She had neon green spikes through her ears, bright purple skinny jeans, black hair falling over her face, and heavy eyeliner.
How can she wake up in the morning, look in the mirror, and think that looks nice? I thought.
Well, I guess there’s one way to find out. She was just chilling, leaning against a building, so I figured she could spare a minute to talk to me.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?” She turned toward me slowly, took me in—me and all my “normalcy”—and replied, “Sure.” I was somewhat surprised to find her voice of a similar tone to mine—not particularly low—and her expression pleasant.
“Why do you dress like that?” I asked, glancing down at her outfit.
“Why do you dress like that?” she responded, looking at my jeans and sweatshirt.
“Because it looks good,” I said, “and it is considered by most people to be normal.”
“So?” she replied. “I and my friend prefer this style. That’s what matters, right? I don’t really care about pleasing you.”
I was slightly offended, but I understood her point. I had kind of thought people who dressed like she did really preferred my own style, but sacrificed looking nice for the purpose of making a point.
“But…aren’t there universal standards for life?”
“Of course there are,” she answered. “Not many people would take too kindly to me killing you right now.” I took a step back. “But who cares if my jeans are purple and yours are blue?”
“I prefer blue jeans,” I said. “I don’t want to dress like you.”
“Then don’t,” she replied. “Don’t you see? That’s the point! When it comes to style of clothes, or style of music, or dialect of language—things that aren’t dictated by a higher power—it’s up to the individual.”
I gave that a moment of thought.
“But by dressing that way, you’re being rebellious,” I said.
“Rebellious?” she echoed. “Who am I rebelling against? People like you—people who think they’re normal. But by dressing like that, maybe you’re rebelling against people like me. I have no authority over you and you have no authority over me. Some people do have authority over us, but there’s no law about clothing styles, as long as you wear clothes!”
“So it’s the government who decides what’s normal or what’s right and wrong? The government has the authority to dictate color of jeans?”
“No, that wouldn’t be the government’s place. That is outside the realm of its authority.”
“But…” There was still something I wasn’t getting here. “But who gives the government its authority? The people?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“God.”
Now, this really surprised me.
“You believe in God?”
“Sure,” she answered. “Surprised?”
“Are you a Christian?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Then why do you dress like that?”
“Because I want to, and the Bible doesn’t have a preference. God, apparently, doesn’t have a preference. So the government shouldn’t either. That is not the responsibility of the government.”
“So you’re saying God has ultimate power.” This conversation was getting weirder and weirder. I always figured these punks only thought about drugs, booze, and sex. This girl not only claimed to be a Christian, but appeared to be a philosopher.
“Yes, God has ultimate power.”
“What gives him the right to ultimate power?”
“No one. He doesn’t need anyone to give him authority, because he is the authority. He was before all things. No one delegated him to rule the universe. He created the universe, and he created life the way it is: with him in charge. He gives power to other people—like government authorities—but he’s up there watching out to make sure they don’t abuse the power he gave them.”
“Hm,” I said. “Well…thank you very much.” As I walked away, I had a lot to think about, and I appreciated my own style so much more, knowing that it was my own.
