My Tomboy Ways

“…I want women to adorn themselves with proper clothing, modestly and discreetly, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly garments, but rather by means of good works, as is proper for women making a claim to godliness. A woman must quietly receive instruction with entire submissiveness.” (Timothy, 2:9-15)

First of all Timothy, nobody caresย what your precise desires in women are. You’ve been dead for a while now and necrophilia was so circa 2007. Secondly, the subject of today’s article has close to nothing relating to Timothy’s opinions on clothing. I just thought I might throw a Bible quote in here to make my statements sound slightly more authentic… You’re welcome.

The point of all this blabber is that I was sat in a small pub called “The Goose” on Monday evening. Across from me was a good friend, a friend of the boy variety, but not a boyfriend per se. Now, I’d say I’m quite a laid back person (although we both know if one has to say they’re pretty chilled, they’re convincing themselves more than others). But it was one peculiar little sentence that made me sit awake in bed that night.

‘You’re one of the guys really…’, Timmy said absent-mindedly.

Really… Really? Don’t tell me this like it’s not news, buster, because I’d like to know if I’ve suddenly changed metaphorical genders here. As I looked down at my crotch, thinking ‘What the hell, dude?’, I noticed the proof of his point that I was literally covered in. In my notable attire I had assembled a men’s grey hoodie, plain denim jeans and black Vans trainers. I was Mark Zuckerberg-ing it.

Suddenly, in a moment I could only describe as the tipping off my verge into the sea of epiphanies, I realised his case was solid. I had long hair and I eye liner, and boobs somewhere under there, but for the most part I really did look like one of the bros. I was brozoned. Fist bumped on entrance. Congratulations.

For the most part of my life I have dressed to be comfortable, not impressive. This means that although I have an extensive collection of graphic t-shirts, my wardrobe is lacking dresses and high heels beyond repair. Haunted by that verbal note I sat in lecture today, browsing through online stores for women’s fashion, trying to figure out where it all went wrong and spending my humble pay cheque on stuff I’ll probably never wear.

I have been a single lady for quite a few months now and as a person going through the symptoms of a quarter-life crisis I can say that the first aspect of my life I reflected on was relationships. Was I unattractive? Did looking like the part of a friend push me subconsciously into the friend zone? What if I never meet a guy that likes me back, because I have more pairs of Converse than lipsticks?

Thinking more and more about the issue, I came to the conclusion I was a very comfortable young woman who didn’t need a short skirt to look positively majestic. I don’t need a v-neck showing off the old cleavage to feel wanted. I’m awesome, because I’m awesome and that’s that, take this comfy jelly or leave it. I didn’t send any of my online purchases back, because I’m still secretly excited to try them on in front of the mirror, but still…

My point is never ever forget, kids – If the world pressures you to be more pink or more blue, more this or more that, more male or more female… Turn your butt to them and shake it. Because it’s your butt and it’s the best butt and you should dress your butt however you want your butt dressed.* It’ll look amazing any case scenario.

Stay amazing,

Meggie

*(and any other part of your fabulous body besides the butt area).

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