Well, after this week's confession that I often swap my skirt and heels for jeans and converse before I pick up my kids from school, I guess I have to admit that I must care a little. But I like what I like, and in that respect other people's opinions don't matter much -- for example, I still wear my flared 90s jeans when I feel like it, and I don't care if they look dated.
I think it comes down to this: I fully understand that image counts for more than we'd like, and since it does, I use it. We all know that what you ARE is way more important than what you look like, yet people judge other people all the time based on how they look, because let's face it, that's all most people get to see. The guy at the checkout at Safeway, or the receptionist at the doctor's office, or, since I seem to be fixated on them this week, most of the other parents at the playground -- they have no idea how good-natured or funny or neurotic I am, or what books I like to read, or what my political leanings are, or what topics I find endlessly fascinating, or any of the important stuff that makes me ME. They just see the face I present to the public, and all we exchange are polite nods or a brief conversation that begins with would you like help to the car with your bags, ma'am. So, since any actual verbal exchanges are minimal, my demeanor and clothing end up speaking for me. It's worth paying attention to them, so they say what I want them to say.
Queen Mum suggested that perhaps the reason I change out of my "nice" clothes before picking up the kids is that I don't want to give the impression that I am a lady of leisure, when all the other parents are working their butts off to keep all the balls in the air. That was insightful. I wasn't sure why I was changing, but I think that's a big part of it (since most of the time I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of dropping the balls!). I want to look like I've got my shit together (don't we all?) but I don't want to look like it's all handed to me on a silver platter. Because it's not.