I’m bringing sexy back…and asking for a refund.

My husband once asked me if I was deserted on an island, would I shave my head?

My answer was, of course, hell yes.

He didn’t believe me because I have a drawer full of hair products, tools, brushes and sprays in our bathroom.

I tried to explain that I have hair because I live in a society that, a) expects me to look a certain way based on my gender, and b) I understand that looking “presentable” plays a heavy hand in being respected by both men and women. He still didn’t believe me.

He thinks I like spending hours in the morning prodding, poking, and pulling the dead strands of keratin on my head. I guess from the outside that’s what it looks like, but make no mistake…I don’t do my hair for ME. I do it for society.  (Also, I envy women who look awesome with cute, and pixie haircuts, but my squarehead can’t support that ‘do.)

Which is why I always bristle when someone says a woman wants to look “sexy for herself.” Seriously?

The root word of sexy is sex.  Sex is a two (or more) person operation that requires you attract a partner.

If sexy means dressing provocatively or wearing lingerie, then you’re going to garner attention. Whether the attention is direct, as in, “I’m wearing it so my partner/potential partner looks at me”–or indirect, as in, “I’m wearing this miniskirt to feel confident” (because  confidence is key in attraction), it all boils down to desire for it. And wanting attention is a natural, wonderful human emotion.  But let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?

So the claim that I want to feel sexy for me is just a thinly veiled wolf-in-sexy clothing kind of argument.  Because the truth is that I don’t need my own attention.  I’ve got my own attention 24-hours a day.  And there’s no way, if given the choice, I’m gonna spend my alone time in buttfloss and pasties, cause that shit is uncomfortable and doesn’t impress me.  But lay me out in a pair of stained sweats and ratty t-shirt and I might not be able to resist a little self-love.

Bloggers are people, too. Kind of.

I love reading blogs.  It’s like reading a diary, an idea that’s appealed to me since I was a kid.

Some blogs I frequent because I genuinely like the content, some I read because I genuinely hate the writer.  Some I read because I’m judgmental, and some I read because I hope through osmosis I might be a better person by the end of a post.

If you’re a loyal follower of a blog you become attached to the author—you think that after reading even three or four posts you know who they are.  You start rooting for or against them, nodding or shaking your head at their words.  They’re a person in your mind, even if that person is only based on carefully selected pictures and phrases.

Our lives are shaped more and more by our online selves. I’m no longer a three-dimensional person, I’m whatever clever snippet I can craft  for an“About Me” response. Profiles take the place of personalities, and we’re locked into the the web equivalent of speed dating without body language.  Though I have to admit the information crunch has  it has its upsides; if your favorite movie is the Passion of the Christ, I’d probably hate you anyway, so I’m glad I know that now instead of in three months when this factoid surfaces into our ultimately-doomed relationship.  The availability of information can save a lot of time and guesswork.  It can also make you look like an ass if you try too hard.

I recently had a discussion with my newlywed husband:  when people claim to be something, aren’t they usually the exact opposite?

Por ejemplo: People who comment about the “nerdiness” (read: often used as a synonym for excitement) of something totally normal.

Here’s my problem: Isn’t the very definition of a nerd someone who lacks awareness that their interest(s) is socially maligned?  Wouldn’t self-identifying express an understanding of social norms?  Doesn’t this circular logic disprove your original statement?!

Maybe that’s picky.  Or maybe I’m just tired of looking at pictures of girls who claim they’re “nerds” because they love Forver 21 so much.  That, my dear, is predictable, not nerdy.

And all of this is to say that you shouldn’t  get attached to people you “meet” on the internet, because you never know the fucking truth.  If my life was based on what I could tell people I was, without ever letting them see the real me (when I wake up in the morning, have a bad day, or explode in a fit of impatient anger), I think I’d be exceedingly popular.

I’d say that  I spend my days vaccinating kittens and puppies, thinking of ways I can transcend my meaningless, consumer-driven life, and making travel plans for Africa, where I intend to provide relief to the poor and hungry.  That’s what I’d tell you because in my imagination that’s who I’d like to be.  But frankly, that shit’s not true cause I’m just a human being for Ghandi’s sake!

We want bloggers to be perfect, but that’s unfair.  Sure my ass gets chapped when they don’t update for weeks at a time, and when they say things I don’t like, and when they go off and dare to have a life without consulting me first—but ultimately I must understand that they’re not just some monkey on the other side of the Internet slaving away for my enjoyment.  Even if that’s what they want me to believe.

SGW

two hours.  well spent.