Confessions of a Closet Glam Queen


I’m 23 years old and I do not own a make-up kit.

Of course, I have something that resembles it wedged somewhere between my books and my beat up, yet I cannot throw away sneakers. But somehow, the mascara has dried up and the foundation has lost its luster.

On most days, I don’t have the time to sit still in front of a mirror and try to figure out what eye shadow fits with my men’s t-shirt for the day. I also cannot be bothered to blow dry my hair or wait for my straight iron to turn red.
Getting ready often takes fifteen minutes, my hair often tied messily in a bun, my feet comfortably in my seven year old sneakers. I dream of going to work in the highest of heels (I heard wedges don’t count) and in black and sexy pantsuit just like Kate Middleton.

However, those things only happen in my head. I wear dresses but only if I can pair them with comfortable flip-flops and only if they don’t bother me when I teach.

My friends always thought that I’d get past the Mia Thermopolis phase once Anne Hathaway grows up, but even after a glam yet horrific Oscar hosting gig, I’m still stuck with the big glasses and bed head that always looks better in magazine pages than in real life.

I have admitted defeat. I am not a girlie-girl. I am more Gap than Forever 21.
But with this confession also comes the acceptance that this is the girl I choose to be and with it comes specific realities.

For one thing, boys would always see me as a little sister, the best friend’s little sister or the “good friend who can set me up with the sexy friend”.

I must admit that in my younger years, I once thought that just like Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed or Hilary Duff in all of her movies, I would turn from jean loving, converse wearing, book worm into this beautiful vixen who can put make up on effortlessly. I thought that a fairy god mother (or a really good friend with awesome fashion sense) would turn me away from all that and make me a fashion-actualized yuppie.

I’ve been a yuppie for almost four years and have numerous friends who are so fashionable they should run a magazine and yet, I’d still be Josie Gellar than Regina George.

It used to bother me, but now I kind of like the ring of it.

I can look at my closet and endlessly admire the dresses I once bought in an attempt to my sexy alter ego, who may or may not still be hiding inside of me, only time could tell but be okay with the fact that it may stay in my closet a little longer than I expected.

Bed head is okay. No make-up is okay. Being comfortable in my own skin and in my own sense of style is okay.

That even though I’m not one of those classy girls who always manage to wear a dress and look magnificent in it, every single day, it’s okay because being me is not so bad, actually it’s kind of fun.

It is kind of fun to meet girls who can walk in high heels and be the girl who can rock some serious Dr. Seuss sneakers.

Different people, different strokes.

And just like how gaga does it, a girl in sneakers can exude the same kind of confidence as the girl in a green Prada peep toe, all it takes is confidence.

So whatever it is you’re wearing today, be sure to rock it, because surely you are the one who can rock it the best.