Style

Girls at Smith dress really well. On average, I mean. People have amazing style, and I'm quite envious. I always try to dress nicer, but I don't for a couple of reasons. The biggest one is an issue that I've been pondering for quite some time now. It's not really an issue. It's more like having a weird little tuft of hair that just sticks up, and usually you don't think about it because it doesn't bear thinking about, but every so often you look in the mirror and think, Tuft. You bother me on certain isolated occasions. (This is not to be confused with my thoughts regarding Taft.)

Anyway. The tuft-thought goes something like this. I do not identify as femme, but I dress and act very much like you'd expect a femme to dress and act. You'd think I could just leave my thought process there, but no.

I'm not comfortable saying I'm femme, but on the other hand I'm just...not butch. Eirie and I had a conversation about this over the weekend. She listed ways in which I am butch (I split firewood, don't wear makeup, don't really wear dresses, have had a buzz cut on more than one occasion) and ways in which I am femme (Ballet. Nuff said.) I know it's a spectrum, and you don't have to identify as either if you don't want to. I'm really not sure why I think about this so much, because it's not like the answer's even that important. I like pretty things like dresses and earrings and long hair, but I don't like them on me. Most of the time. I do own a few not-super-frilly dresses that I wear, and I also used to do drag all the time, which I'd like to get back into. I used to be pretty good at it, actually, which is definitely something to be proud of.

Today I tried to dress nicely because the other girls in my French class (Is girls the right word here? Ladies? Young women? Maidens?) all dress super chic, and last class I was a little sloppy. Whenever I know people are going to be looking nice, I always feel the urge to look nice as well, so it's really a good thing. My cousin Sara has singlehandedly raised the bar for the entire young generation in my family. To give you an example of what I mean by "super chic," there's one girl who wore a really well-cut polka dot dress, black high heels, and a pearl set to class today. That's what we're talking. Super classy. I wore this weird frilly shirt thing that I always forget how much I hate till I've been wearing it for a few hours. It makes me uncomfortable-- not like "itchy," more like "I cannot reconcile my wardrobe choice with my inner self." But I endured. Because I guess I thought I looked good? Except... I didn't think I looked that good.

Why am I making myself wear things I hate? This doesn't make any sense. Maybe I should just wear the clothes I'm comfortable in and stop trying to predict what image I'm projecting to other people. That's just silly, y'all.

Today's music: "Moment's Notice," John Coltrane