I recently found a letter from my grandmother containing twenty dollars. I must have been about seven when I had received it. I stumbled upon it while cleaning out my dresser this past summer, preparing to unpack from my first year of college. It stated that she wanted me to go through a catalogue, that must have been enclosed with the letter, and pick out some new clothes to order. If I needed more money I just had to ask and she would send whatever I wanted.
Up until I was about seventeen, my entire wardrobe consisted of sweatpants and t-shirts. This has always been what I am most comfortable in. My mother never taught me the ins and outs of being a girl. Makeup isn’t in my vocabulary. Dresses are always too short. My boobs are never big enough for varying necklines. Heels make me look like a giant.
When I came upon this letter all that I could think was that my grandmother had been ashamed of her first grandchild’s choices in clothing.
As I have gotten older, I have slowly allowed myself to add more of a variety to my closet. First trying jeans, then lower cut t-shirts and finally venturing into the world of dresses. But the truth is, I will always feel most comfortable in baggier clothes. However, when I am wearing basketball shorts or baggy sweatpants with a loose t-shirt and my hair up, I feel as if the World, like my grandmother, is judging me for preferring to dress like a boy over wearing pretty, girly, tight clothes. When I am wearing a dress with my hair nicely done and heels killing my feet, all I want to do is slouch down on a chair into a relaxed position, which just happens to involve my legs being slightly open.
All rather inappropriate for a young lady.
