There comes a time in your life when you stop caring; it doesn’t necessarily occur after a life-altering epiphany, you simply grow out of your interests. As an Egyptian woman, Sahel season has always agonized my soul, whether it’s trying to lose weight, convincing my parents I can go there by myself and not get kidnapped, having a place to spend the night or finding that one outfit that will make me feel better about myself.
Three years ago, I vividly remember arguing with my sister about her wearing a black T-shirt at a club. I just could not believe that my fashion icon would wear such a hideous abomination in public. She just laughed and said, “Deal with it”.
Two years ago, my summer shopping spree turned into a “Let’s get over this crap” chore. Last year, I started wearing the same stuff from the previous year. Last weekend, I just grabbed an off-white shirt, threw it on and headed to a party infested with gorgeous ladies while my hair looked like it came out of an ’80s Ragheb Alama video clip.
This is what happened: absolutely nothing. Contrary to my belief over the past 10 years, no one gave a shit, the music sounded the same, the same people who usually acknowledge my existence at parties came to say hi, I said the same bad jokes and my friends laughed regardless and when girls talked to me in English in the bathroom queue, I still managed to reply without stuttering. Basically, the only difference was having a great time while rocking a nightmarish ’80s Nadia El Guindy hairdo.
If only I had started wearing T-shirts in Sahel clubs years ago, I would have saved a ridiculous amount of money. I understand the elation of going out and looking your best, getting compliments that would make your week and feeling that tiny part of your soul bouncing when men and women acknowledge your effort, but honestly, not giving a hell turned out to be easier and cheaper.