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victor-the-richter:
Self-proclaimed saints by =SirPaahdin](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m32y3zsBI91qivuago1_500.png)
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Manicures, Shoes, and other “girl stuff”
A long time ago I read some stupid disposable chick-lit that I hardly remember. There was one part that stuck out and stayed with me, and after all these years I still remember it quite vividly. It had to do with shoes.
The main character was meant to be one of those girls who was simply unattractive; fat and mousey and someone who was constantly overlooked her whole life. She didn’t ever wear makeup or style her hair, nor did she shave her legs or dress in particularly stylish clothes, but she had the most amazing couture shoe collection ever.
Shoes don’t care if you’re having a fat day, if you haven’t shaved your legs, if you’re not the prettiest girl in the room. You can’t wear a shoe wrong. A shoe can’t make you look fat or make you feel any worse about yourself than you already feel. All a shoe can do is be beautiful.
I feel the same way about manicures. No matter how gross I’m feeling, how insecure or bloated, whether or not I’m having a bad skin day or a bad hair day or a fat thigh day, I can look at my glittery nails and feel just a little bit better. Whenever I’m sick or upset or insecure, I do my nails. I go through bottles of nail polish, hoping that I’ll feel just a little bit better, and sometimes it really does help. I know its silly and shallow, but it’s also the most immediate change I can make to instantly feel a little better.
I suppose you could say the same thing about perfume or purses or jewelry, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why there are “Shoe Queens” and “Bag Hags” and women who are addicted to manicures, tans, or retail therapy. These women are often the subject of mockery and satire, the Carrie Bradshaw types that most women in their 20’s and 30’s are actively trying to stay away from.
“I’m not like other girls, I don’t have 100’s of shoes or spend hundreds of dollars on manicures and pedicures. I’m different! I’m a natural beauty.” This is a sentiment that has run rampant in our society because the shoe collection or the big box of purses or the beautiful clothes are all examples of the sort of women we’re not supposed to want to be, because they’re all shallow and useless and exemplify the anti-feminist movement.
As a woman who interacts with hundreds of people every day, there are literally thousands of ways we judge each other with every new meeting, and its incredibly easy to get bogged down with all the negativity we we throw at each other. It seems like human beings always look for reasons to dislike each other, to bring each other down, rather than look for reasons to smile.
I’m old enough now to realize that a lot of the things I was insecure about in my teens is all stuff that just doesn’t matter that much anymore. I don’t need to care if anyone notices my pimples or my split ends, and if they do… so what? Why should it matter? Why do we (women especially) look for reasons to hate each other? Is it jealousy? Insecurity? Or have we just bread a whole society of judgmental assholes? And if I want to do my nails or add another pair of pumps to my shoe collection because it makes me happy, why should that make me the subject of ridicule? Why do we punish ourselves for being insecure, and then further punish ourselves for trying to be confident?
Personally, I realize that I’m a very stereotypical girl in a lot of ways. I like beautiful things, I love makeup, I enjoy dressing up and I even enjoy shopping. I don’t think that makes me anti-feminist, nor does that make me shallow, and yet I’ve been accused of both. So, I say, yay for girl stuff, and to hell with what other people think.
These are my nails. Trying out different holographic polishes. This one beats my previous attempt by about a zillion. (I didn’t even take pictures of that manicure, the holo effect was virtually non-existent in most lighting.) More holographic everything, please!
I skimmed some of those comments, and the gist of them (or at least the ones that stood out) seemed to be that regardless of the arguments you make for “Welcome to America, learn English, please.” Americans are still ignorant and lazy for expecting that immigrants learn to speak the established language of the country… (or at least make a good effort.)
Well, I can certainly see how Europeans and the British would have that opinion. Especially as everyone in England should learn how to speak Standard Hindi (at least). Oh… wait… you mean they don’t? Well they should! Why, you ask? Because British Indians are “the single largest visible ethnic minority population in the country.” So, it appears that right there is a case of ‘pot meet kettle.’ Shut up and lean Hindi, then tell us to learn Spanish.
