“Girl, Don’t Your Feet Hurt?”

So let me set up the situation for you:

I decide to go out a party with some friends for Homecoming Weekend. Five dollars to get in, no drinks or food; just a regular “dollar party”, as we would call it in Philadelphia. I plan to dance, maybe talk to a few guys, make some friends, and go on my merry way.

When I get there, all the females are wearing the classic hoochie wear, some look like they are porn stars, and some just look like they are trying to get a really good raise at work (if you understand what I’m saying). Even some of my friends are dressed in this manner, with painful heels on and some oh-too-revealing apparel. Which is fine by me, because this is a free country. I’m just not the type. Well, why am I not the type, you ask? Why won’t I bend over backwards and hurt my tender feet for the glance of a man?

Well, let’s observe the other side of this equation.

While most of these sad, pitifully unstable girls are trying to work their asses off to impress on the dance floor, the guys are wearing, well, their regular clothes. Baggy jeans, tees (some white tees!) and nice, comfortable sneakers. In fact, some of these males were wearing the same wardrobe to the party that they did to the football game hours ago!! They didn’t care about how they looked! And worst of all, most guys don’t even dance, which mean the female is killing herself trying to dance sexy with this guy, feet swelling, and he’s floating on air in his New Balances. Pitiful!

So why, females, do we try (well, do YOU try) so hard to look so good for these men, when they don’t think twice about putting on a new shirt, or a nice tie, for you? Why do we (yes, even I sometimes) take hours to fix ourselves up and put this and that on, when men don’t even look in the mirror before they leave out the door?

I went to the party with Chuck Taylors on, and I could have danced all night long. Those other girls, well, I hope they had cars, because Athens is a hilly town, and if you can’t two-step in those heels, it will be hell walking back to the dorms. One of my friends brought slippers with her to wear after the party was over, which was a very smart idea. But why wear the painful heels in the first place, I ask. She’s taller than me; at 5’2, if I ‘m not wearing heels, no one should be. They make her feel confident, I guess. Yes, being able to walk on stilts would promote confidence in some, I’m sure. Heels put your ass up, make your switch harder, and, I’m sure, the boys do stare. But if he isn’t impressed by you without the stilettos on, what is there to wearing them anyway? Surely you don’t walk to class in four-inches, right?

So what is my point?

Confidence comes from the soul. It cannot be summed up into clothes, or sexy/painful booty-shakes. A real man wants a woman who can draw attention to herself by her smile, her laugh, and, oddly enough, her intellect. Now, I don’t mean to say that every man is looking for that special someone (and if he is at a party, I would advise him to look elsewhere), but even a one-night stand potential wants to see a piece of ass that is left to the imagination! I mean, if he can SEE YOUR ASS WHILE YOU ARE TALKING, what is there to expect? What is there to reveal? Think about it: if men walked around with their penii swinging around, would many of them be as confident as they are? And still, would you still be thinking about taking him home if you saw that Mr. Big Shot packed very little package?

Oh, ladies, I love you. Especially my Nubian sistas, because we are victims of these inequities the most. We are put on a pedestal against Buffy the Body and Beyonce, and we just cannot let our men down and have them face the truth: Most women are not built like Beyonce, nor do we have the money to dress like them 24/7. But by not giving them the truth, aren’t we perpetuating the objectivity of the Black female (or “female” period) that we have struggled so hard to rise above? We are not “things” ladies; we are not Barbie dolls, toys to be played with… we are strong and powerful, with all of our clothes on! We can get any man we choose, with flats on nonetheless! And if not, fudge that misogynist bastard! Don’t take this degradation any longer!

Now, tie those Chucks up, and go get your man.

I can’t look like this:                  When you look like this:

His Dream Girl                  My Reality


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