Combat Boots Go with Everything

by Amanda King, Tutor CLE Austin

I have the hair of a fairytale princess and the wardrobe of Lisbeth Salander. These two things don’t really go together.

Clothes are often our first impression, and mine is one that confuses people. Despite everything we’ve been taught about not judging books by covers, looks are often our starting point. If I’m wearing a leather jacket, a spiked collar, enough black eye shadow for five people, and a heavy metal band T-shirt, it’s safe to assume I’m a headbanger. You would not assume I’m dressed for the opera (The fact that I do dress this way for the opera is irrelevant). My entire personality cannot be deduced from that outfit, but my clothing communicates enough for you to engage me in a conversation, even if that first question is just “Doesn’t your neck get sore?” I use this tactic to get students talking all the time. A logo, slogan, brand, or cut of clothing expresses an interest. That interest opens the way for more communication.

My spikes don’t come to CLE since I’ve yet to convince even myself that they’re business casual, but in Austin, “business casual” still gets infused with groovy flair. I always wear combat boots. This started as a matter of practicality. I’m on my feet all day, and Dr. Martens are so comfortable that describing them adequately would require the love letter which is probably on file at Dr. Martens customer service (they know me well by now). I have seven pairs of Docs, my favorite of which is detailed with Renaissance artwork and which I often wear with dresses. Since having an English degree gives full license to be eccentric, I can’t say I’ve gotten any criticisms for them. Docs say a lot of things: I’m practical; I like to be comfortable; I’m willing to spend money for quality; mess with me and I’ll kick your teeth in.

My hair falls to fingertip length, and when I leave it down, small children think I’m a princess. People regularly ask me—in earnest— if I am a fairy. My hair, however, causes more problems than my combat boots do. People tell me it’s freakish, that I have no right to keep all that hair when I could donate it to cancer patients, and that it’s anti-feminist. These people must not notice my Docs.

All CLE students probably share the experience of being misunderstood because someone looked and judged without consideration. I’ve found that people take issue when an appearance doesn’t match their values. Many women expect themselves to be tough and independent, so my boots don’t seem too odd. It’s my hair that’s offensive. My hair makes people assume that my look is a result of major self-centeredness because it must take a lot of money (it doesn’t—most women spend more on a quality haircut than I spend on 6 months of hair products). They assume that I don’t donate my hair because I’m too selfish, not realizing that I’m thrilled to have it back after watching some of it fall out from harsh, but life-saving medical treatments. They assume that since my hair is old-fashioned, I must subscribe to a set of values that ignores women’s rights. These speakers could get a lot farther by using questions instead of accusations: “Does it take you forever to comb your hair? Do you think you’ll donate if you ever decide to get a haircut? What made you want hair that’s so long?” Don’t just look—pay attention. When communication is at its best, you’ll learn how to engage me and discover how my most distinguishing features developed my unique personality.