#bodyuncomfrtable

[frockonblog-blog]

Ramp Vamp

This experience of body uncomfortable has triggered many thoughts and memories. I have received mixed reactions about my aversion to very feminine attire and my preference for clothing that emulates practicality and simplicity. I received a ‘weird girl’ comment today after explaining the fact that I was wearing heels and it was something that made me uncomfortable. Because ‘girl’ is supposed to be synonymous with ‘dress’, I suppose. Look at the international symbols for the restroom. Girl in dress. It’s the identifier.

My experiment with regards to body uncomfortable may seem a bit vapid. You may think ‘how hard is it to flounce around in a dress all day and slap on my make-up and a pair of heels ?’. But the crux of what I am really trying to say is why let something as material and subjective as clothing define your identity or your ability to be thought of as a women. Why am I any less of a girl because I prefer black skinny jeans and brogues ? I don’t know why we let these things dictate as much as they do.

An ex boyfriend of mine once remarked on my chipped nails. I had met him while on my lunch break after helping to merchandise a store and had spent the morning unpacking boxes and shifting furniture around. To him it seemed unacceptable that I had let the appearance of my nails go for the sake of doing some work, because to him a sophisticated girl would not allow this to occur. The same boyfriend dropped such a proliferation of hints about me wearing heels and ‘dressing up’ a little more that I chose a rather daringly high pair of heels for my graduation dinner. I paired the heels with a pencil skirt. I would like to say that I pulled off the look gracefully and that I exuded elegance and femininity. In reality, the garments were chosen more out of spite, a sort of ‘Well this is what you wanted, wasn’t it?’. All I will say is that the entrance to the function venue consisted of a somewhat slippery metal ramp with very little grip, and I made my entrance not unlike a newly born calf tottering its first few steps crossed with a pirate who had in fact, consumed all the rum. By the end of the night I had abandoned my shoes and gone au naturale in the foot department.

So I have come to understand that my identity does not require heavy make-up, it exists perfectly well without pencil skirts and lip stain, and generally the day feels a lot better with a bit of chocolate and maybe a glass of wine, regardless of the calories that these may contain.