Men think we women get all gussied up to impress them.
Alas, though they’d like to believe it’s all about Steve, hate to break it to you, guys…
We love you, but we’re in the middle of a serious game.
The players: other women.
The finish line: it doesn’t finish.
The goal: envy.
Fashion doesn’t clothe, it guises. Every outfit is a role, corresponding to a play, each play with its own actresses. Many times, these plays do overlap, are staged simultaneous and the characters collide.
Think about it– men, due to their neurological makeup, are better at recognizing color and shape. Common male phrases, hence, such as, ‘the one in the tight dress’, ‘with short hair’, or ‘red dress’, are the summation of describing women.
If we were only taking one for the boys, we wouldn’t need our Chanels, Diors, Max Maras, or 15 pairs of black heels, the difference between each one unnoticed by the average male. We wouldn’t need a mocha, a light brown, a camel AND a dirty beige belt.
BROWN, is BROWN.
We need it, cause they’re our weapons. We maim self-esteems, decapitate egos, slaughter securities, kill confidences.
SO THE OTHER WOMEN BOW DOWN TO US.
And it’s going on, right under your nose, everyday. It begins with a woman entering a room. Let me present an example…
Mary walks into a party with Tom, a good looking guy. Notice the first instinct is for the other females to scan Mary north-south, south-north.
This is ‘the size up’– it connotes a very important beginning from which the rest of the game will be determined.
First, ‘is she prettier than me?’
If the answer is yes, the gut response is A. ‘bitch’, followed by B. closer scanning of Mary in hopes of finding a less obvious fatal flaw. If one is not found, the next move is for the other women to approach Mary and manipulating her into fucking up, therefore giving them a flaw.
If the answer is no, the initial reaction is ‘How did she land him?’, immediately eliciting the women in unison to scan Tom. If Tom appears to have no flaws, the women will huddle and implicitly console one another, establishing a bond of commiseration. It would be something more like this:
‘They so don’t look like a couple,’ said Jane.
‘Maybe they’re just friends,’ Gina answers.
‘Of course! FRIENDS!’ they chide in unison.
Going back to the scenario of Mary having no evident flaw upon scan two, the wagons circle. Smiles, over-exaggerated, as if having slept with hangers in their mouths, the women begin cornering Mary.
‘LOVE your dress,’ Anna exclaims.
‘Great figure, you must work out!’ Jane jumps in.
‘Don’t really get a chance to with work and all,’ Mary explains, grabbing a piece of cake.
THIS GESTURE, the cake-grabbing, has now transformed the pack from observing the prey to pouncing on it.
‘You’re so lucky to be able to eat like that and be so thin,’ Lila seethes.
‘So what do you do?’ Anna asks, nudging Mary’s arm, motivated by subconscious hate.
At this moment, the pack will move one of two ways- retreat, but only if her job reflects her being an idiot, in which case, she’s ‘just another pretty face’; or…
‘I’m a rocket scientist.’ Mary says.
Though it seems the annihilation of Mary is impending, we cannot assume Mary to fall victim, as a very imperative factor should be highlighted…
Mary is very aware, is Mary.
That’s why Mary wins.
You men play to win.
We women, well…
We win to play.