If I could figure out how to include a photo here, I would show you what came of my attempt to look more adult.
Though I am 34 years old and have hip pain and slightly graying temples, I was told last year (my second year of teaching) that I would increase my ethos as a college instructor by appearing older. Because the student body at the school where I teach includes a large percentage of nontraditional students, and because I have a baby face, and because I (try) to be approachable, I am at risk of being seen as a peer. And according to administration, if I am seen as a peer, I will be:
Belittled. Berated. Bamboozled. Swindled. Suckered. Hit on.
I decided to try and seem more professional and move through the Peace Corps identity I put on a few years ago. I've really rather reveled in joyful dishevelment for the past five years, but it is now time to be
An Adult.
I had great hopes of being chic. As if a hair cut and dye could transform me magically from looking like a gleeful overgrown child into a PROFESSOR OF IMPORTANCE. Instead, I look like a dandelion. The hair dye took a little too well and my frizzled locks are sunny and chemically electrified.
Thus, my vanity is once again pierced.
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