Welcome to the Woman's Club.

I wasn't social enough to join any clubs in high school or college, BUT IT'S NEVER TOO LATE FOR FRESH STARTS, AMIRITE?

I confess, however, that I would feel odd joining any kind of club, let alone a woman's club. Not for a dislike of women, or feminists, or even clubs for that matter, but because it's difficult for me to rally behind any one set of ideals (pretty much for anything, except the ideal of coming home and watching Netflix because I aspire to ignore real life).

For example:

Dresses. I fucking hated dresses as a kid. A dress was the worst thing that could happen to me before I was educated on what a legitimate tragedy is. Growing up, the idea of an "appropriate" outfit for an eight year old girl was something frilly and flower-patterned, that was not pants, and accompanied by stupid patent leather Mary Janes. I love ALL those things now, but to get me out of wearing anything that was not shorts, a huge loose t-shirt, ratty hi-tops, and my super gross baseball cap, was a battle that always ended in tears, and only with the compromise that I could wear biker shorts underneath my dress.

On getting "gussied up." Oh yeah, I'm super into it. Or I mean, now I am.

Yo body. I'm instructed as a human, and very specifically as a woman, to appreciate my body. I'm told that everything about my physicality is beautiful and perfect as is. And yet, when I choose to wear something form-fitting or slightly revealing, I find more often than not that I'm met with a shady side-eye by ladies, and occasionally some men; because I can appreciate my body, but only if I'm not going to appreciate my body. Nevertheless, if I wear something loose and boxy, I'm mocked for not buying clothes that are better tailored for my figure. I'm a person who is easily confused, and it's been made evident that I'm not the most skilled at striking this delicate outfit balance, and so the easiest solution I've found is not leaving the house, as that's where I can live blissfully in pajamas.

Periods. Oh yes that's right; we're going to talk about this. There are some women who feel empowered by their periods, and that is wonderful. Personally for me, it's the absolute worst. Is it because I think it makes me gross or unsanitary? Is it because it makes me feel ashamed or embarrassed? Nope. I do not celebrate the flow of the River Red because it's painful and uncomfortable, and I do not look forward to it ever. Ev. Er. If other women do, kudos and more strength to them. But if you tell me how it plays a beautiful and essential role in the miracle of giving life while I'm experiencing a cramp that feels like my uterus is committing suicide, I'll tell you how it's going to be a small miracle if you still have a life once the pain passes and I can stand upright. 

Dressing like a man. It never makes me feel an ounce less feminine. At all. Nor does it make me want to be a man (haha, imagine that). I like ties. I like blazers. I like slacks. I like oxfords. I like how they make me look as a woman. And that is the end.

So I guess what I'm actually trying to say is: Welcome to the, "I'm just trying to be here" club.

In this image, I show my audience how to never be happy about anything.

J. Crew Factory shorts, Banana Republic Men's belt, AllSaints Spitalfields button-up, Ann Taylor Loft tank.

What's fun is how I always forget I'm wearing eyeliner.


And now it is time to be muy serious again.


The coolest I will probably ever look. Thank God I was able to document it, because now you are all witnesses and cannot deny this happened.

Click through below for more inane commentary:

And that's about it. So remember, guys: