Style: Very feminine – LBD, stockings, killer heels, sequinned gameshow host blazer
I am very much a girly girl. I love shoes, Sex and the City and rose. I am also what you might call a man’s girl – I don’t like the term ‘ladette’ particularly, it evokes women burping after downing a pint of Stella. I love football, music and piss-taking wit. So although you will never, ever catch me in flat shoes, I am usually in a group of men, fag in hand, chatting away about Tottenham.
When I am thrust into a group of girls, I feel obliged to talk to them, particularly if we don’t know each other very well. I always get a compliment about my shoes, which is nice, but even though I adore shoes, I’m not interested in telling a random girl which shop they came from, how much they cost etc or in hearing a detailed description of her newest purchase. I’d rather be talking about Van de Vaart’s wonder goal or the time we spied Serge Pizzorno at a Courteeners gig.
I find myself being so fake with girls as well. A girl I met recently was telling me about a fabulous new mascara and I actually clapped my hands together excitedly and pasted a smile onto my unenthused face. I used to sit between two girls every Friday night feigning fascination about their latest feature walls or their new bathroom suite. God help me.
I’m not saying all girls bore me. I have a very select group of girlfriends who I adore and who I know I can have a real laugh with. My hen night might be a bit thin on the ground but rather that than endless conversations about Glee or Twilight or whatever other shit girls my age seem to glued to currently.
I just wish I could refuse the offer to look at the new wallpaper in so-and-so’s spare room in favour of chilling with the boys but I haven’t got the balls. Guess I’m not as much of a man’s girl as I thought.