Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The girly-girl era
I didn’t inherit the girly-girl gene. There was a time I coveted it and felt genetically cheated…namely, during high school. Clothing styles didn’t naturally make sense to me; complicated, blown-dry, Charlie’s Angels’ wings were beyond my capability. I so badly wanted to be Farrah Fawcett…sigh…I had this whole Lee Majors fantasy too…
I’ve since learned to love my casual, wash-and-go style—it suits my personality. I still can’t French braid, and throwing my hair into a giant clip when I exercise is my idea of a chignon.
My daughter didn’t inherit the girly-girl gene either…I probably don’t even carry it. She lives in soccer shorts and t-shirts—I remind her to brush her hair. However, she was graced with hair that stylists treat reverently. It’s an incredible combination of burnished gold, red, brown, light blonde with beautiful natural curl. She’s also petite, lithe, athletic—almost anything she wears looks great on her.
This works well for me. She leaves the house looking sportsy feminine—I get kudos for somehow being responsible. Life threw me a curve ball this summer though, in the form of M’s new soccer team. About half the players and their moms are girly girls—wow, I did not see that one coming.
Suddenly, matching game headbands, cute nicknames, pre-game cheers and a party-like atmosphere dominate the scene. There are constant side-line events to promote solidarity and team spirit. The girls love it—how can you not love root-beer floats, popsicles, pizza, water-balloon fights, etc., at the end of practice?
Now the moms want to embroider every item of soccer-related clothing with the girls’ nicknames and uniform numbers. I felt accomplished writing M’s name on her tags with permanent marker…I soooo need to expect more from myself…
Watching older girls during a recent soccer tournament slammed home the fact that I’m in for years of soccer haute couture. One team showed up with matching, beaded, braided hair styles—I hope they played as well as they looked.
As I grudgingly embrace this new girly phase of life, I give daily thanks for A’s soccer team. They show up, get sweaty and dirty, slap a few high fives and call it a day—what’s not to love about that?