I Will Dominate The World With Wicked Lipstick And Poor Stilettos!

I am rich with contradictions today, right now posed with one that is no stranger to me;

I’m rummaging around my wardrobe trying, somewhat treacherously, to find just the perfect adornment to my off-white top,

And find the pink mermaid skirt staring at me coquettishly from the corner.

I take a good look at myself, ruminating over the symmetry of the outfit I just donned, and stifle a smile, almost cursing the outfit for being a bit too symmetrical.

With uncanny reluctance, I put on the rose gold earrings I bought last summer, just as I intermittently pause to look in a mirror with judgemental eyes,

Why must the rose in this rose gold be so rosy? Could there be a way to do my hair such that the earrings look subtle?

As I move on to secure the two ends of the heart shaped pendant necklace, I rebuke myself for the superficiality I so dearly despised,

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“Pink, rose gold, hearts?” I reproach myself out loud, “What’s next? A ring presented by your knight in shining armour on the Champs-Élysées? How very non-feministic of you!”

I do not wish to seem as though I am the frail little tchotchke* whose prettiness and pettiness go hand in hand,

No, no, no! But why must I, dumb my femininity down in the pursuit of not wanting to be dumbed down myself?

I am now sliding my pointy stilettos on, deciding on what my answer would be as soon as someone asked me how long it took me to get dressed up,

I am conflicted between embracing and surrendering.

I should change my pink mermaid skirt and put black pants on instead. I look beautiful, but I should aim for well-put-together.

I walk towards the mirror, stumbling, and I wonder if I should change the stilettos with sneakers.

My poor stilettos, bearing the brunt of me walking on the thin rope of trying to attract just the right kind and amount of attention…

I resolve to keep the skirt and the stilettos.

My femininity is fierce. But my femininity is also delicate. My femininity puts on blush because it doesn’t care what the boy next door will think.

But my femininity also longs for the natural blush which adorns her cheeks inevitably as soon as the man she loves looks at her.

I put on shining, loud, hot pink gloss, and march out.

Image source: Karolina Grabwoska, edited on CanvaPro

Tchotchke*- miscellaneous item.

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