WHAT I’M WEARING: LAVISH ALICE KHAKI RIB OPEN BACK DRESS, MANGO WHITE
OVERCOAT, BALENCIAGA CLUTCH VIA LYST & PUBLIC DESIRE GREY SUEDE LACE UP HEELS
I think we are all too hard on ourselves, well perhaps not, most men seem comically arrogant to me. But women, oh it is such a struggle to be female. Periods and makeup alone are complicated endeavors enough. The concerns that seem to define femininity feel infinite to me. I get desperately sad about the stupidest shit and I’m swearing because that’s exactly what it is: shit. Like the sliver of fat on my stomach or the fact my hair never looks good or my very prominent nose or my too big feet. Toss in the public opinions that surface on social media and most days I’ve convinced myself I’m the ugliest girl alive before I even drink my first morning coffee. Sometimes I spend so long staring at the wrinkles on my forehead I convince myself that they must be the only facial detail anyone I meet sees. It makes me mad, it makes me so terribly sad too, because we all feel like this, we install mental punching bags and all day we hit at it hard. I’ve even caught myself walking past pretty girls and internally hating them for at least 3 seconds. This makes me sound like a vile person but I soon realize how gross the thought is and abandon it entirely. But it still happens sometimes. Why are we so competitive and why do we hate ourselves so fiercely? These two components of womanhood make me blindly frustrated.
I’m so tired, sometimes simply being female makes me want to sleep because emotionally it is exhausting. I hate the women that look at my boyfriend or the girls on instagram on the beaches with the thigh gaps and those stupid surf boards. For a few seconds, I truly despise them. But then I pull myself back to the root of who I am and realize that this sentiment is simply playing into every insecurity every man and every magazine and every nauseating fashion show has ingrained into me. What do I care if some lady has big boobs or tiny thighs that never touch when she runs? And as for the women that look at my man, do they matter? DOES ANY OF IT MATTER? No because its all shit, like I said before: shit, shit, shit; which sounds terribly aggressive but I think we must be a little violent in order to shake these toxic thoughts from our female brains. Because poison is what so much of what being a woman is – we are overly sexualized, physically dissected, we are either too much or too little and it happens everyday, all day.
By the time we go to bed, our self confidence resembles a forgotten jigsaw puzzle; chaotically disassembled and in pieces. And hey it’s hard, it sucks and I’ll complain and stomp my feminist feet as much as I like, but I won’t sink into this shit. There is incredible freedom in indifference. NONE OF THIS MATTERS AND I DON’T CARE. I capitalized this in hopes you too adopt it as your mantra. What every other woman in this world looks like is no business of mine and even my own physical appearance has no influence on how I live my life. And living life is what should be important, not what we look like. We all get old, we all start to sag, at the end of our days, none of us look beautiful, not even those surfer girls. So who cares, it makes no difference, really I think we should focus on doing cool shit rather than the shit that comes with hoping we look pretty along the way. It’s not what we look like but what do that defines us, so the wrinkles on my forehead or my huge nose can just blur away. And your insecurities, forget those RIGHT AWAY TOO, OKAY?! We can all find the strength to not care at all. That’s easy for us as women, we might be a lot of things, but we are not weak.
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