You Will Never Live that Down 
Yes you will. Go ahead and let your freak flag fly.
You might say I have a thing for traffic cones.
I am in possession of more than one photo of myself wearing a traffic cone as a hat. One of them is from New Year’s Eve 2012. I was walking home with friends from a party in Brooklyn and fell behind because I was focused on appropriating a cone and getting it onto my head before shouting for someone to turn around and take a picture. It fell completely down over my face and when he took in the scene, my husband said, “You know dogs have peed against that, right?”
What can I say? I’m committed to my art.
I’m also really into something I call “frolicking.” Every once in a while I get the urge to go skipping along—on the pavement, down the beach, in someone else’s yard (other people might call this “trespassing”)—and have my own private dance party. A good frolic gets the sad out of you, as Marlo Thomas might say, and it’s also a nice, low-impact workout.*
I have “borrowed” an inflatable dolphin from a hotel gift shop and “danced” with it to Calvin Harris’s “Feel So Close” in front of the crowd at an expensive fundraiser. I have attempted (and failed) to shinny up a palm tree to impress a three-year-old girl. I once played Lust in my friends’ Seven Deadly Sins Halloween pageant and ate grapes off the bosoms of the girl who played Gluttony. I’ve got photo-or videographic proof of all these activities, and there’s a lot more where those came from.
These are all things I chose to do, knowing how weird they might look or how much evidence might one day be used against me in the court of YouTube. Sometimes it’s because I’m tipsy. Okay, a lot of the time. But I’m also not shy about being weird, because it’s fun, it’s funny, and it’s who I am—the Janus face of my type A, recovering-perfectionist, takes-most-shit-too-seriously personality. Plus, as you’ve probably inferred from earlier stories about my semirepressed adolescence of people-pleasing and conformity—I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.
Maybe you do too?
Wacky with a chance of goofballs
At this point in our narrative, we’ve discussed unconventional life choices, risk, fear, and regret; and in Part IV, we’ll hack into the thorny underbrush of family relations, physical appearance, and mental health. So I’m thinking now’s a good time to enjoy a mental palate cleanser, and spend the final chapter of Part III getting comfortable with getting weird.
Strange. Quirky. Eccentric. The whole shebang. Letting that tiger out of the cage and getting those freak flags rippling on the breeze.
WHO’S WITH ME?!?
(Extra points if you just said “I am!” out loud in a crowded waiting room or on public transportation.)
Excellent. First, some parameters:
Plain old day-to-day weirdness is different from “making unconventional life choices.” The former is about discrete acts of nonconformity and oddball lunacy, whereas the latter encompasses entire unusual or unpopular paradigms for living—whether vis-à-vis a career path, family planning, extreme fitness, tiny house, etc.
Both, however, are choices. When I say someone is “being weird,” I mean they are making an active, conscious choice to be, do, and/or say peculiar things that fall outside society’s established norms. I’m not saying those norms are always rational or justified, just that we all know they exist. Such norms include not talking about yourself in the third person, not showing up in costume to a non-costume party, and not wearing pilfered construction equipment on your head.
Finally, I think of “being weird” as behavior that isn’t hurting anybody else. Like that guy on the subway platform dancing a tango with a life-sized doll Velcroed to his wrists and ankles. Who’s he hurting? No one. You do you, guy dancing a tango with a life-sized doll Velcroed to your wrists and ankles. Weirdness is different from the nonnegotiable clauses in the social contract that I mentioned in Part I, such as bestowing the gift of your junk on a band of unsuspecting carolers. There is no moral, ethical, or legal reason not to be weird. There is only Judgy McJudgerson, waiting in the wings to smirk at you. (Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Judgy talks about Judgy in the third person.)
With those ground rules established, I do declare that we, as a society, should celebrate weirdness in all its forms—and that the right to be weird should be inalienable—just like the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.*
This is what the phrase “You do you” was meant for!
If everyone on earth responded to acts of well-intentioned weirdness with acceptance and encouragement, we’d all be having a lot more fun, with a generous dollop of self-confidence. (And you don’t have to be weird yourself if you don’t want to, but you can be tolerant of others and get some free entertainment out of the deal. What do you have against whimsy?)
I myself am blessed by the friendship of a bunch of weird weirdos who accepted me into their lives and nurtured my frolicking streak over time. If you are one of us, I want you to know in no uncertain terms:
You are awesome and there is nothing wrong with you.
If you are not one of us, know this:
You could be.
Making it weird
The rest of this chapter is split into three parts.
The first is for people who already self-identify as weird and came here looking for validation and spiritual high fives;
The second is for people whose freak flag flies at half-mast—they have a propensity for weird but need help standing strong in the face of pressure to reel it in;
And the third is for those who are what I like to call “weird-curious”… and who might be wondering how they can join the party.
