It sucks to be a chick. I can almost hear the collective eye rolling of men around the world. Or…. maybe just the two or three that happen to trip into this blog post. Don’t worry – it isn’t a trap. I won’t dissolve into a rant about how easy men have it. You can focus your eyes on the screen, again.
I say that because, as I write this, I am sitting here with enough foil in my hair to tune into a radio station in Philadelphia. Plus, the chemicals that accompany the foil. Getting my hair highlighted because, not that anyone has said anything to the contrary, my appearance has looked… dull? Flat? Boring? Ordinary.
Anyone who knows would know that “ordinary” is the worst way you could describe me. I would take “bitch” as a higher compliment. At least that means I am *doing* something. Being ordinary is the lack of anything. I can’t imagine anything worse.
I also have done some shopping for new fancy shoes for an event I am attending in a week-ish. I need something sparkly. Something fun. Something… less ordinary.
I find the shoes in the closet of my BFF. No.. I wasn’t shopping there. I was just discussing my inability to find the shoes I was looking for and she had the perfect pair. Sparkly, stilletto-ish, and perfectly unordinary.
I try on the dress, with the shoes, and the only bra in the world that would work for this open-backed dress and realize that, while everything else looks fun – my hair leaves a little to be desired.
Fast forward to foil-head and the conversation at hand.
My thought is this: no one puts this expectation on me personally. But we look in the magazines and on television and in movies and on the internet and everywhere in our very expectant society and what we see is that expectation very explicitly detailed for us. It isn’t that there aren’t similar rules dictated for men, it’s just that (in this instance) women get the crap end of this deal.
But, at the end of the day, I’m not going to change it. I’ll still shop for the cutest clothes or sexiest shoes or spend time bleaching my uninspired brown hair. At least, then, I’m making the effort to avoid “boring.” But I have a teenage daughter who, God willing, will continue to love herself more than trends and choose comfort and fun over style.
But, if history tells us anything, someday she’ll be sitting with her own foil-head wondering how things went so wrong.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a great song on some radio station in Dallas. I’m going to tune in now.