Hello Kitty No More

I recently stumbled across Julie Klausner’s Valentine to Maturity and had a moment of soul mate connectivity that seems to get rarer and rarer on this Google/Facebook real estate that once seemed as expansive as the ocean, but now feels like a children’s book.

In case you don’t feel like reading it, her piece summarizes the many ways in which women aspire to look and act like little girls. Generally speaking, I’ve never been one to really hate on women. For whatever reason, I was never the girl caught up in the narrative of women resenting each other or competing for the attention of The Dude. Ever Since high school, I maintained the worldview that women are essentially victims of a system that pits them against each other. Sort of the like the Cuba Gooding character in “Boyz n’ the Hood.” In high school, my friends all sort of rolled their eyes at me before prancing off with a guy who treated them like an accessory. Everyone, including myself, decided that I must be weird. But I’m cool with it now.

However, after reading Julie’s call for women to dress like people who pay their own bills and read about world events, I realized that I’m not alone in feeling that things haven’t changed since the Wet n’ Wild days (we bought that make-up, too). It’s not just through fashion that women demonstrate to the world how girlish they can be. How many shaved hooches do I need to see in the shower at the gym? How many pony tails on grown women? How many times do I have to hear women cry and whine about aging, as if it were a terminal disease? And the worst, how many more times will I hear an 35-year-old women talk in a baby voice? (I’d rather listen to a hundred acrylics on a chalk board in surround sound).

Sure, acting like a grown woman, owning and demanding accountability, may not strike some men as “hot.” But turning such dudes into daddy isn’t going to move any relationship forward, forget about the status of women in the world.

Look, I never wanted to grow up, either. But now that it’s happened, I’m not going to bury it beneath Forever 21 (one day at a time). Doesn’t mean I have to age into Miss Blankenship…

Just for today, I’m proud to act like a grown woman.

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