I’m not girly, but I don’t think I ever was. In my heart I’m convinced mens clothes look so much better on a woman, firstly for their perfect cut and simplicity, secondly, for that raw feminity they bring out and that no dressy outfit can capture. That’s basically why 90% of the time I spend working or going out I’ll be seen in denim skinnies with a shredded band t shirt and an oversize sweater I stole from a former lover or from ZARA men. I love military boots. Doc Martens. Spikes and studs. Leather bikers. My style is more Freja Beha Erichsen meets Alex Turner rather than Zooey Deschanel on a sugary day. And then there’s what I do.
Someone recently told me I’m more of a man than of a woman. That I treat guys then way they treat gals. That I have more of that and less of this. The irony in that statement is not far from truth though. I was never the hopeless romantic type, rather the hopeful, realist, indecisive romantic. I was split between the longing for being in a healthy, amazing relationship with someone and the urge to break loose from that commitment and indulge in my loneliness or engage in different kind of liaisons that didn’t resemble or cultivate stability. I like the part where irony and sarcasm intertwine in conversation only to make it juicier or to pull out reactions in people. I like the distance, I grew attached to being alone as much as I grew fonder of friendships and less interested in the love maths. Because it comes packed and fully equipped like kitchens from IKEA with bumps, breaks, issues, arguments, landmarks and other things that tie a knot that eventually strangles you some time later and you spend double the amount of time you invested in that cuisine sweeping the floors and wooden doors from blood, sweat and memories. I scare the shit out of some guys and I know this is something many women complain about. Being too much or too different. I know, however, we all need some good old patterns in order to function.
Which reminds me how my good friend Julie once pointed out in a bar over Margaritas that male behavior is so ’80s and all we get now is a bunch of pretentious pricks who that start whining once you stop answering your machine. Is it just me or tables have been turning a lot in the past 10 years? I’m not saying men are turning into pussies or emotional trainwrecks (I think that’s a word Perez Hilton or any socialite/celebrity gossip magazine would use right now for this matter), but I am pointing out that we don’t play our parts any more like our forefathers did. And don’t get me wrong, I am a feminist, but when I see a dude bitching around and about with an ATTITUDE wider than Queen Latifah’s ass, well, HUGE turn off.