Really?
Let me distract you with my hair.
Oh well, I am dead.
I like pretty things. Every since I was a child, I was attracted to things I deemed pretty, including rocks (the stories my mother could tell you about the rocks I brought home), toys, and books. I would just as often pick a book up because I liked the cover art, without really bothering to read about the story (this changed as I got older, although I do still like good cover art). I wanted the prettiest, shiniest toys, and I wanted my clothes to be pretty and shiny too. I have distinct memories of the play purses my mother would get me (either her old purses or thrift store ones), and filling them full of useless but pretty things (because I wanted to have them with me all the time). I also remember playing a game for many years, where every time I would see a pretty lady (which, in my estimation, was most ladies), I would mutter under my breath that I was going to be her. Then I shortened it to “I’m her” and then it was shortened even further to “mer”, a nonsense syllable that meant nothing to anyone but me. I was a little bit obsessive-compulsive as a kid (still am, but less so) and I would sometimes spend half an hour just flipping through magazines, looking at pictures and repeating my monosyllabic mantra to myself.
I started the “mer” game when I was in preschool. I don’t remember giving it any special significance until I was older, and really started thinking I was ugly, fat and unlovable. But even as my negative body image grew, I never lost my love of pretty things. I collected costume jewelry and tried to find nice clothes, which got progressively harder as I grew. I was a very girly girl in appearance, but I didn’t feel like it as much. In fact, I felt worse and worse about myself as I got older, until I hit high school and an all-time self-esteem low. I remember very well what one of my friends from high school said to me about the first time she saw me. It was the first day of school and we had a class together, and she said I swept into the room with long, dark hair, a lovely blouse and a flowing skirt. She said I seemed to own the room. I don’t remember that day. Probably I was wracked with nerves and had dressed nice to try to boost my confidence. I probably didn’t think I looked that great either. After all, I was 14 and almost 6 feet tall, already over 300 lbs and extremely awkward in my body. As high school went on, I stopped wearing nice things most of the time. I retreated into dowdy clothes, jeans and t-shirts, only wearing pretty things when I performed. I cherished those times, wearing lovely dresses on stage. Even in the plays, when I was in costume, I felt like a better looking me.
It wasn’t until very recently that I began really reclaiming my love of looking nice. I adore a fancy shirt and skirt combo. Being tall and fat make it harder to find nice clothes, of course, which just makes me more determined to find them and enjoy them. I’m still waiting for a chance to wear the adorable red dress I bought in Portland when I went to my friend’s wedding.
I appreciate pretty things of all kinds. Not just expensive things like jewelry (although I don’t really like diamonds) and BJDs, but also knitted items, or a well-made basket, or a nicely decorated room. It makes me happy to experience aesthetically pleasing things, and it’s also interesting to observe how my tastes have changed over time.
Anyway, I’m going back to my pretty, pretty video game now. ;D
MirrorMe 