On my worst days I dress up the most, I painstakingly take the time to do my hair just right, I wear my sexiest outfit, and my makeup has to be flawless. On those days I wear lipstick, the darkest shade I own, the boldest color, indigo. So smooth, creamy on my lips protecting them, protecting my emotions that on those days threaten to spurt from my eyes.
I remember when I broke up with my boyfriend, my first love, I was devastated. That weekend I went to my hair dresser and got 20 inch extensions, I plucked my eyebrows, got a manicure and pedicure and bought a new dress. Despite my heartbreak, I looked like a heartbreaker. At that time I worked at Victoria’s Secret, I remember greeting the customers cheerily, and of course, some would say “You’re so beautiful, I’m sure your boyfriend loves that you work here.” I would just laugh off the statement and secretly go in the fitting room and cry. Imagine trying to cry with a face full of make up in a fitting room full of bras, and insecure women constantly in need of reassurance that they are wearing the right cup size. It’s not easy. I felt like a broken woman, but I looked so put together. And even though those were superficial compliments coming from absolute strangers, sometimes they made me smile. And when I passed by the huge mirrors that were in every room of the store, I didn’t see a grief stricken, heartbroken girl, I saw a confident sexy siren staring back at me. So, that’s why on my worst days I dress up the most.
There are days when I take my lingerie out of hiding. I handle it carefully because it is delicate and intricate yet dark and mysterious. Sometimes I think to myself, that these are some very raunchy pieces. I want to raise a hand up and “meow”. On those days I feel like being sexy, I feel like admiring my physique. I put on some music I can move to and I model my lingerie for myself. I do my hair, I brush on some make up and I strike a pose. I pose for me, myself, and I; it’s quite fun actually. I don’t need any one’s approval or praise. I’m in my own space enjoying my lingerie, and I feel sexy. In fact I don’t just feel it, I know it, I own it.
The days I feel a little chubby, soft in some places; I workout hard core. I may run up and down my basement stairs or jump rope. The elliptical is always an option but the treadmill never is. After I’m drenched in sweat, and if my muscles are not too tired, I may stretch my muscles on the carpet. Afterwards I look in the mirror, sweaty, frizzy hair, in oversized clothing, I can’t help but smile. I smile because I feel good, great actually, because I don’t feel so soft anymore. Feeling fit beats feeling like a lazy lump.
On my most relaxed days, I dress up the least. I look like a totally different person, I think. My face is naked, free from foundation, pressed powder, mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, and lip gloss. My hair is far from perfect, I don’t even brush it. A simple braid will do. I run around with shades on, an oversized sweater, shorts and bedroom slippers. I laugh spontaneously at myself, at my appearance. I am a sight to see on those days but I don’t care. I can be a sexy siren, a hardcore fitness person, or a frump. As long as I am confident in myself and I end my days with a smile that’s really all that matters.