I admire tomboys. They can throw like a boy, hang out in a bar, drink beer from a bottle, probably fix their own cars, and generally make people of all genders drool.
I admire girly girls too, the ones that can sprint in high heels, carry the world in a purse, make men itch and sweat, and wield the world like a poodle on a leash.
More than that I enjoy ‘both’, the fictional types that can straddle all sides. You know, like Angelina Jolie, Halle Berry or Megan Fox. Of course their straddling is generally scripted, but still.
Of these three types, it is probably coolest to be a tomboy. Because once they tire of chilling with the boys, all they need is some fake hair and a make-over and they instantly become beauty queen. Just look at Aaliyah and Brandy. Or closer home, have you seen Nazizi’s pink album cover?
It takes a much larger miracle to teach a diva to throw a decent punch.
For those among us that are a little … ungirly, it can be taxing when we try to cross over.
Case in point, me.
I have recently acquired a rather … unhealthy … and also vaguely irritating interest in … femininity. As a result, I have bought two dresses [one of them is red!!], got my first pedicure, spent a day in high heels, and am spending approximately thirty minutes a day on … well, on my face.
The reason for all this fuss was a wedding. Two weddings actually, but more on that later. First, the face.
At some point in my teen life, I stopped using lotion above the neck. I noticed – or was told – that my face is really shiny, so there’s no point adding oil. I then decided that my skin was oily.
A while later, or maybe earlier, I did the tissue-test in a homescience class, and failed. But I ignored the result, since I was shiny, and therefore, oily, period. Besides, people with oily skin don’t wrinkle, and I quite liked the idea of not getting old.
My parents had access to facial products, so I used everything from baycuten to Clean and Clear to Nivea Visage without really knowing what I was doing. All I remember is that the cream wash felt silky, the foam wash was fun [soap bubbles!] and that toner can really sting.
Yes, for some strange unfathomable reason, I used all three at once.
I also seem to remember that my face was usually quite smooth and clear, so I don’t really remember why I was using all that stuff. In Class 6, everyone’s face was a chocolate volcano, but mine was still baby-bottom smooth. By high school, I think my face was still smooth, but then, I don’t remember any of the other girls having acne either, so maybe there was something in the water. We did have a school-wide weight problem though. Must be all the Britannias.
Other than that I have never paid much attention to my face. But about once a month, someone points out that my face looks a little … rough. That’s the only time I ever noticed the pimples, so I assume that my face is fine the rest of the time. It took me a few years to relate the roughness with my calendar…
…to be continued…
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Crystal Ading' is a professional author, editor, rock lover and mother. Her work is available through threeceebee.com.