By Andrea Goto
Throughout this COVID-19 pandemic, we’ve been introduced to the idea of the “essential worker.” These are the people who keep the world functioning—medical professionals, police, firefighters, grocery store clerks… Don’t worry, this isn’t a political post about who matters most, the shutdown or the collapsing economy. It’s about what I’ve discovered is and isn’t essential to me. And I’m thinking you might be sharing some of the same insights.
Not surprisingly, what is essential includes things like the health of my family and friends, working out to stay sane and the ability to keep educational systems going. I was, however, surprised that Botox would matter as much as it does (thanks, Zoom), that groceries would limit me to selecting just one kind of pasta (cue “Sophie’s Choice”), or that toilet paper would become the bottled water of hurricane season.
But the biggest takeaway for me has been the importance of comfort in a time when there is so little to take comfort in. Since March, I’ve acquired at least ten pairs of joggers, three additional pairs of cut-offs, five pairs of various athletic shoes and, as of yesterday, in the sudden realization that my ill-fitting, underwire bras were completely unnecessary, six bralettes.
I’m done with discomfort. I can’t even look my once-loved Lanvin heels in their toe box without wincing. My feet want to be free. My legs unfettered. My boobies held gently to my body, not unnaturally shelved on underwire and over-formed cups.
I am better when I’m comfortable. I can focus on my work, don’t waste time deliberating about what to wear, and I can break into a run at any given moment—which has come in handy in the toilet paper aisle.
I look forward to life returning to normal, but we should definitely rethink the value of “looking professional” at the cost of comfort.
I was recently in Dr. Minton’s office (yes, for Botox after a horrifying glimpse at myself on Zoom), and I started thinking maybe I should move into a career in plastics. Not because I dislike my current profession. Not because I have any training. But because I think I would be really happy rocking a pair of scrubs each and every day. I know I can purchase scrubs for myself, but as a college professor, it just doesn’t feel right—but it would also feel really, really good. And the more feel goods we have right now, the better.
