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Or maybe, every once in a while, you can make the mature adult decision to act like a rebellious adolescent. In life, most days you get dressed and conquer the world. So some days you can get stoned and eat from a bucket. After all, before a flower can grow, it needs a little pot.
The sidewalks of New York are full of traffic. But instead of cars we have clothes. But even in a city as crowded as New York, sometimes you walk alone. As I broke free from another break up, I couldn't help but wonder: We spend so much time dating—were we neglecting our most important relationship? We spend all our energy loving purses, dresses, and men—did we have any left to love ourself?
What if the secret to being happy in life was hidden on the inside? Maybe self love is like a DIY Gucci purse: It takes a lot of work, and even if it doesn't turn out perfect it still feels fabulous. Because maybe our quirks and flaws make us who we are. After all, the cracks in the ceiling let the light in. The cracks in the sidewalk let the flower grow. Sometimes the perfect little black dress…is grey. So I smiled. Because if you can love who you're walking with even when you're walking alone…well that's just fabulous.
It can be scary to leave your comfort zone. To trade your trusty habits in hopes for a little magic. I couldn't help but wonder: Do men really want a strong woman—or when we flex our muscles, are they afraid to lose their power? And fetish or no fetish, how much pain was one woman expected to take before she disappeared? Some people get off on pain. But most get out. How much rejection before she retreated to her comfort zone, wondering, Was I too bold, too out there, too this, too that, too much?
As I put my whip away for good, I started thinking about the circus. The loud lion is the one who gets whipped. Even so, I think I'd rather be the lion who roared. Because maybe it's better to give your all and get hurt, than to play tame and wonder "What If? I am woman. And through it all—tears, setbacks, scared men and masked pain—we keep roaring. Winter is Fall and Fall is next year. Spring is Cruise and Summer is Couture.
Sometimes you have to fake it. You have to strut like a leopard even though you feel like scaredy cat. After all, it was too late to say No now.
Maybe courage is like a pair of sparkly underwear: bold, beautiful, but usually covered up. Hidden within because showing your sparkle can be scary. As I looked up at the downtown crowd, I started thinking about life. Some say life is a highway. I say it's a runway. And the only thing worse than being fashion roadkill is being too chicken to cross the road.
Maybe true courage is being afraid to fall—but stepping on the runway, anyway. And maybe our stumbles really do make us stronger, and your dreams are waiting for you just on the other side of fear. In the city of New York, there are over 4 million women. And Big, it seemed, wanted to date them all.
Welcome to the Age of Options. Playing the field was the new power suit and monogamy was like last season Prada: outdated and hard to find.
I couldn't help but wonder: in a world where the next best thing is just a right swipe away—was exclusivity left to die? Was every modern relationship destined to leave you green with envy, red with anger, or just plain blue? Well, even if polygamy was the new It Bag, just like Skechers and Scrunchies, some trends were not for me. I was looking for all-consuming love.
And like we learned in kindergarten, if a boy is making you blue, it's time to pack up your crayons and your construction paper clutch and go home. Sure, there were a lot of women in New York, but as a wise one once sang: I'm every woman. It's all in me.
And if that's not enough to beat his FOMO, then it's time to walk home solo. Because I'd rather be alone than on the side. And I'd rather be with my girls than be just another one of his. How many coats does it take to paint over pain? And even if it looks like you've gone from drab to fab, will some of us always be fixer-uppers? After all, I have bad hair days and bad mood days.
Sometimes I get upset over nothing, and sometimes I feel nothing when I should be upset. I make mistakes. I stay out too late. I drink on an empty stomach and I sneak cigarettes and I let bad people in while I push good ones away.
To paint your face and remodel your self with the Sasha Fierceness you need and the magic Aladdin that'll keep you Sane. It's not faking it. It's making it. And even if you never turn out perfect, it's better to go down painting than sit around waiting for the handyman. Because maybe the one who can fix you, is you. But a side of you you haven't discovered yet. And maybe that's life's ultimate do-it-yourself project. To create your Self. And if we do it together, do-it-yourself won't mean alone.