Freak flag: flying high
Some folks are totally comfortable in their weirdness. My friend Bryan, for example, wears a terry-cloth headband at all times and often speaks in Zen koans. My buddy Steve has a brown belt in scatological humor. And one of my college professors used to introduce herself to people and then act out their zodiac signs via interpretive dance.
If you’re weird and you know it—and you’re out there doing you on a daily basis—there must be some reason you haven’t backed down or buttoned up in the face of societal pressure to do so. It’s possible that you live in an unusually accepting environment, perhaps among carnies or nursery school teachers. It’s possible that you read my first book and no longer give a fuck about what anybody else thinks. Or perhaps, in addition to being weird, you’re already exceptionally confident in your weirdness. Regardless, you don’t need my validation.
Instead, please accept this drawing of a traffic cone wearing a traffic cone on its head, a gift from me to you:
Freak flag: half-mast
Then there are folks who know they’re weird and sometimes flaunt it, but afterward they feel judged and criticized. If this is you, you’re living in the purgatory of being yourself without feeling good about being yourself. In my humble opinion, that cycle of embarrassment-shame-repression is a lot worse than the occasional unwelcome snicker or dirty look from a stranger.
How about a little mental redecorating to help you break that cycle?
Step 1: Identify your “flaws.”
Step 2: Refresh the way you look at and/or deal with them.
If your “flaw” is a penchant for outlandish outfits or elaborate maquillage, well, that didn’t stop Gene Simmons! Instead of treating your favorite wardrobe items or cosmetics like the incense you only light when you’re feeling frisky, you could start burning that stick of Exotic Sandalwood all day every day. Eventually, people will get used to it. (They might even secretly wish they smelled like you.)
Or perhaps your sense of humor, like a scary clown painting in the powder room, can be unsettling to unsuspecting guests. You don’t have to replace it with a Norman Rockwell print, but you could relocate your schtick to the basement game room where your most fun friends are likely to encounter it in a relaxed, receptive mood. Let’s just say I’ve been on the delivering end of a few volleys that didn’t land, and now I only make merkin jokes in front of people with a background in fifteenth-century prostitution and/or pubic lice. Gets ’em every time.
By rearranging your mental décor, you make it easier and more pleasant to get through your own life—and for the people in your life to do so too.
Freak flag: low and tight
Finally, let’s say you don’t yet self-describe as weird, but more “weird-curious.” I would love to be of assistance on your journey of self-discovery. For starters, here are three easy ways to let loose and channel your inner weirdo.
The last time you didn’t care about what other people thought of you was probably when you were still in diapers, right? Little kids are blissfully unaware of society’s capacity for judgment—they make up songs, wear pipe cleaners as jewelry, and talk to inanimate objects (not to mention, frolic to their hearts’ content).
EXERCISE: Take a crash course in weird by following a two-year-old around for a few hours and doing whatever he does. Point at birds while making pig noises; wear a bucket on your head while using a plastic rake as a scepter; laugh maniacally at your own flatulence. Literal baby steps.
Another [relatively] consequence-free subset of the weirdo population: your favorite pop stars, actors, fashion designers, YouTubers, and athletes. Name one reason why Lady Gaga can wear a gown made of raw beef and you can’t. Or why Chad Johnson can legally change his last name to “Ocho Cinco” and you can’t. (Hint: the reason is “confidence.”) People either already admire celebrities and therefore accept their eccentricities, or those eccentricities form the basis for the admiration in the first place. So you’re not a celebrity—so what? That doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in a little freedom of expression.
EXERCISE: The next time you go out to dinner, offer to take selfies with fellow patrons as though you are famous. That’s superweird, yet if you do it with confidence, people won’t even realize it. They will literally be begging you for more.
If you’re looking for a loophole in the social contract, being by yourself is it. There’s nobody to please, bow down, or cater to. Nobody to see you shake a tail feather, hear you harmonize, or critique your Hammer Dance. But if you love to boogie down and sing along, who says you have to limit those feel-good vibes to “when other people aren’t watching?”
EXERCISE: Start slow, by pretending you’re alone even when you aren’t. For example: alone in your car, but pulled up to a stoplight at a busy intersection with the windows down; alone on a balcony or rooftop, but with other people milling below; or alone in a bathroom stall at a busy bar or restaurant. (Once when I was putting on lipstick, I heard a woman pee while belting out “R-e-s-p-e-c-t.” If that isn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy, I don’t know what is.) Eventually, you’ll get the hang of being weird in public. It’s all about granting your inner monologue its outside voice, regardless of who’s there to listen.
Finally, one last piece of unconventional wisdom from the woman who recently copped, in print, to putting traffic cones on her head and enjoying semiregular frolicking sessions:
Acknowledging and acting on your own weirdness gives you power.
How? Because not only does acceptance breed confidence, confidence itself is disarming.
Why? Because people are easily manipulated.
(What? It’s true.)
And doing anything on purpose, with purpose, is the best way to hide in plain sight.