I’m 23
years old and I do not own a make-up kit.
Of course,
I have something that resembles it wedged somewhere between my books and my
beat up, yet I cannot throw away sneakers. But somehow, the mascara has dried
up and the foundation has lost its luster.
On most
days, I don’t have the time to sit still in front of a mirror and try to figure
out what eye shadow fits with my men’s t-shirt for the day. I also cannot be
bothered to blow dry my hair or wait for my straight iron to turn red.
Getting
ready often takes fifteen minutes, my hair often tied messily in a bun, my feet
comfortably in my seven year old sneakers. I dream of going to work in the
highest of heels (I heard wedges don’t count) and in black and sexy pantsuit
just like Kate Middleton.
However,
those things only happen in my head. I wear dresses but only if I can pair them
with comfortable flip-flops and only if they don’t bother me when I teach.
My friends
always thought that I’d get past the Mia Thermopolis phase once Anne Hathaway
grows up, but even after a glam yet horrific Oscar hosting gig, I’m still stuck
with the big glasses and bed head that always looks better in magazine pages
than in real life.
I have
admitted defeat. I am not a girlie-girl. I am more Gap than Forever 21.
But with
this confession also comes the acceptance that this is the girl I choose to be
and with it comes specific realities.
For one
thing, boys would always see me as a little sister, the best friend’s little
sister or the “good friend who can set me up with the sexy friend”.
I must
admit that in my younger years, I once thought that just like Drew Barrymore in
Never Been Kissed or Hilary Duff in all of her movies, I would turn from jean
loving, converse wearing, book worm into this beautiful vixen who can put make
up on effortlessly. I thought that a fairy god mother (or a really good friend
with awesome fashion sense) would turn me away from all that and make me a
fashion-actualized yuppie.
I’ve been a
yuppie for almost four years and have numerous friends who are so fashionable
they should run a magazine and yet, I’d still be Josie Gellar than Regina
George.
It used to
bother me, but now I kind of like the ring of it.
I can look
at my closet and endlessly admire the dresses I once bought in an attempt to my
sexy alter ego, who may or may not still be hiding inside of me, only time could
tell but be okay with the fact that it may stay in my closet a little longer
than I expected.
Bed head is
okay. No make-up is okay. Being comfortable in my own skin and in my own sense
of style is okay.
That even
though I’m not one of those classy girls who always manage to wear a dress and
look magnificent in it, every single day, it’s okay because being me is not so
bad, actually it’s kind of fun.
It is kind
of fun to meet girls who can walk in high heels and be the girl who can rock
some serious Dr. Seuss sneakers.
Different
people, different strokes.
And just
like how gaga does it, a girl in sneakers can exude the same kind of confidence
as the girl in a green Prada peep toe, all it takes is confidence.
So whatever
it is you’re wearing today, be sure to rock it, because surely you are the one
who can rock it the best.
