. Instead of the sympathetic faces I was met with hard stares and appalled whispers. One man stated rather loudly “What was she raised in a barn?” and ridiculing laughter rippled through the crowd. I mumbled an apology to the still fuming guest of honor I had body slammed and hurried out the door. One woman near the entrance appeared as though she were about to offer words of comfort but flatly stated, “Your duct tape is showing.” My friend emerged from the crowd and led me to the bathroom to recompose myself.

The rest of the night brought ridicule, sarcasm, and the occasional smile of pity. I had tried to appear suave and classy but inside I was a clumsy teenager who wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room. My appearance had been shattered, much like the fine marble statue that smashed open to reveal it’s porcelain interior. The woman across the room with the unique hat was the savvy individual. I was a downright freak of nature. I could “be myself” till the cows came home, but that wouldn’t make me fit in.

At first I was apologetic. Next I stopped worrying about it. Then I realized how truly funny the whole situation was and could hardly keep from laughing out loud. I felt sorry for the poor people who had to prance around like peacocks in their stuffy clothing and make a 15-year-old cry in order to save face. I had tried to alter myself in order to fit into their world, and those altered shoes were what sent me tumbling to disaster. Appearance is all an illusion that can be shattered in an instant. The guest of honor with her phony hair, the porcelain statue with it’s fake exterior, and me in my borrowed clothing, we were all part of a big pretty picture. To be myself in that situation would be like painting red into a black and white image. My appearance was ruined when I fell, but I took down the other guest’s image with me. I ripped away the refined facade to reveal the cruel and unforgiving interior. With appearances cast aside, I was the graceful one and they were the fools.