Wednesday, June 20, 2007

a dream to call my own, a thrill to press my cheek to...

I spent my early adolescence swearing that I'd never turn into one of those girls.

They wore ribbons in their hair, they wore Tiffany&Co, they dated boys with shaggy hair...and were very adept at using their eyes and cell phones as weapons of the most deadly variety; they went straight for your soul. I promised myself and anyone with whom the topic arose - I would never be one. I knew I was safe in this promise because my feet were too big, my hair too dark, my heart too earnest. I couldn't be one if I actually tried. My biggest gripe was that they liked shopping. At the time, my favourite way to pass the time was reading Ayn Rand, and I looked down on those who derived pleasure from looking and handling mere objects. I was a lover of ideas.

I was punk, dude. I wore non-regulation undershirts under my private school uniform, for god's sake. Looking back on it, I was obviously not very punk. The most punk think about me was the pyramid belt I ordered online and had delivered to my parents' house. My only saving grace was that I refused to enter Hot Topic on principle. But this isn't the point at all. The point is that my shoes were Chuck Taylors, and my hair dye was Panic of the Manic variety. I, in a word, represented.

People who know me are laughing at this point in the entry, and I'm okay with that.

I don't necessarily know if I can count this as "growing as a person", but I've definitely done some changing over the years. I care less about my image, which is growing, and I acknowledge and give in to my more basic needs a lot more often (I'm morbidly obsessive about my corporeal being - might as well enjoy it), which is a type of growing, I guess...

Ah, fuck it. I've changed.

I Like Shoes.

I mean, not only do I like shoes, I care about them. I notice and comment on their form, their adherence to current fashion. And I think I'm okay with that...I mean, when I saw this picture, I moaned.

let's get some shoes.

I MOANED, okay? It was a small moan, but there's no hope left. Granted, that is an exquisite example, but...I like to wear makeup, I wear pretty dresses, and I fully care about shoes. Shoes, as in, omigod, let's get some.

I'm kind of embarassed. I would say that I'm selling out, that I can see it happening - I mean, first I fall in love and now this? But I can see now that I never really bought in, in the first place. I couldn't bring myself to cut my hair short, to have to work for a living. I fell short of all the obvious benchmarks of being punk, much less the ones that actually mean anything. And now that I've made this transformation, I'm more punk now than I ever was, riding the bus, practically living off the (Hollywood) will never be exactly what you want to be, you'll never have exactly what you desire...

Unless it's that super-sweet pair of

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