It’s another Friday night. I am wearing the prettiest of pretty dresses. Red, silk, backless. They do my makeup, they do my hair. Everything in order. I look like a fairy tale princess, hotter, but still. I see him. He sees me, flashing his stupid smile as if it would mean anything. His eyes didn’t sparkle.
He was busy with someone else and I was told.
And then I stopped. I stopped thinking about him because there was nothing to think about. He was busy and I was, well me. The queen, the woman of the night and I didn’t want to get involved with him.
Sure, I’d love to push him against a wall and do everything that is unspoken, but I knew I couldn’t.
And you’d think: “Well, you need a new prince to replace him.” Ehm, no. I don’t need anyone. Of course it’s fun to like someone, but why do we always have to assume that men give meaning to a woman’s life, when they don’t?!
Why is it in stories that women are the ones who need saving? I was going to write this whole story about how he didn’t want me, need me, how bad I felt. But that’s not the truth. I was no damsel in distress and he wasn’t a prince.
I didn’t care enough that he wasn’t mesmerized by me. Sure, it felt like sh*t for 15 minutes, but then they chanted my name and sung me songs. And for someone who loves attention as much as I do, that did it. Because I was loved. Most importantly, I was loved by the right people. I didn’t feel he was important enough to gain his attention. So, he didn’t respond to my texts. He didn’t look for me. So he didn’t show up.
WHY is it always that women are defined by their men?! Why do I always hear: “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find the right guy soon.” When reality is I don’t need “the guy”. I am not a weak, defenseless woman who can’t take care of herself. Actually, none of the women I know are weak.
We don’t need a man in shining armor to come and rescue us. Don’t need a man to define our character. We are characters by ourselves. Men only accentuate who we are and vice versa.
It’s not about the prince anymore. It’s about the princess and her choices and if you put the story-line like that, everything changes, doesn’t it?
Imagine a story starting with: “There was a princess and she happy.” You are always like: “But what about the prince?” He is not there. I am not saying we completely don’t need men. No, I am saying that we don’t need men to feel powerful, protected and safe.
I love men. They’re amazing and gentle and strong and can open pickle jars and reach for high places. But they do not define us and our life is not meaningless without them. Not at a party, not at home not through stupid texts.
I am wearing the prettiest dress. He doesn’t appreciate it. I don’t need him to appreciate it. It’d be nice to pan him against a wall and do everything that you’d do to someone you’re crazy in love with, but this is not it. Because neither I am in love, nor he likes me.
I am not dreaming of his eyes, of his soul of his senseless aroma. I am dreaming of landing the job in publishing and not landing a husband.
And I’m sorry if you expect me to keep writing love stories that make women defenseless and emotional towards the will of men. Because I am not like that. I will not use narrative to derogate women even more than they already are. I am going to use narrative to tell stories from a woman’s perspective, and believe it or not, we are not always crying.
We do not wear red, backless, silky dresses to impress men. We wear them because we know we can, because we want to, because we feel powerful enough. Not everything is about seducing men. It’s about us. It’s about me and how I feel comfortable expressing my sexappeal.
Of course I wish he grabbed and he kissed me. But that’s not because I need him to give sense to my life or because I am alone, it’s because he is hot and charming. Anyone would. With those luscious lips of his and undeniable smile, intellect and dominance.
And he wasn’t it. He didn’t tick any of my boxes. It was not the right age, not the right mindset, f*cking this other girl, being mean. He wasn’t mine to own and even the crown sitting on my wooden table, isn’t saying differently.
We were two different story-lines that are never going to come together. And it’s okay. He will do better, I will excel. However, I am sick of seeing women portrayed as dependent on men, as unhappy without men by their side. We are not. We own the power and we are not always hurt.
He was not my weakness. I wasn’t his. And he wanted me, yet I will never be his. Because I am not property.
I cannot write love stories where women depend on men. Not anymore and I am sorry to disappoint.