Maybe this isn’t common, maybe it was just me since I was so uncool, but I have always idolized girls. Girls that are more popular than me, prettier than me, have better clothes than I do. Girls like this are not hard to find, in fact, it’s hard to find a girl that doesn’t fit the bill. Although, I must say, moving to Nebraska has done wonders for my self-esteem.
If there was a girl who I would prefer to be over myself, everything she did was justified. She didn’t get her hair redyed after three months and her roots were growing out? All of a sudden, I didn’t need to dye my hair, either. If she cut up t-shirts to make them sluttier, so did I. I was always striving to be different than myself, more like someone else.
There was a girl I idolized not long ago. It was sad, really, now that I’m nearing thirty that this was still taking place. I loved all her clothes. She made me want to use hair products (which I never use). All of a sudden, I wasn’t feminine enough and thought of changing up my look. I even considered buying a dress (but it never went that far). It didn’t matter what I wore, I still thought her clothes looked better than mine.
The other day, I was walking through the mayhem that is Marshall’s to get to the back wall of home accessories. On my way through the screaming kids and flying clothes, I saw a dress that belongs to the girl previously known as my idol of all things feminine. There it hung: limp on its hanger, wrinkled, and looking cheap. I smiled in spite of myself. Glad I never did spring for a dress. It’s not my style. And it’s refreshing to know that I know what is. I am no longer defined by someone else.