I’d never make it in Sex and the City.
I’m not a typical girl. I never have been. At 13 when all my friends were crazy about Jonathan Taylor Thomas – I liked to be in my pigeon coop watching the baby birds hatch. When they were trying on makeup and bras, I was hiding the fact I had to have a bra and playing in the backyard creek with my brother and sister. When everyone was getting their first kiss, I was just figuring out that my high water pants weren’t cool.
This didn’t bother me for the longest time. Until my first boyfriend, and all the drama and heartbreak that came with that.
But even now, I’m not savvy and stylish. I don’t have expensive purses, nor can I fathom spending hundreds of dollars on one. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I’d just rather spend the money on other things.
I own about 5 pairs of shoes. 3 are sandals, one pair of sneakers, 1 dress pair. All are over a year old. ::somewhere Carrie goes into a coma::
I go clothes shopping and like the “thought” of it, but in actuality it gives me a headache from having to think about sizes and trying them all on. I sometimes just buy stuff in a larger size and wash it on hot when I get home to avoid irritation of the dressing rooms.
I don’t enjoy Victoria’s Secret, because to me, the secret is she charges $45 dollars for an amount of material I floss my teeth with.
I don’t own anything “designer” – like Marc Jacobs or Tiffany. Their stuff is awesome – yet, I would break a heel in his shoes in an hour, and the earrings would be eaten by a kitty. Gucci? ::snorts:: Oh honey, can it be washed with 27 other items of various colors and textures on a normal cycle and then dry on medium high so I can get more loads done quicker?
I don’t get my nails done, or pedicures, color my hair, schedule massages, tan, work out at a gym, or whiten my teeth.
Part of me does care about this lack of “maintainance” at times. When I go out with friends who are style conscious, I feel really dowdy and hillbilly-ish. Out of place and stupid – like I just fell off the back of a turnip truck.
But at home, and with my family, I feel pretty content in a pair of my very loved jeans, with a top from Anne Taylor Loft (the one store I could spend every penny in).
I do love to buy nice things, but when I do, I never quite fit in. I’m always the mom with the expensive bibs and toys for her kid who wears sneakers, buys sunglasses from Target and cuts her own hair. (My hairstylist hates me for that. I think I do a pretty good trim.)
I don’t really know where I belong in the world of women. I’m stuck between hearing about how someone is “so classy” and knowing they spend a fortune to look like that – and wanting to emulate it without dropping the cash. Or giving in to that ideal of classy.
I always wanted to be a rebel, to be different. Sometimes it comes at the cost of my self esteem. I don’t think that’s ok for me to feel like that. Yet I refuse to spend the fortune I know it takes to look like Samantha or Charlotte. And I shouldn’t have to in order to feel less frumpy.
And? I know this is all part of the marketing and advertising we are subjected to as women. But, obviously, it works. Because even though I know that, I can’t shake the feeling of insecurity.