Feeling Like A Fake In The Big City

Feb. 27, 2012

By Chelsea Fagan info

Chelsea Fagan is a writer living in Paris. It's less pretentious than it sounds.

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My grandmother was the kind of woman you would have painted. Delicate, refined, and always perfectly styled, she was just a distant stare and a small lapdog away from being in an 18th-century royal portrait. And few things make more of a lasting impression on a young girl than watching a woman like that put on a dab of Chanel No 5 and saunter out to do her daily errands. There was this idea instilled in me from a very young age that, yes, some women are just perfect.

Living in a big city can only reinforce this, of course. I live in Paris, as it happens, but it could be anywhere. I’ve seen it elsewhere. Not only do we have the universal force of advertisements and entertainment showing us exactly what beautiful looks like and how to attain it — with the right amount of time and money, of course — but we get to cross hundreds of women a day who simply embody it. In a cafe, waiting for the metro, even picking out the ripest avocado at the grocery store, there is always someone who looks just so much better than you. You can spend your entire morning putting together the most flattering outfit, styling your hair into painful submission, and applying that rare kind of invisible makeup that you only achieve maybe once a year — and still run into a woman in a simple trench coat and heels that makes you feel as though someone smeared you with a generous handful of dirt. It’s the kind of encounter that leaves you hating what you put on that morning, longing to run into the first boutique and overspend your way into a better outfit to go to lunch to.

The pressures of dressing, of presenting oneself, in the kind of metropolis where street-fashion photographers scurry around like pretentious mice, is often the stuff of nightmares. Even a simple walk to the corner store must be done with the utmost attention to aesthetic. You never know who you could run into — and even the judgmental glare of passerby is enough to dissuade that comfortable-but-resigned combination of yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt. It’s this kind of subtle nervousness, of knowing you are always being watched and there will inevitably be something better to look at, that can drive even the most confident woman into an acceptable kind of insanity. Perception becomes distorted, and after a while we simply get used to the idea of paying far too much attention to how we look.

I remember my grandmother saying — only once or twice, in what she undoubtedly considered her weaker moments — that she felt this immense pressure, as well. Her process of preparing for the day lasted from the delicate creams she used the night before, to the tiny compact she would carry without exception for the errant touch-up. To be caught with a bare face, with hair ravaged by humidity, with a tear in her skirt — it was showing the world that she was not just imperfect, but that she didn’t care. She didn’t put effort into herself the way she should; she didn’t think she deserved it. This sentiment, of course, is ridiculous. She was incredibly smart, with a biting wit and a sense of elegance that extended far beyond her string of pearls. She could have valued anything in herself, she didn’t need to spend an hour in the mirror analyzing crow’s feet. I suppose that too much time around beautiful women, in competitive cities, under the harsh glare of others in chic restaurants had left her thinking the inside didn’t count if the outside didn’t match.

And there are moments when I catch myself doing the exact same thing, feeling acutely uncomfortable in the metro if I know my shoes are scuffed or my coat is pilling on one sleeve. I know the slight exasperation when a woman walks in whose feet seem not to touch the ground, so light and nimble are her steps. I know the amount of money I’ve spent on impulse buys in overpriced stores because they were conveniently placed and my sweater wasn’t sitting right. I can consider this objectively, acknowledge its absurdity, and still not control it. Perhaps cities intend to place this pressure on us, to remind us of our place in things. There will always be something more chic, more beautiful, inherently better.

Whether it is my grandmother spending an hour in the mirror before a run to the corner store or me aching to buy a cardigan on the spot because, well, that one will be the perfect one — it’s all the same thing. It’s the idea that a city, one famous for being beautiful and filled with living embodiments of aesthetic perfection, is something to be lived up to. We are all in constant competition — for jobs, for dates, for the approving regard of strangers — it’s something to be accepted and adjusted to. But perhaps, once in a while, we shouldn’t kid ourselves into thinking an A-line dress and corset is appropriate for picking up a gift from the florist. Only in movies do people move through their entire life with such inhuman perfection — and let’s be honest, if you actually have a full day of errands to do, there’s only so high a heel you can possibly wear. At the end of the day, we only have as much pressure as we put on each other. Perhaps we just need a day off — a day to wear jeans and tennis shoes, eating a big, greasy burger with wonderful impunity. A girl can dream, right? TC mark

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  • ElleBelle

    beautifully written.  as an american living abroad, the my shift in asthetic has now added a (silly) extra 30 to 40 minutes of prep each morning in order to escape the curt regard for comfortable fashion that passers-by cast my way.  i easily identify with this piece.  yet, a small piece of me won’t give up my goal of being able to survive an entire day of walking on cobblestones in pumps.

  • SLL

    This is so beautifully articulated. But I would argue with this sentiment:

    “At the end of the day, we only have as much pressure as we put on each other.”

    I think the pressure we put on ourselves is what matters. Go ahead and scarf that burger, and treasure your incredible talent. It is worth so much more than an unscuffed shoe.

  • Joanna

    After living in the NY metro for 3 years, I agree. While I wasn’t in the city every day, each trip in was at the cost of an hour of staring at my wardrobe, terrified to make a sartorial error.

