| Essay One |
| This is my essay about society judgeing me for not being a blonde bimbo, and my reactions to that. |
| When I'm at home, alone, I'm happy with my own body. I can brush my long brown hair and not want to cut it, and not want to be anything but brunette. I can tie up my shirt to show my mid-drift because I don't mind that I have a round little tummy. And I don't mind that it's incredibly white next to my tanner arms. I can put on short shorts because I think my legs are shapely and muscular, even if my calves are too muscular and my thighs are not enough. I think my tiny waist is cute, and my hips make me look more womanly; instead of thinking how hard it is to buy pants that fit both parts. My breasts aren't too small, my fingers aren't too short, and my eyes aren't too small when I'm home alone. I think my 5 foot 3 inch self is perfect, just the way I am. So why is it that when I go out into the world and into society I feel imperfect? Why is it that when I walk into American Eagle (for my brother) I feel the need to dye my hair blonde and get a shorter, more fashionable hair cut. I feel like I should have a gym membership and be on a diet. I feel that wanting tatoos and piercings are wrong and I'm not sure why. And I'm not sure why I feel like I need to wear so much make-up on my face. And I'm not sure about why I wear clothes that stand out either. Why do I hope that people will comment on my clothes instead of my body? Why do I feel the need to hiss at the people who look at me as I walk by. Is it because when I walk into American Eagle I get stared at, and not in the good way, not in the way that I like. Maybe it's because if I do a head count I'll realize I am the only brunette in the store, and the only one with long hair. I'm the only one who isn't artificially tan with artificial blue eyes. Maybe it's because when I'm surrounded by these people conceived as being normal and good, I want to be normal and good too. So that they'll stop staring at me like I'm a freak that needs to leave their store. Perhaps I want to hiss at these people because as I walk by they judge me. They judge how I look, how I act, how I walk. And because I can't show them all the good parts of me in that instant, I want to show them the bad parts and prove them right in an ironic moment that only I'll find amusing. I hide my face behind my makeup and my body behind my clothes because I want them to ignore my face and body that don't live up to their standards. Because I can't show them my report card, and I can't show them my schedule where I take every honors class that I can take, and that I'm taking more challenging classes than some of the seniors, yet I'm only a freshman. I can't show them my memories of playing with children, or even of being a child. I can't show them that I have no track marks and that there are no bongs in my room. I can't even show them my virginity that they're sure I've lost. I can't show them my dreams of being a professional dancer that were crushed before I could dream them, partly because of how I look. I can't show them my dream of going to an Ivy League school. I can't show them the way my teachers adore me, or the way my friends have cried on my shoulders. I can't make them a strawberry pie from scratch, or chicken parmesan, or the way I enjoy cleaning and doing all the stereotypical things they've always told me to like. I can't show them how I want to be a psychiatrist so that I can help teenagers the way no one helped me. Because I can't show them any of this, I smile at them, wink at their children, and walk by with my head held high. Maybe they'll judge me, maybe they won't. Maybe they'll decide I'm not who they thought I was, maybe they'll think I'm too stoned to think. But when I return home I'll remember that I'm perfect the way I am. I'll take off my boots, and change into comfortable clothing, and wash the makeup from my face. I will ask myself why didn't I remember all this when I was at the mall and with society. I answer myself that maybe society doesn't want me to remember that I'm just fine the way I am. |