Friday, January 25, 2013
I used to have a damaging relationship with one of my salsa teachers. Sounds a bit awkward doesn't it, especially considering she's a girl.
The problem was she's one of those girls with so much self-confidence it practically shines out of her, and I was one of those girls to whom self-confidence seems some kind of mythical creature only seen by the favoured few. The miniscule bit I had was instantly halved whenever she walked into the same room.
I hated her.
Yet at the same time I kept telling myself that one day I would be exactly like her. She was my image of perfection that I was (pointlessly) aiming for. Even though I hated her. Messed. Up.
However, last night the bf and I went to a salsa club and this teacher was also there.
I waited for the usual kick in my gut followed by the 'woe is me, why do I even bother blah blah' that normally runs through my head. But it didn't happen. I was wearing a beautiful black and white dress I bought specially for new year, I had done my hair and it was actually behaving, and my calves were a wee bit sore from rocking my interval run earlier. I felt amazing and even she couldn't knock that down.
And THEN I had a revelation. This girl has a definite style, kinda B-girl, hip hop style. And whatever she wears she looks really good. But she doesn't look girly. Last night for the first time in my life I realised that I have a style, and it's girly.
I will never ever look like my salsa teacher, and it turns out I actually don't want to. I'm pretty darn sexy (in a cute, girly way) as I am.
As if that wasn't enough it struck me that, although we are completely different and dressed completely different, we both looked beautiful to me. And the girl covered up in a plain cream top looked beautiful. And the skinny girl in the boob tube and leggings looked beautiful. And the short girl in the baggy red jumper-dress looked beautiful.
What an incredible world, to have so many kinds of beautiful.