Drove totally out of the way up market yesterday, after taking a wrong turn on Castro.
But it was all good, because I ended up finding a cute little store at Haight. Although the style is completely different from what I usually wear, I adored the preppy, sophisticated style. I ended up with a cute black cocktail dress. I like my body a lot more than the 118 lb monster I was my first semester of college - though I’d enjoy getting back to my senior 104 lb body, I’m comfortable at 110 lb. Marathon training and triathlon training should help, it better. Wandering with kimbo and cam on Haight really made me appreciate the unique, culturally beautiful cities of not just San Francisco, but Berkeley as well. It took me a while to realize this, but I love where I live.
But anyways, what I really wanted to bitch about was how people keep trying to make the world see an image of themselves to hide their true weaknesses. I felt a pang of guilt when I bought that elegant cocktail dress. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t someone I wanted people to see me as or who I wanted to be. It was just, well, cute. A random splurge on something unlike anything I have ever owned that would probably make someone think I was richer than I really am. Maybe I’ll be seen as stuck up, or maybe I’ll be seen as a socialite. Either way, it really depends on what I decide to show people.
I’m not the kind of person that hides my intentions, takes back doors, and manipulates people. Honesty is one of my most valued morals, a mantra I have lived by. As such, I have never told the world I was the biggest, baddest bitch on the block - simply because I wasn’t. I never told people I was adored by guys and had many boyfriends - because I wasn’t. I never told people I partied all week - because I don’t. But my point is, I don’t understand the need to pretend to be someone you are not. What is the purpose of living a lie? Or worse, living the life of a follower? In the end, there will be some that can see past all the bullshit, the make-up, the circle lenses, the oversized glasses, the wannabe gauges, the DSLR and find that you are nothing like the bad-ass you made yourself out to be. You’re just a follower in someone else’s footsteps. A copycat. A fake. Someone who follows the trends the rest of the world has created. And for what? To fit into a mold of someone you wish to be, someone you want to be seen as. To make it worse, countless girls like that begin to publicize their idiocy, and tell the world they are someone they aren’t.
It’s sad, not only because you can’t accept yourself for who you are, but because you try so hard to hide that person. It’s pitiful to see these girls trying so damn hard to be someone else.
No, you’re not a biker or an athlete. And you never were. Sorry. No, you’re not skinny and pretty. So don’t draw attention to your face. No, you’re not a fabulously conquering queen. Sorry, nobody listens to you.
No, you’re not who you try so hard to say you are.