I'm still spending a little time each day cleaning out my basement. I opened an unmarked box a couple of days ago and found remnants of the 1980's. For some reason, I'd saved my old cowboy boots. What do cowboy boots and the 1980's have in common? They were the official shoe/boot of those who were into heavy metal.
Not counting that brief period in my childhood in which I wore cowboy boots (the pictures don't lie), I had never worn cowboy boots, and I haven't since those glorious metal days. So, how ironic is it that I conformed to the dress code (and yes, I had long hair too) of a group that hated the idea of conformity and even sang against it (remember Van Halen's Sucker in a Three Piece, or Cinderella's Gypsy Road, or Skid Row's Youth Gone Wild?) while at the same time having its own code of conformity?
Groups conform—not to society, but to each other. And maybe that's the argument that self-proclaimed non-conformists would use if somebody pointed out their inconsistency. But conformity is conformity, isn't it?
I remember going for an office job interview during my heavy metal days. I put on a suit—which looks a little funny on a guy with long hair with bleached tips, but hey, office interviews require proper business attire. The guy who interviewed me seemed to like my skills and even appeared to be on the verge of hiring me, but I wanted him to understand that I would not cut my hair for a job. So I told him that.
And I went a little further by saying that I was a non-conformist, but in a good way. I wanted him to know that I didn't go along with crowds (read: misfit employees) and that I would be a loyal employee—I just wouldn't cut my hair. That was the deal I laid on the table. He passed.
I don't know how I would have reacted if he had pointed out that I had conformed by dressing in a suit for his job interview. And I don't know what I would have said if he had asked me, "But aren't you conforming to the group of people you hang out—most of whom probably have long hair?" I probably would growled about him being judgmental and then ended the interview.
The funny thing is—now I'm watching the generation behind me, with their low-riders, and crooked baseball caps who are dressing the same way while at the same time demanding that they are just expressing their individuality. If blogs are still around in 15 years, I'm guessing that you'll be seeing similar posts to this one from their perspective. Somebody will open a box, pull out several pair of jeans void of a waist band, and a light bulb will go off.
Well, I told you that you'd probably be seeing more posts about my basement cleaning. So many memories are packed away in those boxes that it's impossible to not stop once in a while, reflect about days that are long since gone, and then pull up the trash can and start dumping stuff that will never be used again—include cowboy boots.
