Just the other day it occurred to me that in a realm where image is everything, life still goes on regardless of what we wear. I never gave this much thought living in a happening place like Brooklyn where the sidewalk is everyone's personal runway.So it's no surprise that on Saturday when I rose bright and early, eager to go apple picking, I was more eager to put on my nice fall blazer, new pair of blue jeans, mod-ruffled turtle neck, and a nice pair of fall boots. I would be the most fly apple picker in Princeton, New Jersey, I thought. But given that this was my first time going apple-picking, I had to know for sure what to wear. I logged onto About.com and read comments by people in my predicament of a fashion dilemma. I was instructed to wear the oldest pair of sneakers given the ample dirt paths on apple farms. Old sneakers?! In my mind, that spelled fashion doom. Who saves old pairs of sneakers for moments like these? All my shoes are good pairs, the rest are reserved for Salvation Army or the trash. Also to my chagrin, I read that plaid shirts rolled three-quarter of the way are the best to wear for apple picking. Plaid shirts?! Who do I look like, Dorothy? I scoffed at the idea. “Plaid is so 1995!” I said out loud as I clicked out of the link. So there went my blazer and turtle neck idea.
I started to panic, mentally assessing my closet for the best looking “farm girl” clothes I could pull off. My partner, a self-proclaimed tomboy, already had on her sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of timberland boots (she looks good in anything). Our good friend, Shay also had his sweatshirt, scarf, and a pair of Timberland boots as well. “Nicole, are you ready? Is that what you’re wearing?” They yelled in unison when they saw that I was still dressed like I was about to walk a fashion runway in Berlin and not apple picking. I had five minutes to pull off an outfit for the occasion. But then it occurred to me that the way I look wasn’t going to affect whether or not I have a good time. It’s the memories spent with the people I love that count. So I slipped into the first sweatshirt that I could find, a pair of jeans, and a pair of long Timberland boots. I gingerly descended the stairs, wondering if I should’ve stood my ground and worn my initial outfit. More than likely we were going to be the only Black people on the farm, I thought. So it only makes sense to look presentable as “representatives” of the race, right? Timberland boots were just too predictable.
But as soon as I entered the parking lot of the orchards, my feelings of fashion uncertainty were quickly erased. It was replaced with excitement. I noticed that half the people there didn’t care what I was wearing. It was all about picking apples and carving pumpkins. I even saw black families dressed in their sneakers, jeans and sweatshirts, carrying bags of apples they picked. I was ecstatic.
This made me wonder why I was so hung up on image. I thought back to my preoccupation with image. I could not recall one moment or situation in life where the clothes that I was wearing helped with my personal growth and development. Regardless of what I wear, the people who I've come to love and respect are more interested in my mind and what I have to put on the table as a student, employee, partner, sister, friend, or even mentor. Even if the attraction to an individual is solely based on image at first (which for me, has been the case over the years where people had expressed interest in me based on my looks), it gets old after a while. After a while, no matter how shallow a person appears to be, there is going to be a deeper yearning for substance in their connection to another person. Moreover, in the realm of a professional atmosphere where first impressions last, it is important to dress to impress for interviews; however wearing a Brooks Brothers suit as opposed to a suit from Marshalls isn’t going to make up for a lack of experience or competence. 
So now that I was comfortable in my apple picking outfit, I reached the farthest branches and picked succulent apples sparkling red in the sun. I didn’t mind my Timberland boots getting dirtied. I rolled my sleeves and picked some more apples, snapping pictures while at it. My partner and I had an apple picking contest, seeing who can pick the biggest apples. Shay also got into the mix, reaching for apples and scribbling down recipes for his next apple pie dish. After picking apples at the orchard we walked the rest of the farm. I overheard people who wore dressy shoes complaining that they should’ve worn more comfortable shoes that they wouldn’t mind getting dirtied. I smiled to myself when I heard this, knowing that I nearly fell into such predicament. Had I not forgotten about image, I would’ve been robbed of this memorable experience. The day turned out to be one of the best days I’d ever had. Image may be everything, but it certainly cannot beat living.
Nicole © 2010
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