Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Basic

The eyes are everywhere. They scan from head to toe. They say, “Who does she think she is wearing those boots?” They mock every movement, from the nervous way you tug at your hair to the awkward shuffling you call dancing. The eyes leave you rooted to the spot, afraid to provide any more fodder for their hungry gazes.

OK, so maybe it’s not that nightmarish, but it really sucks to go out on the town and feel like others are judging you. Everyone makes judgments. Everyone discerns certain things about each other based on how we dress, how we talk, where we hang out, even what drinks we order at the bar. But problems arise when we let these judgments affect our behaviors, and when we make decisions about others’ worth or value to us based on these judgments.

In our early twenties, we make judgments based on what is readily visible. Boys in cut-off shorts sporting mustaches must be hipsters. Girls wearing strings of pearls and carrying Vera Bradley bags must be in sororities. And we attribute personality traits to match what we see. These guys must like really obscure bands and probably drink their body weight in PBR. Or, these girls must spend their nights painting each other’s nails and watching “Pretty Little Liars.” But how often do these judgments prevent us from getting to know people?

Back in college, I was the queen of judgment. Living in a dorm near sorority row made me feel like a captive in enemy territory. Riding down 13 floors on an elevator filled with like, excited like, chatter and “Love Spell,” I would only look down. I felt that having interesting conversations or creating meaningful connections with these girls were impossibilities. They didn’t look like me, they didn’t sound like me. Ergo, they probably didn’t want anything to do with me, and vice versa. This logic stuck with me for all four years. I was guilty of assuming that anyone with an affiliation to a frat or sorority, Midtown or Gator football would be of no interest to me. Since I never talked with anyone of differing backgrounds or viewpoints, my assumptions about those who were dissimilar to me remained steadfast.

I have also been on the receiving end of this nasty habit. Midway through freshman year, I had to switch dorm rooms to find a more peaceful environment. (Let’s just say I was reluctant spectator to many late-night love affairs.) I was instructed by the staff to visit the few rooms with openings and to get to know the residents to see if I could find a better match. One of the first suites I visited was neat and clean-smelling, with a large Marilyn Monroe portrait on the wall. I liked the environment and hoped its inhabitants would like me as well. I was interviewed about my sleeping habits, class schedule, my favorite bars, what designers I admired, the make-up brands I liked. As the interview wore on, I realized I had no answers for the questions posed. I didn’t wear make-up back then; my daily routine was dragging a brush through my tangled ocean of hair. I didn’t go out to bars; at 18, my idea of having fun was riding my bicycle. My interviewer got up to shake my hand to signal it was over. “I’m sorry, you seem really nice, but you’re not really the kind of girl we need around here,” she said. Hot, angry tears welled up in my eyes, and I shot out of there like a bat out of hell.

Like most important life lessons, it was long after graduation before I began to think about the errors of my ways concerning judgment. The term “restaurant revelation” should become a household name, because, I’m telling you, working at one of these places will turn your worldview on its head. The staff of my restaurant creates a diverse cross-section of Alachua County residents; many races, income levels, and value systems are represented. But when everyone is wearing a uniform, there is little to no visual indication of one’s background. Thus, I was able to get to know people for who they are, sans judgment. Of course, old habits die hard: there was the one guy I used to give a really hard time to because I heard he was in a frat and decided he was a tool; later he helped my mother and I move heavy furniture into my new apartment. Oops.

What I learned from these experiences was this: judgment only serves to further the separation between us. It breeds indifference, or at worst hostility, in situations where we shouldn’t even have an opinion yet. And it creates a cycle of fear. On so many “What Not To Wear” episodes, women come in wearing shapeless sacks and trying to be invisible because they believe the only alternative is judgment from others for wearing flashy clothes.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that it’s plausible to live life without judgment. But I think we can hone our skills of judgment. We can learn how to set aside these preconceived notions and truly get to know people. Perhaps our initial judgments were accurate, but we can relish in the fact that we took the time to find out. Here’s how I do it: when I make a judgment of someone I just met, I consciously try to keep it in the back of my mind, and I take pains to see this person as he would like to be seen. It’s like imagining someone naked – you’re seeing him without his affiliations and accoutrements and focusing on his inner core, his soul even. This way, you’re leaving the door open to connect with anyone, regardless of what they look or sound like.