A New Brick With Makeup on it
Society imposes weird customs.
Why do I have to make up? Why the gloss, the eye shadow, the mascara? Every day, hop, 15 minutes into the bathroom, which is really little else than an airlock between who you are and what the world see.
Well, I ask you: Why do I even dress up? Why the clothes, why all this energy spent choosing and matching? Why the mirrors and the smiles I make to myself?
Is it an imposition? I mean yeah, probably I wouldn't have had the idea to makeup if others didn't (someone would have to make that one up). But at the same time? I like it. It feels natural, I feel naked without it. It's a part of myself.
Plus, it's fun. I can pick and chose depending on the situation. When I arrive on the battlefield, I know I'll be the one prepared. Most people are ignorant of the meaning and social conventions around clothing and makeup. They refuse to be aware. Not I. I always have the upper hand, I own them, they are my bitches.
When they see me coming, they definitively see me. But I also see in their eyes, their posture, they don't just see me, they see what I want them to see. I play them like the clarinet.
When I see myself in the mirror, I see someone beautiful, someone that has a place in the world. I may be a weird brick, but I'm a brick in this weird building that is our society. And I like it where I am.
Once upon a time, this was different. The best I could do was picking a nice shirt with flower prints on it. I used to see society as this pyramid, made strictly out of square blocks and nothing else.
I had so little leeway. Every time I went out in the world, I was terrified, I had no agency, others were choosing for me.
Not only I didn't like the place I was given, but I also absolutely despised the pyramid. I had to learn that you can't really build much else than a pyramid with pyramid blocks.
What a fucking idiot was I. I don't need to be a pyramid block.
Gosh, I'm glad all of it is behind. Honestly, today, I've no idea how I managed to live that way for so long. I remember priding myself in not thinking about killing myself. What kind of life do you have to live to pride yourself in not wanting to end it?
Now, I'm touched, I'm connected, I feel the warmth of my friends. There is no cold shell to separate me from the rest of the world. I finally have a place I don't want to run away from.
And gosh, my legs. They are so sexy now. And I can do anything I want with them. Tights, skirts of all sizes, thigh highs, high-waisted, hot-shorts. How ridiculously bland and boring men legwear is. Sure I can enjoy a sinewy calf (only hairless though!) but gosh, those pants. All ugly. When will men wear miniskirts or fishnets? It might reconcile me with the male body.