On trying to fit in (and stand out)

The clothes that we wear. The habits we form. Whether or not we clean the gym mat after using it.

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I’m at the gym and I’ve pulled a mat off the hook to lie on and do my sit-ups. I haven’t cleaned it, because I don’t really worry about other people’s sweat being on the mat, and I don’t clean it before I put it back, because no one else does.

As I approach the hook, a woman is cleaning a mat, meticulously. She’s cleaning it like we’re in a hospital and it needs sanitising. I’m hoping that she’s cleaning it before using it - that she’s doing this for herself - but she’s not; she hooks it back on the wall.

She does.

I observe this woman. She is so clean. Her hair is shiny and pulled into a really neat ponytail that bounces when she walks. Her gym clothes are immaculate. Everything matches and it all fits her perfectly, on her perfect body.

For a while, I was wearing a baggy t-shirt to the gym - not cool baggy; ill-fitting - with cycling shorts and a once-beige sports bra-type-thing that is now grey from the wash. My running shoes are quite grey, too, because they are old.

I told my friend that the look I’m going for at the gym is ‘don’t care, just here to exercise’. That’s my brand, I tell him, proudly. Not giving a shit. Only, after seeing quite a few women in actually nice gym clothes, I decide to invest. To give a shit.

Now, I wear all black. It’s not expensive, my gear, it was all ordered online in the sale, but at least it matches. I feel like I’m starting to fit in. Kind of. My trainers are still filthy and my hair is never neat. I often have mascara smudged under my eyes.

But the gym is about getting fit. Feeling good in body and mind. This is about what’s under the clothes, not the clothes themselves. The fitter I start to feel, the less I care about being immaculate. At the gym, red faces and sweat feel cool.

Still, that woman really wanted to respect that mat and the next person who might use it by giving it a good old wipe with sanitising spray. Why am I not a very clean person? A little grubby around the edges. Is it good to be a clean person, or not?

I vaguely remember feeling, as a child, that I was never quite getting it right. My ponytails were always a bit bumpy, I wasn’t good at matching the colours of my clothes (my mum, later, told me it was about matching tones - that helped.)

I looked at other girls and tried to wear similar clothes to them but even if I got exactly the right kind of jumper - a Gap hoodie, for instance - I didn’t quite pull it off. The jeans I matched it with were the wrong shape; the leggings too saggy.

When I look back at photos now, I think I look fine. I think I looked just like my friends. They probably thought that too. But the pressure to fit in, as a kid, in non-uniform schools, meant constantly questioning myself.

I tried hard but never felt I’d nailed it. Was everyone feeling like this? Or were there girls looking in the mirror and thinking: yep. Done it again. Another day looking and feeling perfect. Everyone will want to be looking just like me. Nailed it.

In my late teens, things changed. I got into vintage clothes and now, I could make it work. I’d go to Camden Market, back when it was an actually good market, and pick up £5 dresses from the secondhand buckets that I’d team with over-sized sunglasses.

I liked how I looked.

After travelling around India, aged 18, I brought back loose silk tops and with my long hair trailing down my back, I pretended to be a hippie, smoking rollies and floating around the place. Maybe this was the start of ‘comfort’ in dressing.

I no longer wanted to fit in. I wanted to stand out. I liked having a style that was different to my friends’. I sat in cafes writing poetry and love letters and imagining I was Joni Mitchell. I wrote folk music and toyed with the idea of doing gigs.

From then on, I mostly found it easy to choose my clothes.

My style would change but I had a hold on it. I can’t say where I found inspiration but I guess I observed other women in London and Brighton, where I lived for a few years. I didn’t read fashion magazines and social media didn’t really exist.

Motherhood

Becoming pregnant raised a few challenges, as the maternity clothes were all ugly but when I was really pregnant, I just wore a black skin-tight minidress and that felt fine. After the babies were born, I cobbled together loose-enough clothes to feel ok.

But I did notice that other mothers seemed to keep their baby equipment cleaner than I ever could. My buggy was grubby with regurgitated bread sticks and the car seat had crumbs embedded into the creases.

Occasionally I’d clean it all but not often enough and it made me feel inadequate. I didn’t want to be a good enough mum, I wanted to be perfect. I felt good about my relationship with each of my babies, but not the state of our equipment.

I ended up connecting with other women who weren’t immaculate. That helped. If everyone has a filthy car, no one cares. The pressure reduces. So, perhaps there was a sense of ‘belonging’ amongst the women who were not immaculate.

But here I find myself, aged 40, feeling like a filth bag at the gym and wondering if I should stick to my brand of give less fucks, like I told my friend, or adapt to fit in. The problem is, I just don’t think I can keep it up. I’m kind of trying, and still failing.

I wear my gym kit several times before washing it. I use my bed sheets many times before washing them. I’d love a fresh gym kit every day. I’d love fresh sheets every day (or even every week) but it doesn’t happen.

I reassure myself by saying things, in my head, like: I’d prefer to spend my time writing poetry and songs than cleaning the car or ironing freshly-laundered bedsheets - but I wonder how others manage to do both. Do they, do you think?

Can you live fully as an artist, creative, and be a mother and have an immaculate home, car, gym kit etc? Does something have to give? I know I do love having everything clean and sparkly but I also know it’s very rare that this happens.

Again, the people I’m drawn to, as friends, seem to be similarly focused on fun and creativity, over perfectly clean homes. And actually, if I look to those people, I realise I don’t judge them unfavourably; quite the opposite. I think they’re cool.

So, perhaps I’ll extend that acceptance back to myself, too.

Annie x