Lifestyle

My Label and Me: It took a while to get over the stares but I’m happy being wacky


What does wacky mean?

A thesaurus gives plenty of alternatives – zany, madcap, quirky, eccentric, idiosyncratic, ridiculous, nonsensical, crazy, absurd, insane, peculiar, weird, odd, the list goes on.

I think I’ve been labelled all of them at some point in life.

Growing up, I remember moments that taught me other people saw me as ‘different’.

The looks, whispers, stifled laughs, and stares.  And then there’s those who didn’t – and still don’t – stifle the laugh, or the comment.

I’ve had shouts out of car windows about the ‘state of that’, had people ask me if I’ve come in fancy dress when I’m down the local pub in a bright outfit, and I’ve had family members ask when I’m going to stop ‘all this hair nonsense’ and get a ‘normal’ colour.

The thing is, I can’t stop.

I don’t dress in bright colours, or dye my hair to deliberately provoke – it’s just who I am (Picture: David Cheskin/Metro.co.uk)

This is not contrived or calculated in any way. I am not acting out my life as a character of myself. This is me. I didn’t set out one morning to be this way.

I don’t dress in bright colours, or dye my hair to deliberately provoke – it’s just who I am.

I first changed my hair colour as a 14-year-old with a hairdresser aunt on hand to give me blonde highlights because I wanted to see what they looked like.

I progressed to a full bleach-blonde a few years later, and then worked my way through a rainbow of colours.

There were always comments – some nice, some not.

My hair was bright red on my wedding day and in the run up to it I was constantly asked, including by my dentist, of all people, if I was going to change it for my wedding.

My walls are painted in bright colours, and I have a 1950s mannequin called Dolores as my home office buddy (Picture: David Cheskin/Metro.co.uk)

Despite all of this, and maybe because of it, I have no problem with people thinking I am wacky, or unusual.

If dancing in the kitchen with the cats, making my favourite vintage Sindy doll part of my wedding bouquet, wearing bright clothes, trampolining with my friend’s kids in my 40s, and generally acting like a clown is wacky, then, fair enough – I accept the label, and wear it with pride.

I’m a creative person. I write for a living, I enjoy crafts in my spare time, my home is full of vintage bits and bobs, little trinkets and oddments all over the place.

My walls are painted in bright colours, and I have a 1950s mannequin called Dolores as my home office buddy. If this is wacky, again, I’ll take it.

No-one styled me. My personality is expressed in the clothes I wear, in the colour of my hair.

I’ve been doing this since my pre-teens, and I’m 47. If it were an act I’d be exhausted by now.

I can’t explain why I am drawn to the things I am drawn to – I just am. I enjoy bright colours – they make me feel good.

No-one styled me. My personality is expressed in the clothes I wear, in the colour of my hair (Picture: David Cheskin/Metro.co.uk)

I love bold prints and patterns – they excite me, and my creativity makes me want to express my emotions and feelings through the things I wear, and the items I choose to have around me. Like I’m one giant conceptual art project, perhaps?!

I’ve never been afraid to be me, and despite sometimes feeling quite irritated by the constant comments – just because my hair is orange, doesn’t mean you can say what you like about it – I try to remember the first time I felt that way and how it was dealt with.

It was in a shopping centre when I was about 13. I had created a red and green ensemble for the day out, a head-to-toe effort.

Red beret, green top, red skirt, green and red shoes, and matching painted nails.

It drew attention, and I noticed the looks, stares, and giggles from other shoppers.

‘Those people are staring and laughing at me,’ I cried to my mum.

‘Well, Merle, if you are going to dress this way – and you should – you will have to learn to put up with it – but remember, it is their problem, not yours.’

Their problem, not yours. Sage advice from my mother, and spot on.



Labels

Labels is an exclusive series that hears from individuals who have been labelled – whether that be by society, a job title, or a diagnosis. Throughout the project, writers will share how having these words ascribed to them shaped their identity  positively or negatively  and what the label means to them.

If you would like to get involved please email jess.austin@metro.co.uk

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