The Dyke and her Boyfriend
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My best friend who hates malls more than death finally succumbed to the fact that he needed new outfits for work, so he dragged me along for his shopping spree. We wandered around the kid-ridden mall, moving from one shop to another as I browsed through the men’s and women’s section in every store I went into. I tend to go through the men’s department first as the clothes there are more likely to accommodate to my boyish charm.
We walk into Zara, a personal favorite. I pick up a few items from here and there and get into the fitting rooms. I try on a light blue woven fabric dress shirt. The fabric looks fancy, quite corporate, and even though blue is not my color, I push myself to take the risk! The outcome looks great around the bust, but somehow tight around the belly. Cheeseburgers aren’t shy. Perhaps I should’ve listened to my ex and had more salads… skipped the 2AM mankoushé1… she was a femme-inist like that, but that’s another column.
Another challenge, I experiment with a wide neck t-shirt. The color goes with my eyes and skin tone, but does it go with my personality? My image? Is it too “girly”? How “girly” is a girl supposed to be? And if a girl likes guys’ clothes, does that make her “gurly”?
Where do we draw the line between masculinity and femininity? As a woman, I find myself comfortable in clothing that tends to fit a bit loosely. I enjoy the sporty look although the only sport I actually practice is in the bedroom. Does my style shun away my femininity?
I look in the mirror again. The tight t-shirt highlights my love handles. In fact, it sets a spotlight on them. I start to get uncomfortable… Oh god. Why did I walk into Zara? Why didn’t I just go into Mango where they have slimming mirrors that make you look lean and beautiful? I was trapped in a 1x1meter fitting room with bad lighting! And a dirty floor! I look at the pile of the unfitting clothes and my heart screams “¿Que he hecho yo para merecer esto?2”. I quickly undress myself.
Facing a reflection of my ego, I stand semi-naked and I remember Bart Simpson in the exact situation before his mum pulled the curtain wide open and exposed him for everyone to see… my utter shoppo-phobia! I’m glad my mother’s home. I make my escape.
As I flutter my androgynous wings into the denim section at Bershka, my eyes suddenly light up! Since when do they carry such cuts? Why am I unaware that change has come? As I hold up a pair of jeans, my best friend interrupts my bedazzlement and says “Phoenix, this is the men’s section. The women’s section is on the other side.” My jaw drops, thus ending my original surprise. It’s not that I have a problem in actually wearing men’s jeans, it’s just that their style isn’t exactly “petite”. I drag my feet like a defeated soldier. I look at the racks with the different cuts in the women’s section, the “flared cut”, the “boot cut”, “skinny jeans”.. Ugh! We don’t exactly have gonads but Qoqo3 still needs to breathe! Ironically, after a grueling search, I found one cut that fit me best.. God bless the “boyfriend”!
1- Lebanese pastry sandwich
2- What have I done to deserve this?
3- Nickname used as a reference for vagina from Lina Khoury’s play “Hakeh Neswen”
Phoenix is a self-centered and sarcastic soul incarnated, perhaps by accident, in the bodi of a woman. As a writer with a temper, she replaces her "y's with an annoying “i” for aesthetical purposes and lives to crack a joke, at the expense of others. Her paranoid nature makes her sensitive to plants, animals and people. Ironicalli, after making fun of the Meem lesbians for years, she found a warm home there and is now renowned as its veri own emotional pest. She enjoys reading the paper with a hot cup of black tea while nude, more often than not.
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