Struggles of the non-girly type of woman

By Brenda Kageni This is for all the women, who like me, have stopped in the streets to admire the elegant, poised, polished, not-a-single-hair-out-of-place women who make us want to stop at the next boutique or salon and put our act together. I would not call myself a fashion disaster.I have the basics of becoming that woman who makes me stop in the street and think, "cool!" I know how to match up my colours pretty well and know the clothes I look good in. I also follow the latest fashion hits. I can walk in high heels, do my makeup and hair better than many and carry a dressy or skirty look quite well. The problem is, I am not bothered to, most of the time.And everyday as I move about town, I meet so many of my kind — women who should know better about fashion, about carrying themselves as ladies, about cutting the chic, elegant look that turns heads, but have reached some comfort zone where they too, aren’t bothered. We know how great our legs and walk are with those killer heels but we would rather remain in the knowledge that we can walk anywhere comfortably on our flip-flops and ballet pumps and proudly showcase no corns. We know how greatly our image would improve if we dumped the T-shirt and army fatigues for some feminine top and tailor cut fitting trouser or skirt, but "hey, this is me. I will not stifle my individuality. Who wants to walk around looking like a copy paste image of every woman in town?" we think.We would like to dump the brown beer bottle for a swirly twist of a wine glass, the backpack for a designer clutch purse, the boxer shorts for some lacy-and-racy lingerie.Non-girly type The forbidding dark business suit and severe hairstyle with no make up, which spells ‘stuck-up’ or ‘don’t give a damn’, for some curvy miniskirt. But no, we don’t.Being the non-girly woman has its perks. You feel almost an equal with the boys. There is some sort of freedom in the sports slacks, T-shirt and Nike shoes. Like my colleague Asego points out, women do not want to wear dresses and skirts because then, they have to watch how they sit, where they sit, how they walk and how they handle themselves. Looking like a lady is a calling; it can be stifling. It isn’t just about wearing pretty things, walking with a swan’s glide and crossing our legs. But it can also be liberating, letting ourselves flow with the curves and soft feels of silk and lace. It gets us respect and courtesy and decency. People just want to handle with care. But I suppose this is the opposite feeling most slumps want to conjure up. They want to be seen as independent, unique and unmoved. While I will often let the little tomboy out and the I-care-nothing-for-fashion-and-style attitude pass, some things, dear women, just won’t cut. Clumsiness, brassiness, and cursing like a trucker top the list. Then the little misdemeanours which even I, the reforming hippie, fall guilty of include picking on pimples in public, slouchy postures, sluggishly dragging the feet as you walk, pulling up bra straps and adjusting panty lines, tugging at jeans, applying makeup in public, leaning on walls and lifts, zubbing into space, biting finger nails, sitting like your grandmother told you not to and exposing under wear. After compiling that long list, I think I want to go back to my hippie days, of sleeping bags, and sandals, and running make up, and tangled hair and nights in some far away tented camp like Olorgesaille or Kerio Valley.However, I am slowly learning that trying pays. Torturously sitting through a tweezing session, listening to the monotone of bored housewives as I try to get a decent manicure, week after week (I skip many because I just don’t have the time, sorry) keeping my appointment with the hairdresser, trying to stop slouching as I sit, and getting some bright feminine pieces to cut into the daily monotony of the workplace grey or street jeans and T-shirt affair, has left me prouder and feeling more feminine. I look forward to days when I can wear a dress and pretty sandals and smile like a woman with a sweet secret.

Struggles of the non-girly type of woman

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