Am I the only one left in the world who still wants to dress comfortably? Am I the only one who still thinks it's okay to repeat a dress, or to borrow one from your roommate? Am I the only one who has financial constraints, the stubborn blindness to "50% off" advertisements, the miserable feeling of wanting to be an adult and failing so tremendously?
Am I still the only one who is resistant to raised eyebrows, remarks about my "grunge" sense of fashion, men who want to buy me clothes because "Don't you have a short dress?".
I do. But I will not dress up in any way that you specifically take the time to ask me to. And I will not "wear what I want" because you finally gave me approval. I heard that sigh. I saw that scrunched forehead.
I am neither that girl, nor that kind of a girl, or that "type" of a girl. I am a girl, but of my own merit. Anything that ever adorns my body is of my own making- dark circles, hairy flab, wobbly thighs included.
Am I the only one who wants to slip into a baggy grey T-shirt just to look like I feel-
able, hard-working, unafraid of a little sunlight or dirt, unconcerned about broken nails, not feeling less capable than a man on the same job, like a self-made woman who doesn't need a cleavage to be better than him?
Am I the only person fighting to be myself in a roomful of unblemished, glittering, aesthetically attention-seeking perfection? Should I even need to fight?
And then you'll call me proud. And then you'll say, "She's that kind of a girl".
Am I still the only one who is resistant to raised eyebrows, remarks about my "grunge" sense of fashion, men who want to buy me clothes because "Don't you have a short dress?".
I do. But I will not dress up in any way that you specifically take the time to ask me to. And I will not "wear what I want" because you finally gave me approval. I heard that sigh. I saw that scrunched forehead.
I am neither that girl, nor that kind of a girl, or that "type" of a girl. I am a girl, but of my own merit. Anything that ever adorns my body is of my own making- dark circles, hairy flab, wobbly thighs included.
Am I the only one who wants to slip into a baggy grey T-shirt just to look like I feel-
able, hard-working, unafraid of a little sunlight or dirt, unconcerned about broken nails, not feeling less capable than a man on the same job, like a self-made woman who doesn't need a cleavage to be better than him?
Am I the only person fighting to be myself in a roomful of unblemished, glittering, aesthetically attention-seeking perfection? Should I even need to fight?
And then you'll call me proud. And then you'll say, "She's that kind of a girl".
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