Know what guys, I just wanted to make it fairly simple for you to know that it doesn’t have to be a let down, I know it’s kind of long winded.
It can be as awesome as you look for it to be.
All the best! None of them were right. Besides, all that stuff. Basically, you know, eyes across a crowded aisle, heart skipping a beat, a single soul mate smock. There were short ones, long ones, plain ones, glittery ones, straight ones, puffy ones, pastel ones, swishy ones, ‘short sleeved’ ones, strapless ones, flowered ones, patterned ones and justplainridiculous ones. It’s a well I guess I thought I’d know when the perfect dress came along. Thing is, none of them looked right on me. Eventually, I didn’ Sure, there were some nice dresses, and if I come back in a later life as a Barbie doll with a fetish for shiny, dryclean only materials, I’ll have found my perfect heaven. That’s right! Was probably in reality closer to twenty, Actually I tried on what seemed like a hundred dresses.
That said, this got me thinking.
Something I owe largely to my feminism, I see myself as relatively confident with my own body.
I know that the traditionally beautiful women I see in magazines are airbrushed to within an inch of their lives. I know all about body confidence and the body beautiful. I know that the concept of what makes someone pretty is varying and fluid and that the way I should look is principally decided by a load of high powered men at fashion industry HQ. I know look, there’s absolutely nothing about my body that I might be ashamed of. I know that the beauty standards we’ve been programmed to live by are culturally ascribed and, in reality, I actually don’t need to look like the models I see on the television. I absolutely, one hundred percent know these things. Needless to say, just another way for most -if not all -girls to feel tally and completely inadequate, To me it seems like a kind of organized exhibitionism of a standard that only ever has any hope of living up to.
I think most girls feel really like this sometimes.
This, I suppose, comes back to my loathing of the concept of a prom.
That little niggling voice is an universal problem. However, even if you’ve learnt not to listen to it, it doesn’t matter how feminist or body confident you are, it’s still there. It’s to do with social expectations and cultural aesthetic norms, and it plays on the insecurity of all girls going through a very difficult stage in their lifespan. Do you know an answer to a following question. For indeed, why can’t we just wear jeans, a jumper and call it a night? You may have just pulled those exact words out of my mind, By the way I would like to express my complete and utter gratitudeit’s a little frightening. Then the constant talk among the girls at my ‘school dazzlingly’ diverse and meaningful subjects ranging from hair, to makeup, to nails, to the bra colourI feel out of place, annoyed, and frankly, quite ridiculous the entire time.
My prom is next week and to be honest, I’m actually bored with that institution.
Don’t worry about conforming to crazy shiny gauze and tulle standards.
I bought my dress for under $ 50 dollars. Vintage stores are the way to go. That said, it’s not striving to give the impression that my lumbering around the dance floor isn’t an inept stagger, a waltz, and nor am I ever gonna, To be honest I have never expressed a burning desire to dress up like some sort of tragically imperfect reject Barbie doll and tter around in heels that I can’t even walk in. Intending to the prom is pretty high on my scale of things I don’t really need to do feel I really must, with intention to tell you the truth.
Basically the kind of thing I should never, ever be involved in out of choice, It all seems so…overthetop and ostentatious.
And tomorrow, we’re still identical people we were yesterday we’ll look back and realise how brazenly flamboyant and orchestrated that thing was.
Why have we spent upwards of 300 on a dress? That said, we have we spent two hours sitting in a hairdresser’s chair? Hang on, we say, what on earth have we been doing? Notice that I imagine all the different colours of silk and taffeta swirling round in the dressed up dingy little village hall.
I see as all look round at one another critically…and I see all of us looking through what was so painstakingly created.
Why did we have to go this far with intention to feel good about our bodies?
Suddenly, we all realise how fake That’s a fact, it’s. Generally, what was the point? I have a vague vision of turning up at the prom in my beautiful single soul mate smock and looking around really the other girls who’ve done identical. Anyways, we’ll be back to square one. I’m pretty sure I see the coils and spirals of hair, I see the thick layers of makeup and the glitter of jewellery. It’s okay to enjoy the way things look from time to time. I guess I just can’t take it seriously enough. Whenever nothing less, The prom is a celebration of aesthetics, nothing more. Then, I guess that’s okay.
Not me.
Maybe it makes you feel good about yourself to get all dolled up and hop in your horse drawn carriage. Read other posts about. Now this article is brilliant. Known I’m short and chubby and have short spiky hair and normally I love myself but almost any once in a while I seek for to be thin and svelte and blonde with long hair. I’m always striving to shut that little voice up, and it’s ever so hard, especially when you have friends that are thinner or blonder or prettier or more aesthetically acceptable than you. Day I went -reluctantly and in full awareness of the horror the situation -up to the Mall with my mum to look for a prom dress. I knew I didn’t need a ‘floor length’ one -the very last thing I need on a night I’m already feeling anxious and uncomfortable is to have to added pressure of trying not to fall over the excess material of my own clothing.
I also knew that I was absolutely adverse to any sort of large ornamental flowers, overenthusiastic ruffles or anything that would make me look like a human blancmange. Turns out, that limits your choices quite severely. From this point down, I said to my poor, long suffering mother, It looks brilliant. About half way through my shopping trip, I stepped out the changing room and stood in front of the mirror in a long turquoise evening dress with a beaded bodice. I loved the dress -it was beautiful -my problem, Know what, I realised, was the pale, uncomfortable looking girl wearing it. Write
I can’t should be horribly disappointed.
I guess my real fear is that do will just be a tal and complete ‘letdown’. It’s a well-known fact that the prom was worked up to be this wonderful, magical evening and I can’t for the life of me determine how it can possibly be all that it’s promised to be. Therefore, right after a while, like when you buy that beautiful pair of shoes you’ve always wanted and when you bring them home that just sort of sit in the corner of your room for some time looking pretty and, you wonder what all the fuss was about, I guess that’s what happens with things like that. There is some more information about it here. What were you thinking? Now regarding the aforementioned fact… They don’t actually go with any other clothing you own; you can’t possibly wear them anywhere, They don’t do anything. Chances are, you’ll find an eclectic assortment of dresses at much lower costs, and one of ‘em may be right for you. I should recommend thrift and vintage stores!
Think outside of the prom dress write.and seriously, avoid the mall. It should be unique. My bum stuck out like some sort of weird globular growth; And therefore the skin on my shoulders was uneven and covered in blemishes, My lower legs were like tree trunks. Nearly any time I put on a dress, By the way I noticed one more thing that was wrong with my body. From hereafter on, I’m quite sure I knew my shopping trip was doomed. To be honest I was fixated on myself and my own flaws and shortcomings, just after that. While doing best in order to convince an evercritical ‘one person’ audience of something that was simply not there, the dresses were just a thin, decorative façade. Notice, I tried on one dress and noticed that my breasts poked out like little pointed baby traffic cones. In another, they’ve been barely there and the material of the gorgeous teal dress just sort of hung over pale, clammy skin like a forlorn handkerchief.