The Weekly Croissant: Oakland

The Land Where My Aura Shines (Apparently)

My sister and I like to joke about how our level of attractiveness varies from region to region. There was one summer my sister was working at a research lab in a rural area of California, about an hour's drive from any real town let alone city. Upon her arrival, she realized that, while in Boulder, Colorado she was surrounded by wealthy triathletes with perfect skin, shiny hair, and washboard abs (making her merely average as she is in fact, very beautiful), in this remote area of California, she was the HOTTEST WOMAN TO HAVE EVER EXISTED.

The pressure was overwhelming, and the attention absurd, but in the end, she was able to embrace it and enjoy her summer…EAT PRAY SEX as they say.

Yesterday, I had a very unexpected parallel experience… I say unexpected because

1) I had an early flight and had mainly been focused on getting out of the house on time, my clothes were chosen exclusively for comfort and I was under-slept

2) I was flying to Oakland, California which I consider to be a “fancy” place. I mean, who wouldn’t live in the Bay Area, or at least “have a place there” if they were in possession of a spare million or two?

I was leaving from Nashville, and had a layover in Las Vegas… and nobody looked at me twice in these places. I mean, why would they?… I was hauling a banjo around, sweating, wearing a grubby sweater and baggy jeans (jeans that I have determined multiple times are objectively unflattering on me, but I keep wearing because they are so comfortable) and socks with sandals. I had no makeup on and left with my hair still wet.

It started on my plane between Vegas and Oakland. A flight attendant was suddenly leaned over me poking at my tattoo. May I? he said, touching my shirt sleeve. Oh, I said, sure. This line work is just incredible, he said. So beautiful, it’s all about the line work. Well, thanks! I said, explaining that it was an exact tracing and yes the tattoo artist had done a great job.

After we landed, I stood up and began unloading my bags from the overhead compartment. The man who was seated across from me stood up behind me and said I just love all the matching elements of your outfit… great details. MY outfit??? I said, incredulously, because in my mind, what I was wearing was a pile of clean laundry, not a fashion statement. Yea! He said. The sweater, the socks, the scrunchy, the hairclip… Wow, I said, thank you!

Still got it, I thought, as I dodged the beginnings of a long conversation with this man and veered into a coffee shop. I grabbed my coffee and began walking to the baggage claim, when I was stopped AGAIN, this time by a very flamboyant queen yelling from across the terminal GREAT BANGS! Super cute!

WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK IS HAPPENING?? I thought.

And this my friends, is why after this weekend, I am never, ever leaving Oakland, California.

Sincerely,

Average White Gal/ Oakland 11