Image

I've just finished re-reading "Immortalité" by Kundera. It's a book that can't be easily described. Kundera in this "novel" talks about the self, the body, the concept of immortality, etc... It's very rich and as usual, the author gets into the book and talks directly to the reader... At one point, Kundera talks about the concept of the image, of how we perceive ourselves, and especially, how others perceive us... How our image actually does matter, and how those who think it does not, are, well, insane.

My finishing of the book comes at a time where I've been having lots of discussion with friends about "image". My view is that if we always obeyed the rules of society, we would actually never go anywhere. I am not advocating chaos or anarchy, but I am saying that one should be able to do what one wants to do, provided one can deal with the consequences. I know I dress a bit weirdly sometimes, that I have bizarre looking shoes, and apparently a "hippyish" style. I was not conscious of it until I came back to Tunisia. True, I tend to favor colors and loose fitting clothes. True also, that I favor comfortable shoes over stylish ones. Very true that I have flowers and weird patterns on my clothes. But that is my style, and frankly, I like it. It might be a bit off, but really, I don't care. The style is mine, and people have gotten used to it. They've come to realize that it fits my personality, and they've come to accept it. Once in a while I get something or another, but that's ok. I know how to deal with it.

Our social image however does not stop at how we dress. It goes further. It's who you have lunch with, who you have coffee breaks with, where you go out at night, who do you have a drink with, do you have a drink (as a female) alone with colleagues, what kind of car you drive, etc. etc... The list goes on. But then again, you know the list, you know what I mean.

I was also told over a beer the other night that I did not live in a vacuum and that I had to be conscious of the choices I made. I don't know about that. I don't know either when this shift occurred for me.... meaning, I've realized that nudity does not bother me. It's just a body, it's just boobs, what's the big deal? I wondered also about the movement in France whereby overnight women decided to sunbathe topless. How did that happen? How did the rules change? What gave the first woman courage to take off her top? And what made the others follow?

I know there are limits to what one can do. At least, somewhere in my head, I figure that there should be limits, but I am not sure why. I figure, who cares what I wear? I am talking about the everyday stuff, not the professional uniform (because yes, a suit IS a uniform). Who cares about my piercings or my tattoos? I've gotten a 2nd one sometime ago, and when people ask me to show it, I do. I don't feel ashamed or uneasy about it. I know that many think it an aberration, others too big, too loud, too weird, too... whatever. It is what it is. Just like my clothes. They are what they are. My own personal style. I know that those who take the time to know me would understand it... For the rest... well...

To get back to Kundera, how insane is the person that does not care? And so what if they are?