And in southern Spain, there’s a whole island (Gibraltar) full of British citizens, none of whom (in my experience, at least, over the course of a year) spoke more than pigeon Spanish. And the Spanish citizens living in the surrounding cities were openly prejudice against English speakers. They were a bit more forgiving of Americans because “Americans at least make the effort to learn the language” but the English were very openly hated because “they’re taking all the best jobs in a poor part of the country, don’t learn the language, and treat the natives like crap.”
And those are just the countries I have direct experience with.* So, Europeans, what exactly was your point? Because until you start holding yourselves to the same standard as America, I really don’t see why you get to be quite so snotty.
And, Americans, really, even if you don’t like it, we’re an evolving country with an evolving language. If we weren’t, we’d all still speak with a British accent. Learning a little Spanish isn’t going to kill you, even if you never use it. Learning a new language stimulates the brain and can improve memory, so I fail to see why people worldwide are so reluctant to learn.
*EDIT: I did go to Italy and Greece, both of which were very kind towards tourists, although I did not stay in either country for a prolonged period of time. I actually lived in England and Spain respectively.
(Source: the-unpopular-opinions)
My narcissism, my blog.
Someone PM’ed me today and told me to “Get over urself!”
I responded as politely as I could with the following:
“Asshole, I have a narcissistic personality, AND a blog, where I can post my unedited thoughts with as much or as little anonymity as I wish. I have a guaranteed audience as long as I reblog pictures of Doctor Who, Sherlock, MLP, and anything else that has a rabid fan following. I don’t need to get over myself. You need to climb up onto my level, and chill the hell out.”
And then I immediately realized that I’ve been very remiss in my reblogs, and will probably go on a reblogging rampage at some point tomorrow. Cheers to my readers, who don’t seem to care if I’m a jerk or if I’m a nerd goddess. (Possibly both… Remember the narcissism.) I will always be grateful for the heaping tablespoon of salt you take me with.
She walks with Beauty
One of the first things a girl learns while she’s on her way to becoming a woman is that there are few things more empowering and more liberating than being beautiful. The quest for Beauty is constant and insistent, and has become more valuable than wisdom, intelligence, wit, or even goodness. Beauty has become the norm for those with enough time and affluence to dote on their appearances, and it has become the goal for all others to aspire to become. The girl learns to appreciate and adore Beauty, and longs to be one and the same with that wonderful, terrible, unattainable word.
She has a voice in the back of her mind telling her that she is lacking in some way, an evil little voice that points out ever flaw. It, too, is Beauty. It reminds her that the pooch of fat just below her belly button to the dusting of hair on her arms and hands is not Beautiful. She has examined her skin under a microscope, looking for blemishes or fine lines. She wonders if her breasts are large enough, if her waist is small enough, if people will notice that she has big feet, that her thighs touch, that her nose is just a bit too “Roman” to be attractive.
She has never been conventionally attractive, and knows it. She focuses on being beautiful in ways that other, “modern” women could not be. She wears things that distract from her imperfections, paints her face with splashes of color to draw attention to the things about herself that she actually likes, but still she is not beautiful. She wonders if she could only lose 15lbs, or grow her hair another three inches, or even stop biting her fingernails; would she be happier? Would her life be any easier if she were beautiful? Would she be able to live her life and be happy under the weight of Beauty?
The girl struggles, diets, exfoliates and conditions, and is still not happy. She stops doing these things and her sadness is made worse still. She tries to carve some distorted image of Beauty out of whatever else she has left and lets herself finally breathe. Beauty is hers, fleeting and desperate, made vulgar by insecurities, and made magnificent by it’s own extravagance. She still longs for it, but the longing is less, the need is smaller, and the will to be herself is stronger than the will to conform to Beauty. She builds herself a new ideal, makes herself beautiful in her own right, without Beauty to argue against her fragile little victories. She silences Beauty once and for all with the promise of future glamor, though without contract or condemnation from it. Beauty is appeased, and waits, for Beauty always wins and Beauty will always be there.
About me
I'm an incredibly pretentious, judgmental lunatic with really huge hair. I crave your affections, but not your esteem. Can you deal with that?
