If You're a Girl, It's Okay to Not Do These Things
They're called gender stereotypes for a reason - because somewhere along the way of life, enough boys did this thing and enough girls did this other thing, so then everyone was all like "Oh well. If that many women do that, it's safe to assume they should/will all do that." It's just the truth, guys. And no - I'm not getting up on a feminism soap box by any means, I'm just pointing out the obvious that everyone makes certain assumptions about men and women because it's pretty much engrained to do so. I go back and forth, honestly. Parts of me are like "I love being a girl and being expected to love cute, miniature things and soft colors." But the more abrasive side of me is all, "I like BEER. And MEAT. And pink is UGLY." So, I decided to pull together a list of things I think are okay to not know how to do nor want to do because you just don't fucking feel like it.
A really nice part of having a vagina and boobs is that you're totally allowed to use them as an excuse to get pampered. Nail salons were created so you don't have to be good at painting your own hands or feet - duh. Manis! and Pedis! are a really nice trade-off we girls get to indulge in and not be judged for (unless you're still getting "flower on big toe" or "pop" nails because, come on). I've written before about how I feel adult women should be able to manage their own manicures, but I've learned to back down from this stance and just accept that not every female has the talent nor the patience to mold that talent into anything more than a shotty, crap, at-home manicure. Personally, I only spend money on pedicures since my fingernails grow way too fast (like a teenage boy's sex organ) and chip almost instaneously. Therefore, I cannot justify the money. But plenty of girls can and do and I say YAY FOR YOU.
Bake impressive things.
One time, I fancied myself a damn pastry chef and attempted to create a gorgeous two-tiered chocolate cake for my father's birthday. It was a lot of work, but looked so beautiful. Proof:
Slightly tilted, yes, but that was the cake stand's fault - not mine (huge Target fail). I was so excited to present it to him on his 60th, but when we cut into it and took a bite, I quickly realized "Andddddd I suck at cakes." I always had an inkling that cakes weren't my thing, but I had to try at least once to prove myself right, RIGHT? IMO, if you can at least pull out a decent to good chocolate chip cookie (from scratch), you're gold. However, if you're still messing around with bake and break, you may want to check yourself before you "Cher" yourself, AMIRITE?
In Stamford, Connecticut around 1996, my father (not my mother) attempted to teach my sister and I how to braid hair. He demonstrated by grounding three pieces of thick rope to his workman's desk and began throwing the two outside ropes over each other so they criss-crossed over and under the middle rope. Suffice it to say, this did not and does not work on human hair. Years later, I'm sure some tweenaged friend taught me the real way, but only the simplest version of it. Never again in my life have I been interested in learning the intricacies of the French, fishtail, or multiple braid variety. My fingers are not nimble, and my patience wears incredibly thin when I've even halfway attempted to learn the hairy ropes of expert braiding. And I'm okay with that. Let my friends braid my hair if need be, I say. It's a bonding opportunity, anyway.
Enjoy mindless reality TV.
I. Hate. Reality. TV. There. I said it and I'm not sorry for it. I hate every breed of it - older women, younger girls, pointlessly famous families. It's all terrible. Many of my friends and females alike claim they only watch it to numb their minds. They say it's 30 minutes of the day wherein they can decompress and not have to use one brain cell to decipher what's going on or why. Okay. I get that, I guess. But I'd rather sit in silence and stare at a brick wall for a half hour than partake in the mind-numbing idiocracy of scripted fights and completely uncandid candid moments. I sometimes feel like all girls are expected to drool over drama in Melbourne or the manscaping of the newest douche bachelor, and I just have never and will never be able to get on that train. I won't judge you if you love watching 16-year-old girls walking around all knocked up and such, but don't expect me to know what the hell you're talking about when you discuss it. Sorry, Kim and Kourtney and Khloe and Lady Bruce Jenner :-/
Like nice clothes.
Button down shirts make me feel suffocated. Blazers, when worn improperly sized, make me feel like Tommy Boy a la "Fat guy in a little coat." Tight shirts require me not eating five days prior to wearing one. More often that not, I most enjoy a pair of incredibly worn-in sweatpants, an oversized (and soft) t-shirt, and a fantastic pullover sweatshirt or hoody. Of course, I love to dress up when the occasion calls for it. But if we're being honest, I'd always rather be decked out in my disgusting clothes. Heels and tight jeans are nice, but taking them off at the end of the night is way nicer. Not only that, spending money on throwaway clothes is so much more feasible for most girls. Yeah, sure. That designer whatever is great. But I kinda feel like eating this month, so I think I'll buy the incredibly cheap version of it, if you don't mind. Give me cold weather, a beanie, 14 layers, and some great knock-around boots and I AM ALL ABOUT IT.