I’ve started tucking in my shirt. The only two times that I remember tucking were both at weddings; Dr. Lea’s and Jono’s. I didn’t even tuck for my cousin’s wedding, even after (or should I say, especially after) a chiding from Priscilla’s unpleasant boyfriend. Admittedly, I have a very thin waist, and tucking always makes me look extremely skinny. I don’t always tuck now, just when I’m wearing a dress shirt with certain new v‑neck sweaters. If I don’t tuck, the sweaters end up bunching up oddly around my mid-section and make me look even skinnier.
I don’t mind it so far, although it feels a little odd to have so much material stuffed into my pants, like I have a skirt on underneath (not that I have ANY idea what that feels like, or ever pretended I was Candice Bergen from Attenborough’s Gandhi after finding a cache of my mothers old clothes as a confused adolescent). I’ve always been most comfortable with the casual untucked-shirt with tie or blazer style. I’ve been against tucking for so long that it feels like I’ve sold out, started laying down to the proverbial “man”, but really, I’ve only started to tuck my shirt in on occasion.
I’ve also started trying to sit up straight. I think that posture is an important part of self-image, and realized that I’m confident enough now to project it. My parents would always tell me to keep my shoulders back, because they’re generally forward in a sleazy slouch. I’ve been trying to go cold turkey and not slouch at all, instead of only sitting straight when I feel rested. The greatest challenge is sitting up straight while eating soup. The extra distance the spoon has to travel to the mouth is scary, and after a while, I end up slouching again to prevent stray drippings from making large splashes.