For several years now, I’ve been on the constant lookout for Individuality. Whenever I go to a party, one where I don’t know a soul, I find myself surveying the room searching for someone, anyone, who looks like they might be interesting, approachable and very, very cool — and yet, not so cool that they are firmly in the realm of haughty, mortified to be cornered into talking with someone the likes of me. Even though I certainly don’t go to parties nearly as often as I used to — a side effect, I suppose, of being mother to a young child who can’t … or at least shouldn’t … be left home alone — I’ve noticed that every time I go out, I fall into the very same pattern.
Recently I attended a celebration dinner held by a bride and groom the night before their wedding. The odd thing was I didn’t know either of them. An out-of-town guest — the bride’s cousin, and a good friend of mine — had flown in for the festivities. My friend wasn’t going to be able to spend much time with me while she was in town because she was busy photographing the wedding, so she invited me to come to the party. I therefore found myself standing at the doorway of a home I’d never visited, clutching a bottle of what I hoped was a decent champagne.
(I wonder, exactly, how do you know if you’ve purchased a decent champagne? The bottle I bought was of an average price — not the cheapest in the specialty food store I’d dashed into prior to arriving, but certainly not the most expensive — yet, I suspect price isn’t always the best indicator of taste.
But I digress.)
Once I was invited in, I began my usual habit of scanning for an Individual.
What is somewhat ridiculous about this whole scene is that I’m not entirely sure what I was looking for: after all, I don’t have a Party Type. What I’m seeking isn’t physical beauty — sure, attractiveness is nice, but it’s not like I’m looking for a date. I do know that if he’s dressed differently from everyone else in the room, this is a plus. If she’s watching the setting with an air of intrigued-yet-detached confidence, bonus points. And if the words quirky or odd could be used to describe the person, I might just buy him a drink.
My fascination with the unusual or different isn’t confined to people; I’ve always been drawn to places and things that are singular, as well. But really, aren’t we all? Given a street full of houses with blue doors, save for one with a red door, 98.3 percent of us will be intrigued by the red door. What’s behind that door? we think. What could’ve possibly possessed the homeowners to paint the door red? Are they artists? Separatists? Just plain ornery? Or maybe it’s some sort of sign, a secret code that only those who have red front doors could possibly understand. I’d really like to knock on that red door.
I want to see what’s inside. I bet the home is full of nothing but end tables … and on and on we continue, creating wild fantasies about the possible personalities of the people with the red door. We can’t help ourselves. Curiosity is, after all, human nature.
Still, it’s surprising — downright startling, really — that given this irresistible enchantment with the different, so many of us desperately try to be exactly the same as that which we found unique in the first place. I remember several years ago, an actor in a wildly popular television show cut her hair in a particular way. Suddenly every woman I knew between the ages of twenty and thirty-five with straight hair hightailed it to her stylist, breathlessly asking for The Rachel or The Britney or The Tiffani or whatever the character’s name was. I even had some curly-haired friends in the mix, too, paying hundreds of dollars to beat their hair into straight submission. None were immune. During that time, I remember going to meet a friend of mine at a bar, and I walked right past her in a confused fog: there were so many women in the room with the same haircut. When I finally found her, with her fashionable hairstyle and the pretty cocktail she had thoughtfully purchased for me while she waited, I gulped my drink uneasily, trying to shake the feeling that I’d just walked out of a bad Stanley Kubrick film. I learned that night that I find too much sameness unnerving.
And so, it naturally follows that unique people are intriguing to me. It takes guts to declare yourself an individual and live your life accordingly; backbone to dye your hair a color that doesn’t actually occur in nature and wear it unapologetically; courage to create one-of-a-kind art and put it out there, damn the reaction. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that kind of bravery?
So, you’re probably wondering what happened after I walked through the door with my bottle of iffy champagne. Well, it turns out the person who most captivated my attention that night was the bride. Smart, funny, confident, she warmly welcomed me with an arresting smile and thanked me profusely for my gift.
Also, on touring her home, I discovered she had the most amazing collections of clowns and dentures that I have ever seen.
No wonder her groom finds her irresistible.
“I’m different because I am a professional tuba player and I play children’s music.”
“ I’m different because the fact that I was adopted has always made me feel that I was chosen. For this reason, I also feel I’ve been chosen to make a difference.”
“I’m different because I’m a successful Hispanic female excelling in a predominantly male industry.”
“ I’m different because I have a unique sense of style, and I’m not afraid of wearing Smurf-blue shoes in public.”
