Eavesdropping

One of the best parts of going to SBUX in the morning is eavesdropping on other people’s conversations without them realizing I’m even there. Sometimes I’ll interject, saying, “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear…” Most of the time, though, it’s just things that are funny to me internally. The thing that I am most likely on which to comment is when women are being too hard on themselves.

It seems as if every morning, some woman will approach another, whether they know each other or not, and say, “do I look okay?” And it’s never “ugly” women who do it. It’s gorgeous blondes with perfect skin and perfect breasts with an ass that won’t quit and an outfit that pulls it all together and still, they cannot see themselves as they are. My first response internally is always, “who did this to you? Who took the beauty you exude to the world and made you feel so self-conscious that you have to ask strangers in a coffee house if you’re pretty enough to go to work?” You would think that if I thought they looked that perfect, they’d just be the type of woman who fishes for compliments, but you’d have to hear their tones of voice to know the incredible underlying insecurity. And, for the record, I do not think that any woman is “ugly,” just using a descriptive adjective to illustrate that even supernaturally gorgeous women experience the same feelings of imperfection as everyone else.

If I am within earshot, again, I will say, “I couldn’t help but overhear… and you look beautiful.” The smile that crosses their lips lights up my day, because they know I mean it if I’m willing to interrupt what I’m doing just to say so… and because of the way I look, I can’t help but think that my compliment means a little more because they can tell I’m into women, anyway… that I would know gorgeous when I saw it.

I always wonder if these are women who just lost an incredible amount of weight, because for a long time after I went from a size 12 to a size 5/6, I still saw myself as large, even though my clothes were too big in the dressing room. I kept all my size 12s for Dana, because as she began to lose weight, it was a victory to “get herself into my pants.” [As an aside, that’s one of the plusses of being a lesbian- your closet doubles.]

In my own history, though, I don’t tend to go for pretty. As my friend Phil told me when I was dating Kathleen, “pretty is a dime a dozen… cute is dangerous.” Ummm, yeah, it is. I once came close to breaking my nose on a door trying not to notice. 😛

I tend to go for women who carry themselves with confidence no matter how they look, because nothing is more unattractive to me than insecurity over looks, because it is a never-ending monologue of, “no, you look great… please don’t change clothes again.” I sincerely believe that part of this insecurity is propelled by the women’s fashion industry, because every store has a different cut for every size. A six is not a six in every store… so in some stores, you feel great in a six… and when you have to go to another store and a six doesn’t fit the eight does, you don’t say, “well, the clothes are cut differently,” you think you’ve gotten fatter in the 15 minutes it took you to drive to a different store.

One of the advantages of wearing men’s pants is that inches are inches, amen. I can go to any clothing store in the world and a 29/30 is just that. With boys’ clothes, I’ve never found a 16 that doesn’t fit… it’s the same across stores, because men won’t put up with that shit, and the clothing industry knows it. Women, if you’re feeling insecure, try on a pair of men’s jeans. That way, you’ll know for sure what size your waist is regardless of how much women’s clothes try to fuck with you, to tell you that you are less than perfect.

Because to me, you certainly are.

Amen.
#prayingonthespaces

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