For the past few days, I've been seeing a woman on my way to work whom I want to be.
Feminine envy is not an emotion new to me. I went to an all-girls school for thirteen years, for heaven's sake. I'm a tall, strapping, nerdy girl who was surrounded by burgeoning anorexics and model hopefuls. I am currently five feet and eight inches tall and still strapping: I just cannot be skinny. I'm curvy, I'm muscular, and I'm just a big girl. My best friend since birth is petite, thin, can cut her hair in any way possible and still look like a hipster gamine. My high school best friend is tall, thin, strong, and GORGEOUS, with long wavy hair and legs that go on for miles. It's hard not to be a little envious of them for their effortless beauty.
...God, I sound like a vindictive biyatch, don't I?
I mean, I still think I'm PRETTY (or, as a drunk friend once termed me, "okay-looking"). I...just wish that I could wake up feeling gorgeous.
In the mornings, when I get ready to go to work, I do what I can. If I'm wearing glasses, I go all out with my eyeliner and mascara. I wear perfume, even lipstick sometimes. I comb my hair carefully. I put on stockings, a dress. On a day like today, I'm slinging my favorite handbag on my shoulder, wearing my cute grey coat, and listening to music on my iPod as I walk to my bus stop. As I catch sight of myself in a glass window, I think how very cool-teacher I look. My wool coat, a little too big for me, gives me a mod silhouette and makes my legs (today in matching grey stockings) look lean and long. My glasses look awesome. The wind hasn't yet ravaged my hair [I don't do hairspray]. The Beatles are on my headphones. ROCK AND ROLL.
But yesterday and today, while I waited for the bus, I felt like a total Puritan dorkwad in my polished flats and matronly grey coat because She walked by.
She is (of course) a petite woman who walks by my bus stop on her way to work. I haven't noticed her clothes that much, except for the fact that she has a really cool grey nubbly coat. And that she gets to wear pants. It's not about the clothes: She has the hair that I want! Long, smooth, and with the perfect blunt bang! [BTW, I really want a blunt 60s-era bang and I really need validation on this one] As I longingly stare her way, I notice that slung on her shoulder is the most beautiful enormous turquoise leather bag... *sigh*
She is pretty awesome, though. I'm sure if I went up to her and babbled incoherently about how I want her life, she'd call the police. However, because I saw the manifestation of my desires [more cute bags, cute haircuts], I feel more confident in thinking, "Wait -- I want to look like that, too! Why don't I just freakin' get bangs already?!" She's almost like a good omen, signalling to me that it's time for bangs (and maybe a cute new purse).
There are many Shes in one's life, I think. Some you gaze at jealously, wishing that you could just attain that level of effortless cool. Some inspire you to change your own appearance. Maybe we all are someone's She somewhere at some point.
... Now excuse me, I have to do an internet search on turquoise leather bags.
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