Walk O' Shame

Walk of Shame: Refers to the phenomenon in which a person must walk past strangers or peers alone for an embarrassing reason until they reach privacy. Most commonly it occurs after a night at a bar, dance club or party. People undertaking the walk of shame are understood to have spent the night at the house, apartment or dorm of a sexual partner, particularly a one night stand. (Wilkipedia).

Ahhh yes, nothing like a good ole' fashioned walk of shame to get your day started! In the fall of 2006, I dressed up as the Walk of Shame for Halloween. I wore an oversized man's button down shirt, (misbuttoned of course), and a pair of boxer shorts, topped off with high heels. (Minus the heels, it was an extremely comfortable outfit). My hair looked something similar to a rat's nest, and I drew dark black circles under my eyes. I was a mess, and I kind of liked it.

However, my former walk of shame Halloween outfit is not quite accurate of real life. A true walk of shame outfit is a combination of things really: Rats nest mess of hair, Check. (I literally don't know what happens to my hair overnight, but it's the kind of nest that I can't put a comb or a brush through). Half made-up face, with eyeliner remnants left behind. Check.

Note: Staying at a boy's apartment, without enforcement of my proper night time routine of washing my face and taking off my eye make up, leaves me with black eye-liner residue smeared beneath my eyes. And, oh yes access to a toothbrush would be nice too.

Instead of walk of shaming it home in an oversized man's dress shirt and boxers, substitute whatever outfit was worn the night before. In the winter time, you can be covered by a big winter jacket to try and mask your walk of shameness. But, in the summer time--you are exposed. And, there is nothing to be done about it. I'm not quite sure why the walk of shame feels so humiliating...perhaps it has something to do with the public acknowledgement that you just had sex. Without being too detail oriented, I shall only say this: I may or may not have had to walk of shame it home in semi-recent times.

(An aside: About a year ago, I had to walk of shame it home twenty-four blocks. I had left my credit card at the bar, and had no cash on me. I had no choice but to be judged for twenty-four blocks straight). Naturally, the earlier in the morning the walk of shame is done, the better. Less risk of shame, humiliation, and running into someone that you know.

Boys sure are lucky. Their walk of shame outfits could be exactly what they would wear on any given day. Unfortunately for me, my normal Sunday outfits are not short black dresses and high heels. It's important to make a clean getaway. In one instance, as I sheepishly slinked into a cab, the cab driver looked back at me, with a wink and said, "Late night?" Oh for the love of God. Upon arrival back at my apartment, I walked in just as a mother and father were moving their son into the building. As the boy's parents stared at me, my heels clinking against the floor, the son looked at me, his smile saying it all, "Yes! Sluts live here."