It’s been a while since my last blog post. I realize this now.
I have followers on Instagram that show me more love that I could ever deserve. Sometimes though, I wonder if I’m endorsing too much of a perfect image, which goes against my principles of staying real. Recently, I’m being asked many questions by the most amazing young girls about how/why I’m “always happy,” how I keep my skin/hair/body “looking so good,” or how I’m “so lucky.” The thing is, these girls don’t see how amazing they are because they’re too busy comparing their lives to others’.
Now we have enough betches in the media endorsing “all perfect everything,” “ you can’t sit with us,” emphasizing on having round booties, and creating complexes for people who have anything less than 20 Chanel bags, 10 Birkins and a private jet. Hence, I have slithered hither to provide a quick reality check to many out there who have lost their grasp on reality. This one is for the ladies.
I would like to clarify something. The reason I love photography so much is because you capture “happy” moments. You could be in the worst mood, having the worst time, and yet you will still manage to strike a pose and smile for the camera. Even a slight crop can change an entire scenario. In a couple of years, you will look back at that photo not even remembering how awful you felt. You will only see what it wants you to see. That being said, don’t set your standards of happiness according to what you believe other people’s lives are like. We are all bullshit artists – one way or another.
Today, I will not point fingers at anyone to get my point across. Instead, I will use my flaws as an example.
- I could practice yoga twice a day, everyday, but if I stop for one or two weeks, I can kiss my round butt goodbye. Not everyone is blessed with a big booty, and not everyone cares enough to go under the knife to get a fake ass. The guy I’ll end up with is someone who will fall for my brain, not my behind. So yes, I’d rather have a flat ass. Because my flat ass is mine.
- I have B cups – and while many may consider that small, I don’t care. They’re mine and I love them. I can wear whatever I want, unbutton my shirt all the way down if I want to, and not look skanky. I don’t understand women with fake D cups and I think you have something really messed up in that head of yours to go and insert implants the size of a newborn baby into your skin. Why would anyone want to purposely do that? As for the women with natural big breasts, this does not apply to you because those D cups are yours just like my B cups are mine.
- I have freckles all over my face, chest and arms. I have never tried hiding them once. A photographer once photoshopped them out for me. I told him he was an asshole and never worked with him again because he tried erasing something that’s mine. On that note, I have uneven nostrils and my nose looks more like a bird’s beak. I hate the right side of my face, but I don’t care. It’s mine. When I’m tired, my eyes don’t open, and if they do, my right one is visibly smaller than the left. I don’t care, I’m blessed enough to have two beautiful eyes to call mine.
- While many may perceive me as intimidating, I am the clumsiest person I know. I’ve lit a table on fire on a first date. I’ve tripped and landed on stranger’s table at a Michelin starred restaurant. I’ve chipped my tooth at least four times in my life. My legs are always bruised because I’m always walking into tables and falling down the stairs. I snort when I laugh and I’m pretty loud when I get excited. I bite and chew on my cuticles, and when I don’t, I’m usually twirling my hair. And boy do I love my hair, but it’s always all over the place – including someone’s mouth. But these are my flaws and these are the things that make me different than you. And if I’m not hurting anyone by possessing these qualities, why on earth would I change them? I know that even if 6 billion people hate these things about me, one person who will matter the most to me will love each and every one of them because they make me, me; because they’re mine.
- I am big on manners, but there are some I do not possess. I am the most unpunctual person I know. I have tried to change that – and failed. I have a potty mouth and use the word “fuck” at least once in every conversation. “Where’s my fucking phone? Are you fucking serious? You look fucking great!” Sorry, not sorry. I have road rage – the worst you’ve ever seen. I like men more than women because they’re simpler to deal with and I don’t have to worry about their competitive jealousy spells. As a result, I tend to act like a man sometimes. And no, it’s not penis envy. I have bad manners too, but they’re fucking mine.
- As for my personal style . . . I love wearing men’s clothes and I do it all the time. My brother now locks his room, so you can find me happily gliding through the men’s section, grabbing the last available size, and pissing some guy off – like a boss. I love fashion but I am not obsessed with it – there are many things I’m more interested in. I make my own money and I can’t always afford to buy everything I like. Boohoo, I don’t care, because that’s how I started getting creative with styling my old clothes in new ways. Inversely, I can never wear the same outfit or dress twice and I shop every week. This is probably why I’m broke five days per month and can’t change that if my life depended on it. I binge drink and eat cake, cookies and chocolate for dinner – a few times per month. The day after I do that, I stay away from shorts, tight dresses and crop tops.
- And with regards to trends, I will never pretend to like certain mainstream things just because they’re popular. These include, but are not limited to, the following: Slang, Kim Kardashian, Agent Provocateur, Nicki Minaj’s ass, the Celine luggage tote, Isabel Marant wedge sneakers, the French manicure, and 16 cm heels. This is not being a “hater” – this is me being “honest.”
So no, I am not perfect and I’m aware of it – but I’m real. I will not try conforming to anyone’s standards. I will not pretend to be anything I am not to make anyone like me. And I most certainly won’t pretend to be ideal in order to be idolized. I will always look up to people and learn from them. I will always have my idols and mentors, but I will always love and idolize myself first, last and most.
In a nutshell: enough Instagram filters, slimming apps, surgeries and shopping sprees. Relax. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Stop comparing your misfortunes to other people’s fortunes. You don’t know what’s really going on behind the scenes. No one is happy all the time. No one has the perfect marriage. No one looks good all the time. We all have cellulite; we all worry about how we look or how to hide that ugly pimple. We all have at least that one physical flaw we could definitely do without. We all want to be adored by that one guy. Despite everything, work on being the best you can be, according to your standards. And be thankful for everything. And don’t forget to wake up every morning and fall in love with yourself all over again because you’re fucking amazing. And when you finally love yourself enough, you’ll realize what life is all about:
Because your life is yours.