It seems as if some women have forgotten their yesteryears. Those itchy, questionable years. The years when your skin wasn’t cozy, and was instead claustrophobic because you didn’t have it together internally or externally. During those years, just south of puberty when your body was taking shape, and your mind was trying to catch up, you, like most young women, were (for a lack of better phrasing) a mess. You began noticing the boys noticing you and all of sudden things changed. Your jeans became tighter, and your clear lip gloss was eventually substituted for something with more color, and if you were like sixth-grade Shenequa, you left the house with a bare face and snuck into the girls bathroom attempting to put on lipstick, only to realize you were never good at coloring in the lines and now you paid the ultimate price.
Before your flicka-da-wrist action with a flat iron was A1, you two donned tight church curls, or maybe a bump at the end that would eventually fall flat, which left you and the rest of us wondering how did Laura Winslow achieve such perfect hair? I assumed the sizzle I heard from the flat iron meant progress, not knowing I was destroying my edges and splitting even more my already split ends.
But after getting burned by the flat iron enough times, we figured it out. After wearing more lipstick on our teeth than our lips, we figured it out. Once our bodies began to settle and we grew comfortable with our new breast, hips and asses, we, figured out what clothes worked best for us.
We as young women eventually figured it out. It takes time and many years of experimentation, following the crowd and eventually getting to a place of not giving a fuck, but eventually we figure it out, In our own time, by listening to our own voice. But as older women, 30+ plus women, we had the luxury of going through our awkward years without social media, and now “we’ve” unintentionally made it ten times harder for the regular girl to figure it out for herself as well.