are something I've perpetually had issues
with. My nature
is that of a tomboy
with a cutsey girlish
slant, and an occasional super girly girl
that rears it's mini-diva
head. However, I have my days where the boi
in me comes out to play. I'm fine with having been born female
, but yet peek under my dress and there's a 50/50 chance of finding either a thong
or men's underwear
. But when it comes down to it, I never feel consistently FEMALE (as opposed to feminine
) enough to be doing girlish things.
Getting a manicure/pedicure for me is something I'd prefer to do with shades on so noone will recognize me. My nailpolish starts chipping away a day later anyway so I don't do them often, but I crave them. I buy practical (yet usually chunky or platform or BIG) shoes. Meanwhile, my fetish boots of choice are Riot Grrrl-ish with a big ole girly heel and shiny vinyl. And I almost wore NaughtyGrrrl leopard print pumps to Wicker's last party. I wear glitter often and do my makeup dramatically and I'm the first to jump at the opportunity to play dress up -- so long as it's just dress up and not having to be dressed up for more than a few hours! I can't stand being a girly girl for much longer.
What makes me feel the most awkward, though, is that I like to read girly girl magazines. This has only really hit me recently. Somehow I have a subscription to Mademoiselle, for starters. I started reading it on the subway, and then a few articles later I was too embarrassed to continue and put it away, whipping out my Utne Reader joyfully, although I couldn't focus at that point. My face was a shade of pink and I just generally felt strange about feeling strange about reading the Millie their new nickname issue in public.
So then the I start wondering...am I embarrassed because of the concept of "You must be X amount girly-girl to read this magazine in public"? Or is it that the magazine is like a status thing? My initial thought was that the articles are so lame I couldn't believe I'd read this stuff in public because people would start doubting my intelligence. Yes, that must be it. Pop culture couldn't possibly have any serious influence on me.
Last night I curled up with said magazine and finished it up, ripping out keepsakes like an article about make-out parties and two unique advertisements for my scrapbook. Oh, and I also ripped out an offer for a free nailpolish (a light pink, nonetheless, which is one of the shades I don't think I have). Then, after I closed the back cover, I orgasmically deposited the magazine into the garbage can. Throwing it out is just *so* satisfying, as if it was dirtydirty pr0n I wouldn't want my parents to catch me having. Except, I don't even live at home.
And yet, it continues. My flatmate gives me her copy of Elle when it arrives before she even reads it. She has subscriptions to a few different girly girl magazines, all of which end up in my room. I'm elated, and disturbed.
I don't understand how the very magazines I mock while reading end up playing such a big role in affecting how I view my gender. I know better than to chide myself because I don't look like the chicks in there. I like my curves. I'm not turning to the magazine for anything more than amusement and a peek into the mind of the Norms. I think. I'm just someone who adopts bits and pieces from different cultures and corners of society into my identity.
Now if only I had the balls to just be myself.