ExposedNYC

One of the tough parts about living in New York City is that you can run into anyone on the street any day of the week. This is what happens when you put over a million people on one small island. I’m always shocked by how this big city starts to feel strangely similar to a small town.

Growing up on the West Coast this was never a problem. If I rolled out of bed and wanted coffee, I jumped in my car and went through the drive through espresso stand. The only person privy to my bed head and smeared make-up was the woman making my latte, and maybe my roommates. I could even make a quick dash to 7-11 in my pajamas, fairly confident that I could get in and out in five minutes without running into anyone I knew.

In Manhattan, I feel like I have to dress for a night out every time I leave my apartment. Not only is this town obsessed with fashion (which has never been a huge passion of mine), but we rely heavily on public transportation, leaving us out on the streets for a good couple blocks to the nearest subway stop, or on foot to a neighborhood destination. We don’t have tinted windows to hide our attire or our singing voices while listening to the radio. It’s all out there for everyone to see.

I was reminded of this today when I finished a workout at the gym and decided to walk home before getting cleaned up (sometimes a girl just prefers her own shower). So, red faced, sweaty, and in workout clothes is, of course, when I run into Fred’s former roommate Kevin and our mutual friend Sarah. After a double take, making sure we actually recognized each other, we stopped to make the polite small talk that you’re required to indulge in this situation. I felt compelled to throw out that I was coming from the gym, so I wouldn’t be judged on my lack of make-up and rolled up pant legs to avoid dragging them through puddles.

It turns out they were in the neighborhood celebrating Kevin’s being cast in a play, and were having drinks right up the street from my apartment. They invited me to come by and meet them after I’d gone home to get cleaned up. I agreed, and after grabbing a quick shower, I changed outfits three times before settling on something acceptable to wear. Now, as silly as it sounds, I felt I had to overcompensate by looking my best just to prove that the person they just saw on the street was an exception to, not the definition of, of my average appearance.

I wish I could believe that appearances don’t really matter, but we all know they do. We ran into a couple at the bar who were here for a body building show and, after eighteen years of marriage, the wife of this ridiculously ripped man kept prefacing sentences with, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I was a catch when he found me” or “I used to be much thinner”. She felt like she had to apologize to the world for her appearance, even though she had found a beautiful man to love her. Now, no one rolls out of bed looking perfect, as all the gossip sites likes to point out on a regular basis , so I guess I’m thankful thatI’m at least not being followed by the paparazzi, but I sure felt less exposed when I had the comfort of a car to hide in from time to time.

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