  • http://twitter.com/gioiaous Katie

    I think this piece brings up the point of how subjective the word “beautiful” or “perfection” is. I, too, lived in Paris at one point, and my view of beautiful women did not match up at all with what Parisians look like. I found them too skinny and wearing too much black and grey. My view of perfection, or what I strive to look like, is much different from this. So again, you only have as much pressure as you put on yourself. I put none on myself in Paris because I didn’t wanna look like any of those people.

  • Squirrel

    shower, brush yout teeth, wear clean clothes, keep good posture and present yourself through your thoughts and actions.

  • Anonymous

    Now imagine being a young gay male in Manhattan. Jeez louise.

    To quote a popular sitcom, “Brunch is the gay-est meal of all. For some of us, it’s the only one. You see, I’m gay fat. I’m straight skinny, but I’m gay fat.”

  • CUinNYC

    Everyone knows it’s being beautiful on the inside that counts…

  • Robin

    The real punch line here is that I don’t think anyone ever feels like she is one of those floating, perfect women. Everyone is just anxious all the time. BLAME THE PATRIARCHY.

    • Nishant

      dont blame the patriarchy. its the women-centric magazines that propagate such images and unrealistic standards. i think THIS issue is something feminism should be fighting!

    • Nishant

      or well, at least, dont JUST blame the patriarchy.

  • Dananay

    I can totally relate to this. Not just as the women who constantly feels schlumpy, no matter how much time, effort & money I put into my appearance, but as someone who looks at the sweats-and-Ugg-boot-wearing girls with a sneer of disdain. It would be nice if we gave ourselves and each other a break every now and then, but it will probably never happen as long as we’re that delightful combination of judgmental and insecure. I know it’s been said, but the real thing to envy isn’t clothes or some women’s frustrating je ne sais quoi, but those who have escaped the cycle of self-loathing and judgment. Lucky gals!

  • Anonymous

    Definitely a spot on article,  ”At the end of the day, we only have as much pressure as we put on each other” is really the light bringer.
    I hope you don’t think that it’s only girls who feel pressured in such a way, straight guys do too..

  • madameK

    I appreciate the sentiment here but I think the real thing to work on is self-confidence that’s grounded in who you are a whole person–not just how you look.  Perhaps putting the focus on something like what you’re passionate about is a more encouraging way to use your energy.  Also, I have to say, having lived in Paris I really did not find every woman chic beyond belief.  Yes–there are examples of amazing style but I actually find that Paris is a place that values imperfections…thus the phrase jolie laide.  Having lived in Paris on three different occasions I also think it’s getting a tad less chic by the year.  But I guess it depends which quartier you spend your time in.  I say go out and fall in love…if not with yourself then with someone else…that always makes you feel pretty.

  • http://jcpart.co.uk/ Jordan

    it’s definitely like that in many other cities, but in London you can wear whatever the fuck you want and no one looks twice. oh sure, there are those that only go out impeccably dressed in Prada or whatever (particularly in the City/West London) but really, anything goes. i love it.

  • biteme

    That’s why my city’s great. It’s not known for being a fashion or beauty capital– though I find it really beautiful and stunning. It’s known for its food or crime. I know what the writer’s talking about, but sometimes you just have to say “fuck it” to caring about what other people think. Because if you always measure yourself according to someone else’s yardstick, you’ll always find yourself wanting.

  • Bealtaine6

    I often feel that in certain parts of Dublin people will look at you odd for wearing classy clothes. I find this adds even more pressure because you have to try and look good in clothes not designed to flatter…

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1363230138 Michael Koh

    i stopped reading at ‘ripe avocado’ to tell you a recipe but damn, i forgot, can i just DM it to you chelsea? 

  • cobalt

    I find some irony in feeling like a “fake” due to comparisons with people who spend hours focused on crafting a certain image / portraying a certain appearance. Perhaps they’re more skilled at being “fake” than you, but that doesn’t make them authentic.

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  • Anonymous

    Goodness. My grandmother was just like this–always flawless.  I’ve got the irrepressible urge to be just as flawless every time I step out the door. I think myself a pretty confident person but no matter what, that slight insecurity is always there camouflaged in designer denim, sky-high heals and high-end handbags. Jeez, she hit the nail right on the head.

  • Isabelle A Ferreira

    i’ve lived in Paris and i can definitely see where this is coming from, thank you for posting. 

  • stephanie

    Hello, I can understand why you feel this way, its a valid feeling. Yet, I am also an American who moved to Paris to study fashion three years ago, and I never feel this pressure. I go to the supermarket or run errands without a double thought to the fact that I am wearing my boyfriends oversized fleece slippers (which should never leave the domestic realm) and his old, oversized hoodie. I dont feel or notice pressure or disdain for my very obvious lack of care of aesthetic, I feel very free in this city. It doesnt seem to matter whether I am perfectly groomed, or look like a homeless. Perhaps it is your perception, maybe even your neighborhood, maybe its simply your aspiration to want to be elegant and beautiful. Apart from me, I notice that Parisians are also very relaxed with their appearances, even when going out or going to dinner. Where are you seeing these beautiful, elegant women?! 

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