My point in all of this is that the term “girly”, in the outdated sense, is over. In recent history it was taken hostage and twisted to mean “weak” or “vain” or “fussy” or “vapid”. “Feminine” was re-worked to be something visually pleasing, physically alluring or too delicate to function without masculine aid. Now we question these definitions: What’s stopping women from being flirtatious and smart at the same time? Why can’t they be outdoorsy and swear like a sailor but still feel beautiful? Or quiet and introverted? Or why not all of these things? If a woman chooses to wear sparkling rosy blush, how does that make her any less or any better than the woman next to her wearing no makeup at all?
You see, I’m no “girly girl” in the traditional, patriarchal sense. And neither are you. Because none of us are weak or fragile or petty or vain. We are complex. We are enigmas. We are tough, professional or soft-spoken; we are curved or thin, gamers or shoppers. We sport perfectly shiny shellac manicures or chipping blue polish that’s been chewed out of nervousness. We own a drawer full of cute, heart-print underwear right above the drawer containing that old beat-up AC/DC tee. We wear pink and green and orange and fluorescent yellow. We have ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends. We have gal pals galore or, perhaps, feel more comfortable hanging with the guys. Sometimes we like to be swept off of our feet and held like a porcelain doll. Sometimes we just need a punching bag and a pair of gloves.