Ma’am, are those pigtails? |Outfit Post

Hello friends!

I have not actually written about it here, but I am actually a new corresponding writer at College Fashion! That was the news I was wary of sharing in my last post! My first article can be found here. You don’t have to read it or anything…but you’d make my day brighter if you did. Anyway, that is one of the reasons why my blog was not updated sooner.

As for photographs, I am STILL trying to coax people I know into photographing me. There’s something about trying to adapt to people you are not close to and don’t feel enough trust with, and then trying to jump straight into photographs with them. I know models do that all the time, hence their professional careers. But I think major bloggers are really good at it too — and what I mean is that I’m not anywhere near that level of bounce-back ability. *laughs, cringes, laughs*

I took these photos a week or two ago when my brother and I were in the Rice Village area of Houston, one of my favorite parts of the city. I was really feeling the pigtails that day, and I’m honestly surprised I don’t wear them more. I personally hate wearing my hair down because I don’t like feeling hair on my cheeks or near my forehead (it sounds weird when I write it and read it out loud, but I swear it makes sense), and they’re an easy and cute way to keep it out of the way. It also might be that I have been feeling old lately. I have always always always been assumed to be much younger than I look, but not in a way that was flattering, instead, it was embarrassing, as I would often have to explain that yes, I was fourteen, not nine. Actually, two years ago I pretended to be twelve to get on a subway for free. I was eighteen then. But since turning twenty, I kid you not, I have been told that I am older than I look now, and someone did the unthinkable, and I was shaken to my core. Prepare yourselves.

Someone called me “ma’am”. Oh…my…goodness.Β 

Okay, actually I laughed and instantly whispered to myself, “what the fuck?” as if in denial, and then chuckled for then next five minutes, finally resulting in me staring at a wall, refusing to look in the mirror because I was terrified that my crow’s feet were showing more.

The run-on sentence there was necessary to show you my thought process and realization, or awareness or whatever (I’m clearly not over it) —

is twenty old?!Β 

Obviously not. But I think this realization that I am no longer the kid generation, the generation that adults turn to and say “you’re the future!” with a pat on the back. The feeling of invincibility that teens have, that eager feeling to experience everything, it should still be mine, as well as my peers. But for some reason, it feels as if society is moving at such a fast pace thanks to technology or social media, and now the generation that gets the spotlight and the hope and all that good stuff is gone. My generation is now the cynical millennial group, the group that doesn’t have anything figured out. The unsatisfied and lost young adults. Imagine all of this finally hitting you in public, as someone “ma’am”s you for the first time, your whole youth flashing before your eyes, and remembering how you didn’t accomplish any of the stupid things teen movies tell you you have to do to have a proper teenage experience, and the things you promised your younger self that you would do… … … … and now, I’m no longer “sweetheart”, or “honey”, or “darlin'” (because it’s Texas and we’re in the south dammit).

Now, with all this in mind, doesn’t it seem like a rational and logical response to ask the person calling you the awful adult pronoun “what the fuck?” as in “what the fuck is a ma’am, and how does it refer to me? what the fuck are you trying to say about my crow’s feet?!!!!!” or lastly, in my calamity, the most serious and vain question, that embarrasses me to admit — “what the fuck do you mean I’m not the little one anymore?! Also should I invest in eye cream, is that what you’re saying? Wait, I’m old? Ahhh what the fuck!”

See? It makes sense once I provide context.

Anyway, time for some photos, so you can see my adorable as fuck pigtails (clearly still not over it).

DSCN0632
Not helpful: the random wind + peplum combination. I was actually groaning through my teeth I was so annoyed by it.
DSCN0633
But on the other hand, this wall was such a nice shade of blue, n’est-ce pas? #thelittlethingsinlife #blessed ok, I can show myself out.
DSCN0631
SEE THE WIND — but also my side eye looks decent here, so I am content.

Outfit details: top/A&F // denim/Pull&Bear // bag/Street Level // shoes/ Adrienne Vittadini // jewelry/all old stuff at this point, since I am trying to do #30wears with my stuff.

I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. I sincerely hope that this is not a quarter life crisis. Those supposedly happen afterΒ college graduation, so I am at least two years away from that situation. You know, reading my rant above made me reconsider my approach to anger. I still justify being startled by the whole “ma’am” thing. But I think what affected me was due to how I thought about it. Maybe the whole fear of not being the spotlight generation was just an inner notion of vanity, and of egocentricity. If so, then yes, yesΒ I’m getting old; I must be growing old if I’m able to pinpoint the fault on my side.

I might have to crank out my little childhood bucket list and finish all the stuff on it before I become twenty-one, though. I don’t know if I’ll be able to feel like a child anymore if I am legally able to do basically everything.

I also feel like it validates some of my childhood when I tell you that I have been writing this with my Harry Potter Gryffindor fleece blanket that I got in junior high. I’m secretly but not so secretly trying to absorb youth back into myself…and possibly searching for eye creams on Amazon too. Gotta start early.

Thanks for reading! And hopefully this makes you laugh and feel younger.

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