Wednesday, August 22, 2007
So is the time when we are all dragged back into an academic routine, laying behind us summer flings, episodes and a way of life more carefree. In the midst of our mass coercion to refocus our energies to a scholarly nature, we struggle to let go of the last few months that suddenly seem timeless. Still, there is something we can’t overlook. As you may have noticed, it’s hot outside. For some that fact is a mere detail about the day, as trivial as wind pressure or chance of rain. But if you’re like me, it impacts a daily routine—what I will do and when I do them, and most of all, when I can never ever be outside.
In summers past, I remember dreading the heat. Being overly self-conscious and somewhat awkward, I knew that doing things during the day, even simple in nature, demanded my immediate sweatiness within a few minutes of stepping outside. I deftly subdued this problem in various ways: frequent showers, on-hand deodorant and layers of shirts. The thing about layered shirts, of course you know, is that while they help to hide armpit stains, they also add to the whole heat problem. Deodorant can only be reapplied so many times before it too becomes useless and part of the problem. I also became weary of showers that seemed to activate perspiration quicker than if I hadn’t bathed. It all felt like a losing gamble or a stalemate, and frankly, it stressed me out.
This summer was different. After many months of steady rain, I knew that things were about to get profuse. So remembering that there’s nothing to fear but fear itself, the spirit of carpe diem, and perhaps Little Richie’s natural tendencies onstage, I decided not to fight sweatiness anymore. I must admit there was a bit of pride at play in my coming around—why fight something when I can’t win? I chose to own it. And although initially feeling carnal and lazy, I found this new approach to the summer heat to be quite rewarding. (I like carnal and lazy too.) No longer does the weather prohibit me from doing the things I want to do. Instead I can focus on other things, like where the ice cream is.
Sweating itself feels pretty good. It’s like that high one gets from exercising, only a lot less is required. It has an affinity for making scantily clad anyone who is in the right time and place to do so, and I’ve noticed that this pairs very well with a cold beer. It seems to me an integral party ingredient for these reasons, not to mention the loopy hysteria that is sometimes evident. Maybe that’s just me.
It is responsible for a summer chic which beacons to the equally apathetic and honest. It says, these are the times and rather than anguish, I choose to languish in them.
While I’m not raising the white flag on personal hygiene (completely), I would like my underarms to stand testament to all: Stop pretending like you’re not sweating. I have always been mystified by those who do not perspire much or do not require deodorant, and cannot begin to address that issue. As for the rest of us, I’ll be over there in the grey shirt, sticky and unashamed. Wear your sweat with pride. I’m going to take a shower now. After all, I didn’t say anything about being outright smelly.
Muselmann is a Tulsa, Okla., junior in journalism.
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