It’s 2016 and I’m Still Being Called a Bimbo
Last night someone who barely even knows me decided it would be a good idea to refer to me as a “bimbo.” Although this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard an insult, this one really struck a chord with me. When I was 17, I became well aware of the stigma that would be placed upon me by society when I decided to bleach my hair and venture into the world of makeup. I’m just shocked that in 2016, preconceived notions about the type of person I am based on my appearance still exist. In a way, I blame society for the way they portray people that have the same general look that I have. Playboy bunnies, cheeky bumper stickers reading “caution: blondes thinking,” talentless celebrities capitalizing on the idea of dumbing themselves down. The list goes on. No, I wasn’t born with platinum hair and I didn’t come out with wings on the ends of my eyes or perfectly chiseled cheekbones. But you know what I was born with? The willingness to be my own person and the ability to not fit into any mold people try to force me into. Why are we focusing on the brightness of my hair? Or the colors I paint on my lips? Let’s focus on the poetry I write in my free time. Or all the copies of my favorite novels I have with personal annotations scribbled in the margins. Let’s focus on the music I like to listen to or my love for Middle Earth. Let’s focus on my favorite philosophers and how their theories on life relate to my own. I remember a few years back when I started dying my hair brown so that when I walked into a room I would be taken more seriously. I started wearing less makeup so that people didn’t think that was all I was good at. But for what? It took me a while to get there, but I am proud of who I am. The blonde, makeup wearing, tattooed, self proclaimed nerd who refuses to let you silence her or diminish her intelligence. If this is what being a “bimbo” feels like, then I think it’s safe to say I’m doing pretty alright.
