apparently i come across different to what i am. in so many different ways.
‘sporty luxe’? or ‘my hair’s gross so i’m wearin a hat’?
i once had a friend say that i was the ‘wild’ one in my family. that i would be the one to ‘be out of control’. i got my first tattoo and she said ‘told ya so’.
i would say i’m the ‘wild’ one in that, yes, i have been voted weirdest family member. i say the weirdest shit (though caden is up there with me), and i tell the weirdest stories. i’m one of those people who attracts weird shit so i have the stories to tell. i have come to be very comfortable in my own skin.
but then, i’ve never done drugs (and i never plan to), i enjoy drinking but i don’t need it to have fun, and i’m not promiscuous (‘good girl’, as they like to label me). yes, i have six tattoos on my body but i believe them all to be quite tasteful, delicate, and they all mean something to me – so my appearance doesn’t mean shit.
‘why the fuck are you wearing heels? who are you trying to impress?’
one day, i felt like getting a little more dressed up than usual. for literally no other reason than i felt like getting a little more dressed up than usual. questions came, people assumed, who is in your life that you need to look good for? why can’t i look good for myself? i’m not dressing up for anyone, so in that way – my appearance doesn’t mean shit.
i went on a date with a tinder bae about two months ago. we got along quite well, bounced off of each other and he didn’t hesitate to tell me i’m a dickhead. tick tick. then he called the ex ‘crazy’. no no. i’ve never been a gal hater – and i never will be. i like to empower da shit out of everyone, not just my gender. i luv all of u. so don’t tell me she’s crazy, just tell me it didn’t work out. i won’t ask too many questions. but i continued with the date, excusing this. we can move on from this.
the subject of drugs came up, i said no, i’ve never tried them. he looked at me in disbelief. somehow we got on to the subject of sexual partners, and though i don’t admit my number or really any part of my sexual history, i said i’ve been labelled a ‘good girl’ before. he looked at me in disbelief. this time, i questioned it.
‘i don’t want to offend you.’
mate, just fuckin say it.
‘from your pictures, and from your presence on social media, i just thought you were a little more of a badass than you are.’
‘it’s what you say on social media. it’s your sense of humour and how you present yourself.’
‘i’ll be honest, by the look of you, i thought maybe you have dabbled in drugs in your lifetime – hard drugs.’
‘and i thought maybe you were a little promiscuous.’
woah man. my appearance doesn’t mean shit.
my what the fuk face (also my ‘it’s midnight and i’m still at uni and i finally submitted that fucking assignment’ face)
we all judge a book by its cover, that’s natural, that’s normal. we’re predominantly visual creatures. that’s okay. allowing your judgement to cloud what you really know about someone, though, or allowing that to get in the way of getting to know someone, that’s not so okay. my friend knew i was a good person, a kind person, but considered me ‘wild’, and considered me to ‘go off the track’, because i like to etch art onto my skin. tinder bae wasn’t sure what to do with me when he realised he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from me, so quickly, so easily.
wear whatever tha fuck you want. say whatever tha fuck you want. and be whatever tha fuck you want. [except maybe in your professional workplace].
when ya appearance doesn’t mean shit [to anyone except YOU].
“The package in which people come to us may be attractive or repulsive, but if we exert a little effort—like opening a book and browsing its contents before deciding whether to buy it—we can see past our visual biases to the truth. That way, we’ll be far less likely to exclude from our lives not only a quality person—but also a quality book.”