The other day I met an older French lady on the train on my way home from work. She dropped her glossy black leather purse (1950's - I could tell from the brass kiss-lock closure), I picked it up for her, and after thanking me profusely, we struck up a conversation that lasted for a good forty minutes. She is a professor of French in San Francisco, which I thought was fascinating. Lately I have been sensing the onset of a crisis - for years I have struggled with agoraphobia, and I find that my outlandish style aesthetic has been drawing attention - too much attention at times for me to handle gracefully. I've never been happier with who I am, and yet, I feel the darkness closing in all around me, the fears of the past looming in the shadows. Just waiting, Waiting to devour me. I could never survive another attack. I have been fighting so hard to retain a sense of stability. Back to the lovely little French woman. After we had discussed her life story, she turned to me, looked at me in the strangest way, and asked me, "And what do you do? Are you a fashion model?". I laughed, involuntarily, and told her that she was too kind. "But you have the most beautiful face, and your hair! It is so dark! I can tell you are European!". I could feel my pale face burning with embarrassment. Then she said something funny. "It must be such a blessing in life to be so beautiful". I looked up at her, no longer smiling, and solemnly told her, "Beauty can often be more of a curse than anything". She cocked her head and asked me to explain. "Well for one thing, men don't take you seriously...I mean, they treat you funny because they don't know how to react to your beauty, or to a womanly figure. Sometimes you can just feel the eyes on you, and when you look up, they completely ignore you. I would much prefer honesty than the awkward interactions I deal with on a daily basis". Lately I have been thinking a lot about beauty. I, personally, don't care if not one single person thinks I am beautiful - I simply want to be happy and I dress for my eyes only. Some days I feel ashamed to dress in a pencil skirt, or wiggle dress, or v-neck top because I am afraid of getting treated like an object. Then I realize that the people who make assumptions based on these things really have no real significance in my life anyways.My entire adolescence was spent struggling with being the fairer sex and trying, desperately, not to play the victim. Most of my adult life I have had to experience the aftershock of the abuse felt as a child of 11 and 12. I refuse to apologize for things beyond my control. My body is merely a shell, and although my shell is beautiful, my true beauty lies in a place not visible to the naked eye; buried beneath flesh, blood, and bone. But for those of you who cannot grasp that concept, enjoy the view ;)
Comrade Von Pussycat
