Femininity

What is that?

A word that once held so much whimsy is now so completely laden with all the angry reflexive baggage we have accumulated. We are hound-dog scrutineers; so easily filled with indignation for real or imagined or confected faux pas.

Outraged, y’hear?

I’m so confused about the whole thing. I don’t actually give a toss about what people wear, or who they kiss or what they dream of being/becoming. As long as it isn’t rapist or serial killer, I’m OK with transformational aspirations. I just object to umbrage. Each generation forms its own committee to decide the social mores of the day. They do their best to improve on what was, and they seek to educate all the old codgers on what you can and can’t say/do/think or believe in ‘these days’

But, after all, we’re just a work-in-progress. There’s not really a full stop, just a great big breath that needs to be taken at the end of a lot of talking about a lot of stuff.

So, femininity? Some folks love the idea of femininity, it conjures an image of girly-girls, high heels and lipstick and long floaty hair and a deep love for puppies and kittens and butterflies and cupcakes and frilly skirts and romance. That’s alright. For me, femininity is a bizarre construction. When I step out, I prefer anonymity.

So returning to the topic of perfume… what exactly is a feminine fragrance? Is it lightweight floral powdery puff stuff? Is it pudding? Is it nail polish remover and hairspray? Is it body heat and arousal inside fur coats, followed by cigarettes and martinis after sex? Is it inoffensive nondescript, generic soapy musk and aldehydes with a plastic flower stuffed in an acrylic vase? Is it lollies and fruit salad?

No.

It’s whatever YOU want it to say. Whether you’re female, femme, feminist, feminine, a cougar, a nana, a man, a coquette, a nun or a cheer-leader…you decide Princess!

 

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