In life, sometimes when you look ahead, all you see is your past. Your future gets crowded with coulda woulda shouldas and maybe-next-time exes. As I stood in the market looking at a sea of foreign spices, I saw something sweet and familiar: Aidan. Plus, New Yorkers travel with enough baggage already. And the other could be Big.
Coco Chanel famously said: Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off. Not today, Coco. Some days a girl's gotta go extra. Because what if that one thing is what makes it yours? What are we giving up when we're toning down? And when did fitting in become more important than being fabulous?
It's been said that New York never sleeps. It's also the city that never shuts up. Construction sites, car alarms, bus stops, bar fights, upstairs neighbors, subway screeches, sirens, pigeons, parties, pigeon parties.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder: Is the loudest sound in all of New York the voice inside your head? Thinking too much about what other people think and not enough about what makes you happy. And if we can't even take risks with clothes, what else are we missing out on?
Some days you have to say no to Coco and yes to Youyou, look in the mirror, and add one thing: quiet confidence. Because it takes more than feathers, gold, and sparkle to live as loud as New York.
Maybe men are like rain drops: unpredictable and annoying. As Petrovsky rained on my Paris parade, I started thinking about the stormy weather in my love life. Or was our relationship like a cobblestone road—charming, but a little too bumpy? A wise redhead once said: the sun will come out tomorrow.
But sometimes you have to part the clouds yourself. Instead of waiting for Captain Planet, you have to play Mother Nature. After all, a little sunshine can stop a shit storm. Because, like Paris, Petrovsky was romantic and sophisticated—but just not right for me.
Maybe storms are what help you grow before you blossom in the sun. In the meantime, grab your umbrella, put some polka in your dots and dance in the rain. And as flowers bloom, fashion blossoms. Maybe I could let my heart out of hibernation and open myself up to love. After all, seasons change. Can people? With a spring in my step, I was frozen no more. The flowers follow you. Because even a New Yorker needs a little nature.
They say life's a journey, not a destination. I guess that's why us girls need so many bags. As I stepped into another new relationship, I started thinking about baggage.
We all have it. We might try to dress it up in Louis Vuitton luggage or squeeze it into a cute little fanny pack—but even fake Gucci carries real emotions. I couldn't help but wonder: If everyone has baggage, why do we try so hard to hide it? And if we're so comfortable baring our skin, why do we hide our hearts?
Someone who loves you more the more they see. To make sure you love you as much as they do. And to make sure your shoes always, always match your baggage. But, by far, the scariest figure in all of Manhattan is: The Ghost. The guy who acts interested and then just disappears. Instead of "Boo! No balls but still a dick. Leaving the ghosted woman to wonder, Why didn't he text back? What did I do wrong? What's wrong with me?
Maybe he's just at the gym? I wonder: In an age of bots, swipes, and texts, is honest communication as old-fashioned as a newsboy cap?
Is open dialogue as out of place as an oversized tie on a little black dress? You need your most fabulous friends to perform an exorcism. After all, you can ghost the ghost.
Erase him from your memory and free up space for all the good stuff. They're scared. And you should never let a dead text stop you from living your best life. Remember kids: Be Human, Don't Ghost behumandontghost. Meanwhile back in Manhattan, I was heading to a midtown brunch to debut a midriff top. As I waited to be picked up, I started thinking: On the road to love, some of us are stuck on the sidewalk.
But that doesn't have to be sad. When life gives you crap plaid, make a crop top. And when life gives you "single," make it sensational. I couldn't help but wonder: Is being single the new summer vacation? Hot, steamy, fun and free from responsibility?
And in the age of 10, Netflix options and a ZipCar on every corner, could singledom—with all its choice, freedom and flexibility—be the ultimate status symbol?