Sorry, Not Sorry: Confessions Of A Girly Girl

I have a confession to make. I’m a girly girl.

Wait, that’s the title!

Let’s try this. Hi, I’m Laura, and my confession is that I own exactly two pairs of jeans. I’m not a jeans and tee shirt girl. Give me sparkle and colour! However, it seems that some folks simply don’t get it.

Regularly, I am asked about my style.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“Why did you curl your hair?”

“Why are you wearing so much makeup?”

The TLDR answer is that I like frills and lipstick and shoes!

I am a very creative person. From the time I was a little girl to adulthood, I’ve gravitated toward all things that might fall under a Barbie umbrella. To me, clothes are more than their function. My clothes are an expression. Dresses are at the core of my wardrobe—dresses with pockets. Most are all-in-one outfits. I’m a former gifted child turned anxiety-ridden, late ADHD-diagnosed millennial. I value simplicity because executive dysfunction is my nemesis.

I have 14 pairs of black boots. Combat boots, Chelsea boots, and ankle boots are like Pokemon, and I have to catch them all. A dress with a pair of boots? Consider it my uniform.
My hair has been every colour but green and orange (well, it was orange due to an unfortunate red-hair-to-blonde circumstance). I have had unicorn hair, mermaid hair, cotton candy hair, long Elsa blond hair, complete with the braid, and the sides of my hair shaved with a bouffant-like faux hawk. It’s hair, a keratin graveyard, and YOLO, so I’m saying yes to that rich jewel-toned purple.

Makeup is … well, what can’t makeup be? Firstly, I wake up and do my best to impersonate a conscious individual. That impersonation flips to reality when I swipe on mascara and eyeshadow so loudly that your mom just asks me to turn it down. A favourite colour of lipstick transforms my pout into a pout.

My kit and caboodle also include jewellery, purses, and hair accessories, oh my. You will locate me in my favourite nail salon every other Saturday.

However, as I mentioned a moment ago, people have very strong feelings about it.
If it were a one-off, I’d more than likely forget by the time I walk into the next room, but no, my dearies are not. I don’t dye my hair, wear makeup, get manicures, wear dresses, or wear boots and heels for attention. I do it because I enjoy it. Perhaps some individuals don’t want to see others enjoy things because they lack enjoyment, but why is there a need to clamp down and not let go?

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“I was working.”

“I was working too, and I wasn’t that dressed up. Why do you get so dressed up all the time?”

“I want to.”

“I don’t understand it. Why?”

Indeed, why?

In a salute to Captain Obvious, you’re you, and I’m me. I’m not after your jeans and sneakers. I’m not asking why you don’t have any makeup on. I haven’t inquired why your hair lives in a perpetual state of ponytaildom. It’s your body, and you choose what to clothe it in.

Having said that, I choose dresses nine out of ten times.

I will share a tidbit, however. I have fibromyalgia, and my love for all frills tea-length existed long before my diagnosis. But dresses are merely more comfortable in how they fit my body and the tactile experience of most materials. I have autoimmune conditions which cause my face to become red and splotchy. Knowing I can wear a little makeup to minimize my appearance aids in my confidence.

Hypothyroidism ended the career of the outer third of my eyebrows. A minute or two with a brow pencil? Like magic. I didn’t play dress up and rob my mom of all her tiny Avon lipsticks as a kid with the foreknowledge I’d grow up and have medical issues. I did it because it was fun and made me happy. I do it now because it is fun and makes me happy. I embrace my identity as a girlie girl wholeheartedly.

Let’s take a proverbial walk in one another’s shoes and try the perspective of individuality. Simply because I choose to wear perfume or glitter nail polish doesn’t mean I ought to, and just because you choose leggings and a hoodie doesn’t mean I ought to.

This lady is beyond overexplaining why. I’m hopping off this merry-go-round (in my heels) and leaving the fair. The truth is that in our expression, there isn’t a right or wrong; there’s only ourselves.

If you’ll excuse me, I need to touch up my lipstick.

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