Invisible Matty
As the self-portraits on my bedroom door attest, I'm pretty narcissistic, apparently to the point of ignorance. I realized that I rarely think about how other people see me, because, I'm guessin, I'm so wrapped up in myself and my little daily dilemmas. This could be my feeble ego speaking, but I really find it strange when people I don't know remember me--even if I recognize them. I really thought that unless I did something to grab their attention, most people would never even register my existence.
This was all bore out to me during a conversation with a friend about, of all things, how I dress. Now, admittedly, I feel pretty awkward in everything I put on. I can't look in a mirror and tell what looks good and what looks bad--just like when I sing I have no idea if I'm on or off key--so for years I've been wearing whatever was comfortable. Not that I thought this look was particularly enticing, especially since what few fashion compliments I've received have been about clothes Grady picked out for me. But my friend told me straight up: "Your shoes are pretty bad. And your jeans, too. Well, pretty much everything." I always thought I could dress better, but I never figured people would actually take notice of my fashion deficiency. Outside maybe my Tick shirt, I didn't think what I wore registered with anyone. Turns out--unfortunately--it does.
Then this evening, at Spider House, a guy in his fifties is walking by my table and suddenly stops. "Excuse me," he says, "but are you in Plan II?"
"Yeah, I am," I answer, with no clue as to how he knew that.
Probably reading the puzzled look on my face, he says, "I could tell, because I saw you here the other night and I noticed what good books you were reading and talking about. I teach in Plan II, the freshman TCs, the seminars--world lit." I recognize him then. A couple nights ago he'd been the lonely looking guy sitting next to me, smoking a cigarette, just watching people walk by. Again, I assumed that he'd taken no notice of the kid leaning against the railing in the corner, flicking ants off his arms. Apparently I'd impressed him enough that he remembered me a couple days later.
This is all so strange because I would have figured someone as insecure as myself would be more aware of how the world saw him. Or maybe that lack of perception is why I'm insecure.
As the self-portraits on my bedroom door attest, I'm pretty narcissistic, apparently to the point of ignorance. I realized that I rarely think about how other people see me, because, I'm guessin, I'm so wrapped up in myself and my little daily dilemmas. This could be my feeble ego speaking, but I really find it strange when people I don't know remember me--even if I recognize them. I really thought that unless I did something to grab their attention, most people would never even register my existence.
This was all bore out to me during a conversation with a friend about, of all things, how I dress. Now, admittedly, I feel pretty awkward in everything I put on. I can't look in a mirror and tell what looks good and what looks bad--just like when I sing I have no idea if I'm on or off key--so for years I've been wearing whatever was comfortable. Not that I thought this look was particularly enticing, especially since what few fashion compliments I've received have been about clothes Grady picked out for me. But my friend told me straight up: "Your shoes are pretty bad. And your jeans, too. Well, pretty much everything." I always thought I could dress better, but I never figured people would actually take notice of my fashion deficiency. Outside maybe my Tick shirt, I didn't think what I wore registered with anyone. Turns out--unfortunately--it does.
Then this evening, at Spider House, a guy in his fifties is walking by my table and suddenly stops. "Excuse me," he says, "but are you in Plan II?"
"Yeah, I am," I answer, with no clue as to how he knew that.
Probably reading the puzzled look on my face, he says, "I could tell, because I saw you here the other night and I noticed what good books you were reading and talking about. I teach in Plan II, the freshman TCs, the seminars--world lit." I recognize him then. A couple nights ago he'd been the lonely looking guy sitting next to me, smoking a cigarette, just watching people walk by. Again, I assumed that he'd taken no notice of the kid leaning against the railing in the corner, flicking ants off his arms. Apparently I'd impressed him enough that he remembered me a couple days later.
This is all so strange because I would have figured someone as insecure as myself would be more aware of how the world saw him. Or maybe that lack of perception is why I'm insecure.
posted by Matt at 1:01 AM
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