I was inspired after reading an article on HelloGiggles.com titled, “What is Woman and How do I do That?” The writer talks about the pressures women go through when facing society’s vision of what a woman should look and act like. The following paragraph from the article sums it up perfectly:
If you wear jean cutoffs, you are running the risk of being considered a slut. If you are still a virgin at 24, then you are measured as a prude. If you put on heels, you are trying too hard but if you choose flats, you are lazy. If you have two drinks and are in a tight skirt, you must be “asking for it.”
I began reflecting on the many style choices in life I have made. I’ve gone from little girl who throws on whatever is laying around clean, to emo kid who always wears black, to my-breasts-finally-came-in-so-now-I-wear-cleavage-bearing-shirts, to preppy girl in heels, to I’ll-wear-whatever-is-on-sale, to now. My current style now is, well, a lack thereof. I guess you could say that I have reverted into the youngest version of myself, where I wake up and just throw on anything that still fits. I believe this is caused by the lack of money I have left after paying rent, student loans, and other various bills. Thankfully, I’m okay with not having to keep up with any style trends.
How much money do you spend on new clothes? How bad of a day do you have when you don’t like what you are wearing? How envious do you become of the woman who walks past you in her form-fitting outfit that looks like it came straight out of a magazine ad?
Why do we torture ourselves?!
It was only a few months ago that I decided that my looks weren’t as important as having money for some occasional fun time. I could look fabulous and have nowhere I could afford to go, or I could dress comfortably and have a couple drinks at a bar with some friends. Cheers!
I also believe that dressing up wastes a lot of time throughout the day. Think about it, you dress up and then spend the rest of the day reapplying lipstick, fixing your hair, looking at your butt in the bathroom mirror, trying to look graceful in your painful high heels, etc.
I don’t have the time or energy for that anymore. I wake up, throw on a pair of jeans that may or may not have already been worn before (they are not always dirty after one wear!), find a comfortable shirt with no stains, rips, or stretching, and then either a pair of flip flops or converse (depending on the weather). Simple! The comfort I feel is enough to give me the confidence I need to get through the day. Not to mention, not once do I ever think, “I need to check myself in a mirror!”
Ladies, men love it too! They may eye the woman in the skirt, but they stick around for the low maintenance woman who knows how to have a good time. Okay, maybe not always, but the ones who matter do!
The idea of shopping turns me off now. It’s amazing, and I’m so glad I feel this way. No longer do I feel confined by my clothes hanging in the closet. No longer do I stress about what I’ll wear tomorrow. No longer do I spend my paycheck away on clothes that falsely promise they will make society love me!
Women stress themselves out trying to decide what to wear each day. Clothing was invented merely to cover specific body parts and warmth. Now it’s used as a gateway to acceptance.
If our clothing doesn’t fit, we feel that we are fat (Even if you’re a size 3 trying to fit into a size 1. You’re not fat, just wearing the wrong size!). If we’re wearing overalls we’re out of style (like, soooo 1999). Which leads to ridicule for being stuck in another decade. If we try something daring and new, it’s weird and no one accepts it (until they see it in In Style magazine 3 months later).
Why should what we wear play a part in determining if we are socially accepted or not?
I’ll admit, I will dress up for an occasion or work. I’m completely fine with that. This post is referring to the rest of the time spent outside of work and special occasions. I’m going to step up on my pedestal now and say that I don’t care if society is impressed with my style or not. I’m wearing my t-shirt and jeans and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Now, please excuse me while I go to the bar to sling back a couple of beers.