As I was walking home from Safeway, I caught my reflection in the windows of a bank. I looked like a homeless person. It was cold today so I had on big, thick, cargo sweat pants, a sweatshirt, and a coat over that and a hat. Since every other female I encountered had on high heels, a dress or a suit and a nice jacket—with the ubiquitous cell phone attached to one ear— I swear, I looked like I was getting provisions for my night under the freeway overpass.

I have still not adjusted to suburban living. When I lived on the Coastside, no one I knew dressed up to go to town during the day. Unless we were continuing on to some suburban location. We didn’t bother to dress well because our outfit was sure to be destroyed on the mud-filled journey to town. Normally, we would all show up at the post office in our normal winter garb: jeans with mud stains on the backs of our calves from getting out of the car, muddy mismatched shoes (because in dark forested places, brown looks just like black), shirts with stains on them (again, no light to illuminate the coffee stains) with some huge coat (also with a bit of mud on it). When we greeted each other, no one noticed what the other was wearing. The only time we’d say “Hey, you look great!” was on that off chance one of us was wearing makeup. The rest of the time we didn’t notice anything, we were just happy to see another living human being. (Winter can be very isolating in the forest.)

Now I am surrounded by humans all of the time. And these humans dress up, have super nice cars and actually pay lots of attention to both their dress and their cars no matter what time of year it is. I soooo don’t fit in. I do not get my identity from my car. Which is good because I have a crappy American car, which would mean I was trying to project the image of a crappy American. And considering what I was wearing out in public today, I guess my car fits me exactly. It just doesn’t fit my new ‘hood.

Of course, it’s painfully obvious I don’t fit in my new neighborhood. As I take my daily walks, I notice all the nice houses and nice cars parked in front. The nice people come outside, they are all dressed in new Nordstrom’s clothes carrying their Dooney and Bourke purses or leather briefcases, wearing their Jimmy Choo shoes. They get into their Mercedes or BMW or Bentley or Porsche or Humvee or Volvo and drive off to work. I get up, throw on some sweats and I’m out the door for my morning walk. In all my bag lady glory. I feel like a serf among kings. Even though I’m well aware that my neighbor’s displays of wealth could all be for show and they could be in debt up to their eyeballs. At least, this is what I tell myself.

What’s weird is that I actually really live here. I actually sort of belong here. I was born here and went to grammar school here. And I just bought a house here. Which by definition makes you belong. Of course, my house isn’t the fanciest nor will it be. I don’t get my identity from my house either, so you can imagine what it looks like. No, not a giant Dumpster. Actually, it’s a pretty non-descript rancher. Your basic house. But I still feel like I don’t belong. I still feel like any day now, someone is going to come to the door, identify themselves as the Suburban Image Police and give me a ticket and a map of all the places I should be living. Like under a freeway overpass.

I think some of my issues regard the fact that I walk everywhere. Now that I live within walking distance of everything, I’m walking to the store and the bank instead of driving. We pulled out in our car the other day and a neighbor said, “Hey, I didn’t know you owned a car. I see you guys walking everywhere.” I thought, great. Even the neighbors think we’re poor.

In this town, no one walks by choice. It is assumed you don’t have a car or enough money for a car if you are seen walking (unless you are walking a dog.) So today, while I wore my bag lady outfit and was carrying groceries home from Safeway, I felt like everyone on El Camino took pity on me. “Poor thing, look what she’s wearing—ugh! And she’s actually walking—double ugh! And she’s carrying her groceries—triple ugh! It’s so sad, so very, very sad. I wish something could be done for those people. I hope that woman gets shelter for the night. And I hope all to hell she doesn’t try to sleep in MY driveway.”

I always want to shout, “Hey I live here, I actually own a house and car, don’t worry, I won’t steal from you!” I’m also worried that I’ll run into someone I know while I’m trudging along El Camino with my groceries. “Janet’s homeless? I knew she couldn’t afford that house in San Mateo!”

I think I’ve got image-itis. I never thought about what I looked like before I moved here. If I’m going out now, I wear make-up. I never used to wear make-up unless I was coming to San Mateo and now since I live here, I’m going through Clinique like water. Except for today. Today I didn’t wear any make-up and went to Safeway anyway. I just left on my sunglasses. So I bumped around Safeway in the dark, looking for milk because I was too self-conscious to take off my stupid sunglasses.

I miss the Coastside way of dismissing exteriors. Coastsiders generally don’t judge books by their covers. A person’s interior is what really matters in a small town. Everyone knows who you are, knows what you do and judges you based upon that, not upon what you wear or drive. I remember being at a party where the richest person of Pescadero and the toothless guy who worked on our septic tanks were engaged in conversation, both seemingly unaware of the significance. They lived in Pescadero, they were neighbors, it was all that mattered. On the Coastside people realize how dependent they are on their neighbors. It gives them a feeling of connection and community that those in the overly populous areas do not experience.

Which is the best part of living on the Coastside. But then there’s the trade-offs. Like having reliable access to your home. Reliable access to electricity. Reliable access to water. Not to mention high speed Internet access. Or being within walking distance of seventy plus restaurants. Food delivery. Being able to walk a few blocks, hop a train, then hop on Bart and be in Chinatown in forty-five minutes. Or being able to take any class you want and it’s ten minutes away. Or take a cab to SFO and fly anywhere in the world you want. After twenty plus years of living on the coast, I feel like I’ve been let out of a cage.

So basically, it comes down to this: in return for scads of new opportunities, I’ve given up the freedom to dress casually and not be mistaken for a bag lady. I guess I’m okay with that.

Besides, maybe someday one of these Gucci-clad people will mistakenly hand me some money. Could really help with our new mortgage.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I was kind of joking in this column when I said I was worried about people I knew recognizing me as I walked along El Camino, coming home from Safeway. I mean, San Mateo has 100,000 people in it. Guess what? I HAVE been noticed walking home from Safeway on El Camino by old neighbors from the Coast. And yes, I did look like I was homeless…

©2007 Janet Periat