As I stared at my closest, my hope diminished by the second. It was my first Halloween weekend in college, and my costume plans had just fallen apart.
On a whim, I decided to attend a party with my roommate to make up for the absolutely terrible week I just survived. It was a few hours until we’d be leaving. I was so excited at first, but now I was scared of showing up.
Timidly, I turned to my roommate and asked for help. She immediately jumped at the offer.
She pulled a dress from her closet and said I could be Silvermist from “Tinkerbell.” She helped me search for fairy wings at Walmart, pulled out eyeshadow pallets and applied blue powder to my eyelids.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked at the tight, blue sequin dress I was borrowing and the cheap glittery wings. I leaned close to see the shades of blue adorning my eyelids.
I felt different. I felt beautiful. I felt like a woman.
I was a total tomboy when I was younger. I hated anything deemed feminine. Makeup, hair products, glitter, pink, dresses; if it was considered girly, it wasn’t for me.
The problem? I was also a huge theater kid.
I was heavily involved with musical theater until middle school – that’s when I started dance classes and show choir. My time with show choir ended my senior year of high school, but I’ve continued to dance in college. I took the stage in first grade and haven’t left it since.
However, I hated doing my hair and makeup. I hated touching my eyes to apply mascara and eyeliner. I dreaded using hairspray, despising the sticky feeling on my skin and the suffocating smell. I avoided clothing that revealed my shoulders or arms, as they were riddled with acne and scars.
A theater kid who hates cosmetics: Weird combination, right?
But I loved what I did, so I suffered through it.
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My mom always did my hair and makeup for me. She offered to teach me multiple times, and I rejected every offer. Why would I want to do all that for something other than a performance?
Come sophomore year of high school, I was forced to learn to do it myself. My show choir had a few overnight trips for competitions, and there was no way I would ask my mom to come to my hotel room to help me.
Similarly, when I moved away for college, I realized even more how much I relied on my mom.
Sure, I know how to do basic makeup. But, do I really know?
I couldn’t tell you how to craft perfectly winged eyeliner; I can barely apply it. I can’t figure out how to determine the best shade of lipstick or blush for my skin tone. Finding the right foundation shade is a nightmare; I vividly remember an Ulta worker handing me a bottle and telling me it was the “lightest shade” they had.
I don’t know how to curl my hair. I don’t know what clothes look most flattering on me. I can't even paint my nails without looking like a seven year old tried to do it.
I don’t know how to be feminine. I don’t know how to be a woman.
But, I’m learning.
I’m fortunate to be surrounded by women who know how to embrace their femininity. I’m grateful for my former roommate who lent me her dress for that Halloween party. I’m grateful for my current roommate who lets me borrow her nail polish and helps me paint my nails. I’m grateful for my best friend who told me what eyeliner shape and nude lipstick color was right for me.
I’m not saying this is only for girls. I'm aware there are men out there who understand makeup way better than I do, or gender non-conforming individuals who could style themselves better than me.
I’ll admit I had a distorted view of feminism in middle school. I assumed to be a feminist, you had to reject all things girly, like the color pink and makeup. I thought I had to forego the skirt for a pair of pants if I wanted to be taken seriously. I thought I couldn’t call someone out for their sexist remarks while wearing lip gloss.
But now, all these “girly” things make me feel feminine. It’s a foreign feeling, but I am finding my way. Being on my own in college and forced to learn to do it all myself has allowed me to embrace what I used to reject. I’m still feminine. I’m still a woman.
My womanhood isn’t nonexistent just because I can’t curl my hair or paint my nails.
Taylor Powers is a sophomore double majoring in journalism and media and communication. She is the assistant opinion editor for The Student and edits for The Miami Student Magazine. She’s also a PR chair for Miami Dance Corps.
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