Wear the comfortable shoes

...because no one cares

A friend recently shared with me the Instagram account of Melani Sanders, who founded the “We do not care club”. She is a hilarious content creator who started the “club” for women going through perimenopause and menopause. She appears on your screen with readers propped on her forehead as well as on her nose and hanging from a chain, and proceeds to read a list of the things we no longer care about. She’s struck a chord with women because celebrities have started reposting and joining the club, and she's approaching 900,000 followers.

I love clever people, and she is extremely clever, tapping into the things that women my age can no longer get worked up about.

I was thinking about this this morning while packing for a wedding out of town. You never just go to a wedding anymore; they seem to have evolved into, at the very least, a weekend full of events. That’s ok, I am happy to celebrate with you and if I can’t make it, I can’t make it.

Anyway, the dress code is semi-formal. This used to stress me out, but it no longer does. I have a nice dress (it fits again) and I’ve worn it to a few events with the same people who have seen it. I don’t care. My shoes are comfortable. I bought the first pair twelve years ago for a wedding, and my feet didn’t hurt, so I went out that week and bought a second pair. Then I set up an alert on Poshmark for them, so when they come up in my size, I can buy them. This is self-care to me. Comfortable shoes to dance with my husband in. Four-inch heels are not self-care, and I know you look better in teetering heels, but I don’t care. They make your rear parts look smaller but I can’t see my rear parts so I leave them to take care of themselves and I don’t worry about it.

My job at most weddings these days is to show up with a generous gift and sit at the table near the band or the kitchen. I am a parent’s friend or cousin of the parent or some other such relationship. Close enough to be invited but not so close as to have a premier seat. That’s fine. I know my job and I gladly accept it. I enjoy celebrations and an opportunity to have a fancy night out and part of the enjoyment is knowing that all of the young people will have spent time and money on looking good; they will all look beautiful and no one cares what I wear or if my hair gets frizzy (it will).

There are a lot of drawbacks to this aging thing, mostly things like creaking joints and the inability to digest spicy food after 4 pm. However, I have decided my laugh lines, curves, desire to go to bed early, and inability to decipher song lyrics are not drawbacks and I refuse to let those kinds of things rob me of one minute’s enjoyment of life.

There is a great deal of freedom in coming to this stage of life. I can spend the money to fly a few states away to attend the wedding of a much-loved young lady. I can wear comfortable, nice clothes that I had altered to fit me perfectly, and I can wear the same pair of shoes for over a decade and not feel weird about it.

Call me a charter member of the “we don’t care club.