Best of the Blog :: My Failure as a Girlie Girl

Originally Published :: September 2009

I’m always honest about my age (43, thank you very much!) I think I got that from my mom, who would boast about her age with a follow-up of “Don’t I look young?” I think looking good was never far from her mind, evident from the older photos I’ve seen of her in her 20s. The woman never ceased to have bright red lipstick on – you could even tell that from the black and white photos. And I must say that amongst all the criticisms any mom feels the right to dole out, mine could give a compliment that would boost your self-esteem to the perfect height. Maybe that contributed to my girlie-girl ruination…

I was a tomboy and I was never the girl who could keep her clothes or hair tidy and clean. I wasn’t opposed to wearing skirts and dresses, but I was the girl with her tights falling down, unaware of the rules that governed said skirts and dresses. Who says you can’t climb to the top of the monkey bars? And hiking up the tights with my skirt in the air long past the time it would be considered cute. My hair was always super-short, courtesy of mom. I think she may have cut my hair as a way to save money, as we didn’t have a lot to go around. And I think short was what she could manage. But I longed for long hair. I really wanted to wear my hair in braids, just like Laura Ingalls. I did manage to convince my mom to let me cut my hair like Dorothy Hamill when I was 11. Dorothy’s cut was a concession though – what I really, REALLY wanted was Farrah Fawcett’s hair. Clearer heads prevailed, but it was still a disaster.

I guess being female, we all are in pursuit of what it means to be a girl. Why it seems that some of us seem stupider about it than others will forever be a mystery to me. My teenage years were fraught with beauty mishaps – perms, Sun-In, black eyeliner, suspenders… the list goes on. I was perming my naturally curly hair, Sun-In-ing my brunette hair to a Ronald McDonald shade, Alice Cooper-ing my eyes and dressing like Annie Hall with NO fashion sense. Also, I never quite got the hang of makeup. I still only wear Chapstick, gloss and various lipsticks (a tribute to my mom’s bright red?) When I turned 40, I thought it was time to try wearing makeup again, but it lasted less than a week. I forget to apply my night cream almost nightly. I’m utterly hopeless.

No matter who you are, there is a point in the life of a woman where you figure out what it means to be you. I’ll never carry off 4-inch heels or have a flawless face. I have pores, yes, and I’m not afraid to show them. I have accepted my failure as the girlie-girl, who can look perfect and put together at all moments. I’m okay with that. I still feel worthy and beautiful. I’ve learned what my best assets are and I try to accentuate them. I have my own style and chic sensibilities. And I believe that all women – girlie-girls, tomboys or somewhere in between have their own unique beauty, no matter what.