My Luke warm affair with femininity
Good news, everybody!
Tonight, I have turned in enough XP to level up more in my woman class. Sit down and I will tell you the the story of my progression up the skill chain and coming even closer to class proficiency.
It might come as a surprise to you to hear this, but I never really had the competence in being girly. I didn’t hate it, but I was so clumsily female, it was a daunting feat. In my mind, mastery of femininity was something accomplished by Demetyr, Aphrodite, and Helen of Troy embodied in a single goddess.
This was no effort that I could ever hope to achieve. At some point I gave in to my phobias and accepted only putting forth enough effort and appear ambitious and capable.
I went through one phase of my youth wearing pink dresses and pretty hair at the behest of my mother. Since she provided the parts and labour, this was of little pain for me. As I grew more bold, I would request more reasonable attire that did not require effort to wear not have repercussions if they were soiled. Finally, I came to the point in my life where I could wear practical and comfortable clothes. Ah, those were the days. It was tadpoles and Legos by day, books and Johnny Carson by night.
Those were the simpler days. It was only remembered I should be an adorable little girl on Easter Sunday, and the rest of the year was comfort. I got teased in school a bit, but mostly for my name and weirdness. Boy did hormones ever ruin that silver lining from my childhood.
Suddenly it became urgent to me that I looked pretty. I was sending a peace envoy to my old nemesis. I bravely waited, hoping to receive favourable terms. I watched with longing as my Barbie collecting gender peers were becoming more pretty and less cherubic.
After so long, I became rather ambivalent with my unanswered petitions to my inner goddess. I decided to be comfortably novel instead. I got picked on a great deal, and it was certainly difficult to remain apathetic and self deprecating enough about it. I became an expert at being the most mundane bullying target ever.
My unrequited inner high school crushes were comforted by the eternal friend zone status I had obtained. The love sick teenager in me was kept occupied by Anne Rice novels and the objects of my juvenile affections also being my eternally platonic buddies. Some of them exceptionally competent at fitting in and not standing out. I learned a great deal. It was like I had just bought into a comfortable low risk stock.
Somewhere after high school, I became aware of her majesty, the essence of femininity again. I decided it was easier and less risky to attempt an attractive enough imitation of a female than try to fully master the art. I learned many skills and costume tips. For a while I did a pretty good job. A child and full time military employment quickly changed that ambition for me.
During my years in the military it was pretty easy to want to be lazy about hair and makeup. It also made me apathetic again about clothing and girliness. It was futile to want to be more feminine while wearing unflattering and boring camouflage uniform. BDUs (battle dress uniforms), were so unflattering that they could negate any benefit makeup would have.
It was once again kind of nice to be rewarded for competence and skill. There was zero social impacts from being unapologetically dull in one’s relationship with being a woman. So long as I appeared competent and content with myself, that was all that mattered. There was some bullying. I didn’t quite fit in every social group, but I always managed to find some peers who were good to be around.
Over the past few years, my inner goddess and I became estranged. As I aged, I became sentimental of my applaudable attempts at being feminine. I remembered a time when I would have come in with at least an honourable mention in the sport. I was more confident to make a comeback attempt.
Today, I am comfortably tomboyish with moments of feminine ambition. I think I have become too old to be concerned with mastery. I have once again returned to that utopia of novelty. Except this time, my little garden of Eden will remain even if I were to bite into the forbidden fruit.
I have rationed small bites of the Apple of Female Wisdom. It was deliciously acceptable. Today, I wore a vulgar programmer male shirt (that was printed on a girly tee) with the pants and jacket from my suitjamas, my Mary Jane vibram shoes (which strangers have compared to driving gloves on my feet), all finished off by a rather well done decoration of eyeliner and mascara.
All of this is why, I presently revel in the irony of the evening I spent tonight. I had a lovely time sharing my female DIY knowledge. The sort of corners and hacks I have learned about makeup. Even some factoids and instructions to accomplish things I fail miserably at.
I have come a long way from tadpoles and Legos. I have opera gowns and play with filled server racks! That’s uh, gotta count for something?
