• One thing I have come to terms with is this; people that work with me, and therefore have to be around me for 8+ hours a day/ 5 days a week, have no clue what to do with me. I work in an office that is predominately 30-40 year old married men and older ladies. Being a 21 year old female, 80% of my coworkers automatically deem me a she-devil. This isn’t to say that all women are insecure and I definitely wouldn’t say I am physically more attractive than any other woman I come in contact with, because I would be lying to myself and then I would have to start trying harder. It’s just that as as women, we often judge each other. I’m not trying to beat around the (your) bush, I am a lot younger than most of the women I work for/with. My tummy has never been tucked and I have smooth skin minus the occasional just-ending-adolescence breakout. I don’t personally think that this makes me any more attractive than older women. In fact I think that women who have had children and jobs for more than a year that own houses and men are indescribably beautiful and I often have inferiority complexes when I am around them. If we take a look at this month’s edition of Cosmopolitan, however, you will find that the articles are aimed at getting women in their 30’s to hate themselves so they will buy some wrinkle cream and diet pills before desperately trying to look like an androgynous 17 year old. So as a woman without wrinkles or voluptuous baby-nurturing boobies, I obviously have a lot of time to dissect pointless theories like this one; whether or not we do it on purpose, we are constantly using our own insecurities to find fault with other women’s physical appearance. When I let down my guard however and showed them that I am not the type to play hanky panky in the supply closet with the CEO, they actually started to feel a little bad for me, and then like me in an “I’m going to help you become a lady” type of way.
One lady is constantly trying to give me her daughters hand me down baby prostitute clothes in an effort to soften my Sam Ronson esque homeless vibe. I played dumb when she asked me if I have heard of the clothing brand “Bebe” thinking it would stop her from unintentionally lowering my self-esteem. Let’s be real, who hasn’t fucking heard of Bebe? I mean, she is a decade too late but I’m no dummy. Her actual quote was “My daughter gave me a shirt that doesn’t fit me, I was going to bring it in for you but I am not sure if you like the color pink.”
Let me give you a little bit of background on this subject, not that it will make a difference to you or the rest of your day. In fact you will probably read this, or if you are like the majority of people, not read this and then think “Hmm, that was relatively worthless”, but I have a feeling there are other girls out there that have gone through this exact situation; especially in the workplace. For the most part, women that work in a male dominated office normally go straight for the “fuck me pumps” type of clothing. Or the “I’m not trying to be a threat to your wife when she comes to bring you your low-cholesterol turkey sandwich and makes sure there isn’t a Carl’s Jr. wrapper/used condom in your trashcan.” When working with married men, a lot of stone cold foxes (see also; butterface minus a traditionally well put together body) like myself often feel pressured to put off a vibe that says it’s okay to like me, I have no interest in fucking your husband. Unless, of course, I am going to try and fuck your husband. So when a complete train wreck like me walks in, who is totally unsure if she wants to keep dressing like a Skrillex fan, or go with the more feminine Mossimo by Target look, it throws everyone through a loop.
Let me explain my style to you. There isn’t any there at all. One day I will walk in wearing an oversized, striped sweater that looks like I bought it at Tony Hawk’s garage sale, some plain jeans that look like, and probably haven’t been, washed any time in the last couple weeks and running shoes like I am some middle aged mom that gave up on herself after finding her husband masturbating to a picture of Matthew mcConaughey. The next day I’ll wear a blue flowery dress with a jean jacket and boots. I mean, it doesn’t even make any sense. I sort of just throw on whatever seems more convenient at the time. Occasionally I will get a wild hair up my ass and pluck my eyebrows to appear like I can actually take care of myself, but for the most part I am blindly weaving myself through ideas of what I should look like as a woman and what I am comfortable wearing. I have a collection of heels in my closet that I will only break out when I am trying to give my boyfriend a boner, which I could pretty much do anyway just by casually brushing his elbow by accident. Most of the time, however, I end up feeling like a moron when I spring for a new $20 dollar stick of eyeliner. At the end of the day, I still don’t have any interest in watching Sex and the City.
I guess my main point in writing this is to say that 1) if you have never worn high heels before, it isn’t wise to jump straight to the kind that have a heel as big as John Holmes’ dick. 2) It’s always a safer bet to just be yourself.