> CD#42: Two kinds of people

I don’t know about you, but I enjoy thinking about personality types and the other schemata we humans employ to figure ourselves and each other out.

Now, I recognize that no cognitive framework is capable of encapsulating the beauty, randomness and diversity of humanity—that each of us is fundamentally unique and our behaviours are not necessarily predictable, shaped both by our individual genetic predispositions and our singular lived experiences—but I also know I’m an INFJ through and through. I contain multitudes, and yet sometimes it seems like I’ve come straight from central casting.

One of my favourite mental games is to think about how the world has two kinds of people and then sort my friends, colleagues and whoever else I can think of into those two groups. For example, I once heard someone posit that every character on Mad Men either hates people or loves people. Don, Joan and Roger love people, and it’s central to their characters’ motivations, regardless of how they behave. Betty, Pete, and Peggy are people-haters at heart. This is not a judgment, mind you, but a simple sorting exercise.

Lately, I’ve been thinking through another one. There are two kinds of people: those who know how to take care of themselves and those who don’t. And I’ve devised a simple test based on no science whatsoever. All you have to do is look at the state of your underwear.

A person who cares about herself (sorry, this test only works for women) enough to regularly buy and wear nice undergarments that mostly only she will see (actually, this test might only work for women who don’t care about impressing a romantic partner) has a strong sense of self-worth, I suspect. She probably also nourishes her body with healthy meals and buys herself flowers “just because.”

I am not that person.

Instead, I am the kind of person who will continue to wear the same shabby underwear for ten years, long after the fabric has lost most of its structural integrity. I am a person whose bras each have four straps instead of two because the straps split apart from too many washes but are still hanging in there somehow. Why bother spending good money on nice undergarments, I think, when they’re just for me?

The undies I kept as backup in my carry-on and forgot about for the last two years. I found them when I dug out the suitcase to transport books, lol.

I am also the kind of person who can barely be relied on to feed herself when hungry. If it weren’t for my family, I’m pretty sure I’d be eating cereal over the sink for dinner every night. And while I may complain that children take up too much time and energy, I also know that caring for them helps me take better care of myself. (Not in every way, of course—they all have nice underwear.)

Lately, the Instagram algorithm has been serving me up ads featuring bras for small-chested women (how??). They’re quite cute, and I tell myself that I should treat myself one of these days. That it’s about time. But then I just keep scrolling. Maybe I have it all wrong and the two kinds of people are those who still believe they can change and those who aren’t so sure.

:) Teresa

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