We encourage children to lean into their whimsy. It’s adorable when they wear a red Power Rangers costume and a Brewers cap to ride their tricycle on neighborhood sidewalks in the middle of June. It’s sweet to decorate cupcakes with heaps of colorful frosting that amounts to more than the cake itself. It’s cute to have a bedazzled unicorn pencil pouch. Heck, I’m a grown ass woman and still use a pencil pouch. But it’s a chic butter yellow leather that I bought in Japan.
Cute, but lacks whimsy.
Adulthood itself lacks whimsy. We try to be fancy but not fanciful. Why must we be such serious creatures? In these heavy times, we need whimsy more than ever. We think being whimsical is somehow immature and lacking class. I might be 58 years old but I have decided to embrace my inner child to chase joy.
I am leaning into whimsy.
Too many trappings of adulthood are rooted in whiteness (you knew I was going to go there). We talk about “quiet luxury” and other beauty standards that neglect 99% of the colors in the Crayola box of 64 (Do you remember those with the built-in sharpener?!). While I appreciate the ease of tonal dressing, especially for carry-on-only travels, this too can be colorful. The weight of the world already feels beige and gray and black. Bleak. Color on a gloomy day will put a pep in your step. Trust me. Bright colors and patterns are de rigueur in many cultures, including mine. Whiteness will tell you that’s tacky. The women of India in their gemstone-colored silks will tell you otherwise.
What’s whimsical can be is beautiful.
Here are some ways I am adding whimsy to my life, cultural and aging norms be damned.
Irreverent stickers. On all the things – waterbottles, notebooks, laptop.
Vibrant colors. Red boots, flowery dresses.
Fun socks. The ones with snarky sayings are my favorite.
Bedazzling. Pill boxes, mint tins, headphone cases.
Trash TV. A friend told me recently that smart women need something brainless to unwind and recharge. He’s right.
Children’s books. I’m revisiting Catherine Applegate and Kate DiCamillo.
Sprinkles. On every sweet treat.
Writing with flair. Potty-mouth imprinted pencils, purple ink, silly stationery, rubber stamps.
Crafts. Collages, coloring, irreverent embroidery.
Dance parties. In my kitchen. In the car. The Go-Go’s, Depeche Mode, the Cure, Whitney Houston.
The heart of whimsy is the sense of freedom with no regard for judgment. No burdens, just buoyancy. I shall do what makes me happy. And should you fancy a change, I invite you to do the same.
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