Being Colorful in Rural Alaska (a story of self-expression).

Talkeetna is a rural community of 800 year round residents. Anywhere besides Alaska, it would be called a village (the definitions of “village”, “town” and “city” from the Grammarly Blog), but in Alaska itself, the word “village” generally refers to native communities above the arctic circle. Anyway, this is not a blog about semantics, and my friends are from all over the world, so I will use the general definition of “village” when referring to Talkeetna.

If you live in this village, you know who I am. Even if you don’t know my name, you know I’m the “colorful” gal who lives in The Hills and has over half a dozen children. And I know you too. I might not know your name (I am TERRIBLE at remembering names), but I know you. In a State full of flannel and Xtra-tuffs, I’m the Lady in Red. From my coat to my snow boots.

Talkeetna itself is an eccentric place. We’re best known for having a cat as our mayor. This is me with the late Mayor Stubbs. Our new mayor is also a cat. His name is Denali and he is the grand kitten of my cat Batavus. You can follow our new mayor on Instagram @Denalimayorcat.

Some times people confuse me for our librarian, Tasja, which is understandable (we’re both very tall and both have Dutch mothers). And I’m certainly not the only one with an alternative sense of fashion out here; behold my dear friend, Serena, who works at Nagley’s general store:

But I’d say I am the most colorful. And definitely the most sparkly! I wear all the sparkles, and all the rainbow, and all the fringe!

Out here in the podunk village, no one stares at me. No one makes comments about my silly stylings. I’m just “Sharon who lives in The Hills”, and everyone is ok with that. When I go to the big city of Anchorage dressed in my hooded cloak, I get stares and giggles and comments like: “Is it Halloween yet!?” I don’t mind that at all. I usually just flare my cloak and pretend to be a vampire! Y’all ain’t crimpin’ my style, Bubs.

The best compliment I have ever received came from my lawyer. He was (unfortunately) trying to explain that I would never find a “jury of my peers” in this galaxy, let alone on this planet, because I’m just too damn weird. His exact words were: “What *is* that you’re wearing!? My 3 year old daughter would wear that!” And while that may have hurt my case, it was a true compliment, because toddlers are completely pure in self-expression. They don’t care what anyone thinks. They haven’t learned what societal expectations are. They have no concept of shame or peer pressure. Toddlers are crystal pure self-expression. Think about it. Before babies learn how to walk, they dance! When they hear music, they move their bodies. They don’t even need to be told to “Dance like nobody’s watching”, because they already do. They don’t give a damn what you think. This is my daughter; I was trying to get her to walk, but all she wanted to do was dance.

It’s important not to stifle a child’s self-expression. When I was very young, between the ages of 3 and 5, my mother dressed me in drag. She cut my hair in boy cuts and only gave me trackies and traditionally “boyish” clothes to wear. I can’t tell you why. As far as I know, we weren’t in the witness protection program, nor running from the law. I really have no idea why she did that. What I do know is that I HATED it. Whenever we were out at the shops or the open air market, and I saw a pretty dress I liked, I would tell her I liked it. She would answer with: “Oh, that is UGLY!” or “How horrid that looks!” What this taught me is that I was not allowed to have my own opinions on style. And so I stopped telling her what I liked. The final straw came when we were at a specialty butcher shop, and the butcher handed me a piece of sausage to be nice: “Here you go, son!” he said. I got so angry. Tears welled up in my eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of RAGE. “I AM A GIRL!” I told my mother I was growing my hair out that day. It still took a long time before I was “allowed” to dress the way I wanted.

But when I hit my early teens and was able to finally express myself, the floodgates opened. And they have never shut since. I bet you can guess which one is me in this old picture.

Some days I am the sheep rancher, but when I am it’s in colorful, neon Pendleton. Some days I am the shiny Snow Queen (a design by the wonderful Catalyst Latex).

One thing I would ask of you, if you are a parent, is to not stifle your child’s self-expression. It’s not just traditionalists who insist on gender specific clothing I’m addressing here. It’s also you Ultra Woke parents who insist on everything being gender neutral. If your daughter tells you she likes the sparkly dress, it doesn’t necessarily mean her mind has been poisoned by the patriarchy. She *might* just really like the aesthetic. If your son wants that monster truck shirt, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to turn into a misogynist; perhaps he just likes the aesthetic. And that’s ok. I have spent the past three days trying to find a place that does custom, full-picture print dresses for my daughter. It was no easy feat. I needed a place that:

1. didn’t charge an arm and a leg,
2. wasn’t in China (I do not need a surprise gift of Coronavirus riding in the box with her birthday present), and
3. would ship to a PO box since we do not have a physical mailing address out here in The Hills.

You see, my daughter loves monsters; Not cute, Disney-esque monsters. She does not want Baby Yoda. She does not want anything but Krespuckle, the Ever-Hungry, and by hook or by crook, she will have it!

I finally found the perfect place to have a full-picture Krespuckle dress printed for her at Tammy’sTuneTotes on Etsy. My toddler daughter has no inhibitions due to societal expectations. I did, but I turned out colorful anyway; it was just a more painful road. Express yourselves, and let your children do so too!