In which Our Hero chuckles at a mistranslation, then engages with the point itself.
The question was posed earlier today: “How much of your feeling of lack of social fitting at clown school comes from your grooming, or lack thereof?”
A fair question.
I last shaved my face in October. I last cut my hair in 2021.
(To be concrete: at clown school, I showered daily, wore deodorant, and washed my clothes weekly. This topic is about aesthetics, not hygiene.)
I’ve never grown facial hair before. It was always patchy. Now, since July, returning to my endogenous testosterone production with a little bit of external boosting via a doctor-prescribed chemical called Clomid (a 10/10 experience, but a different story), I have finally been able to grow a beard. It’s nice. My partner enjoys the softness. I enjoy the newness and the exploration (and the scritches).
And then, on the hair front, it’s long. Sometimes (3 or 4 times in the last 4 years) I get it treated at a salon to make it simple and easy to manage. Others, I wear hats or put it in a ponytail.
I’ve heard I have split ends. I don’t care.
So:
Do clowns?
The first answer is: probably. Clowns are an immediacy-focused group. One that cares about emotional presence and current experience. They also therefore care about appearance and presentation. And they should: performers are perceived based on their appearance. A comedian who either gains or loses a lot of weight will need to adjust their behavior and performance based on their new perception. (For a biting and sad example, see either this article about Chris Farley or how many Chris Farley bits involve his size.)
So yes, my grooming has probably had an impact.
I mentioned something like this to my interlocutor, to which they replied: “Not because you don’t look good, but because you look like you aren’t taking care of yourself.”
This comment seems worthy of analysis.
Like.
I am taking care of myself.
I’m just not doing things with my body that you (the collective “you”) want me to.
“Not taking care of yourself” is often a polite mistranslation for something else. What it usually means is: you are emitting social signals I don’t enjoy.
I’m enjoying the beard growth. I’m curious where it goes and what it’s like. I’m enjoying the new experiences, even some of the difficult or disgusting ones. (The presence of my mustache means I have to re-learn the skill of using a napkin.) I like my hair as it is: I’m enjoying it growing out.
It’s less “not taking care of myself” and more “not playing others’ game”.
Grooming isn’t just maintenance; it’s signaling. And one of the signals I was sending – intentionally or not – was: I’m not optimizing for your approval.
Which is
perhaps
a fair point.
I’ve opted out of a bunch of life’s societal games. The 9-5 job (or employee status more generally). Living in a fixed location. Dating via specific social rituals. Following a prescribed gender behavior.
It limits who likes me. It limits who spends time with me. But the people who do like me really like me.
I’m thinking about this with clown school. My goals were 80% spiritual and 20% clown-y. That already separates me from the crowd. I’m not the only one in clown school for spiritual reasons: a classmate shared that her motivation was to re-learn how to play so she could enjoy playing with her children again. The majority of my classmates are professional actors.
My clown-y goals were 1) learn the practice of clowning; 2) learn the theory of clowning; and 3) make friends.
If my spiritual goals are not most clowns’ main focus, and most clowns aren’t interested in the theory, then I’m already pretty limited in topic interest overlap.
Add to that the fact that I don’t find fun many things that other clowns do – drinking alcohol; socializing in groups; group texting conversations – and my pool becomes even smaller.
Clowning is about finding games and playing them. It’s about being open and connective and sensitive with others. My first few weeks, when my facial hair looked good rather than just a lot, I was more in flow. Is that a coincidence with the fact that I also enjoyed the class subject matter (Le Jeu) more? Is it true that my focus turned more inward over time, and this didn’t jive with the peers? Complicité is a two way street, and maybe I was blocking the other lane. (As a friend put it: “maybe your flow comes partially from the interactions with others and maybe your appearance changes their interactions with you, which compounds”.)
The most generally-liked clown who I met at clown school was a person who’s constantly generous. Not especially generous with time, resources, or skills, but extraordinarily generous in emotional and social dynamics.
And I
just
don’t value that
as much
as the other
clowns do.
Emotional generosity is the local currency. I value it, just not always above curiosity, theory, or truth. That difference matters more here than I expected.
This isn’t a critique of emotional generosity. It’s a recognition that I underweighted how central it is to clown school, and that mismatch had consequences I’m still understanding.
So I write a daily blog about clowning.
And others
are better
clowns
🤡
Julian Wise 