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Sunday, January 21, 2018

Sum It Up Sunday-Old Tomboy

It is easy for me to believe that I'll be 50 in a few months. A number that doesn't faze me, truly, because as I get older I have less and less fucks to give.


Being told from a young age that what you feel and do aren't right is a universal female experience, I am sure. And I am no longer having it.

I have always been a tomboy. Jeans, sneakers and short hair were what the boys got and I wanted that too. Dresses were abhorrent to me, I was allergic to tights; they weren't freedom, they were as binding for me as much as the things I was told. "Stay in the house and play house, here is a doll, stop wrestling with your brothers". "For crying out loud, get down out of that tree," while my brothers laughed as they went higher.


And I rebelled. When my mother finally relented I cut off my hair. I've had many, not so great hair experiences since then, but I no longer had to deal with twigs in the hair that hung down to my rear. I didn't have to sit still for my mom to scrape a brush or comb through my "rat's nests". A pixie cut is my go to now, and though I try from time to time to "soften it up" I eventually tire of all that nonsense and get back to easy, messy and short.

I would, when young, wear dresses for special occasions, stubbornly, but never for anything else. I didn't know shit about what to wear. My oldest brothers jeans, concert t-shirts, army jackets, that was my uniform. But even that wasn't all me.


I also paint my toenails and ALWAYS wear earrings. Perhaps that surprises you? My version of tomboy is just that, mine. Eye makeup is not unheard of and I do love a push-up bra, I mean I have a killer rack! I do me.

Chuck Taylors can be dressy in my world, but so can brogues or oxfords. There is still a kilt in my repertoire, though I have yet to find just the right pair of boots to wear with it. And I hold onto one pair of wedge heeled boots, because I really like them, though I'll probably break an ankle the next time I wear them.


My identity is that of a heterosexual, cisgendered tomboy. I adore men. Can't figure the bastards out, but I adore them still. My style is ever evolving like I hope my life is, in tandem.

50 is only a number. I don't have to fit anyone's box or stereotype. I have been finding more and more inspiration from my older icons like Patti Smith and the late Wendy O Williams (who didn't need a push-up bra when she had electrical tape). There are gals now doing their thing their way, like Sara Jane Adams and Lena Waithe, who show me that being all me is all I need to be.

And this is what I want to ultimately be, without a filter. When I am 80 I will be the dame, who when going to visit family or friends, will be spoken of thusly: "Hide the chocolate and don't let her swear around the kids."



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