In Defense of Girlieness

“Man, you’re such a girl!”

Perhaps because many of my close friends are guys, I tend to encounter a lot of smart-aleck remarks about some of my girlier tendencies. While the tone ranges from (usually) affectionate to (sometimes just a touch) condescending depending on the level of offending girlieness in question, one thing is clear: it’s not a compliment. According to the men in my life, when I’m making interesting conversation, coming up with creative ways to cause mischief on a Friday night, or synchronizing a chaotic group of schedules, I’m being a normal, useful human being. However, when I insist on following the speed limit or telling them not to kill things… well then, I’m just being a girl.

I have nothing but respect for the fact that they’re manly men who sometimes just want to sit around eating red meat and talking about macho subjects I can never hope to understand, such as football, imported beer, and excessively violent video games. As it happens, I even completely agree that my moments of extreme girlieness (i.e. watching syrupy-sweet chick flicks, cooing over kittens, and perusing shoe stores for hours on end) should be reserved for bonding with other girls – and not torturing my friends of the opposite sex. That said, when they write off some of my attributes as just the antics of a silly girl, I think perhaps they’re the ones who could stand to be a little less superficial...

“You always carry, like, the whole world around in your purse.”
This is actually an incredibly shrewd precautionary tactic. For all you intrepid Eagle Scouts out there, it’s pretty much the same concept as “Be prepared”… only packaged in a really cute designer hand bag. It may weigh ten pounds, but I know I’m equipped for anything the night might throw at me: photo ops, cardiac arrests, international travel, or just a midnight snack. You tease me for it, but just try to count all the times you’ve asked me if you can borrow a pen.

“You always travel to the bathroom in flocks!”
Seemingly pointless and scaredy-cat… but secretly the cover for an ancient and impeccably choreographed dance of power. Walk into any ladies’ restroom on a weekend night and you’ll find a level of cutthroat analysis and strategic plotting roughly equivalent to a Soviet-era war council. This is where the real deals are cut, as the essentials of who’s in a crisis, who’s trying to push a certain agenda, and who needs back-up are hammered out in rapid-fire succession. When a group of girls suddenly returns to the table after having disappeared for 15 or 20 minutes, rest assured: your every word, gesture, and choice of entrée has been ruthlessly deconstructed, the remainder of the evening has been meticulously orchestrated…and we even had time to reapply our makeup.

“You spend way too much time getting ready.”
This is merely a trivial side effect of one of our most priceless talents: attention to detail. For any minor inconveniences, it’s this innate instinct that makes us such good decorators, organizers, listeners, cooks, and gift-givers. Stop to consider: without it, we might make it to the movie theater 10 minutes earlier…but the trade-off would be nebulous Friday night plans, boring Christmas presents, and a lifetime of undercooked macaroni-and-cheese birthday dinners. We take longer on the things we care about, because we want to make sure they’re just right…for you. So don’t criticize us, thank us - when we finally appear, we’ll make it worth your wait.

“That’s such a girlie drink”
From what I can ascertain, “girlie” in this case actually means “something that does not taste like a mixture of sour milk and gasoline.” While I am admittedly partial to drinks that are elegant-looking and not horrifically painful to consume, I consider this to be less scruple than common sense. Why would I drink something that smells awful and tastes three times worse when I can have a cocktail that I actually enjoy? In my opinion, the ability to drink something horrible without flinching doesn’t suggest lion-hearted bravery…just a lack of functioning taste buds. Want to prove to me you’re courageous? Sign up to be a volunteer firefighter or agree to show your face at a swing-dancing night. Then I’ll really be impressed… and I might even let you buy me a daiquiri.

“You have absolutely no sense of direction.”
Completely and totally guilty as charged. I can’t tell the North Pole from the Equator, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Then again, this is one among many reasons that I’m so thankful God put men on the Earth. I may laugh at your quirks (such as that internal compass which prompts you to tell me “head due Northwest” in the middle of a major city), but I can’t help but appreciate the countless positive contributions you make to my life. Ensuring I actually make it from point A to point B is definitely one of them.

“You run (throw/scream/walk/dance) like a girl!”
My personal favorite, just because of the obviousness of the statement. Yes, thank you for noticing - I am.

But then again… aren’t you glad?


Becca Danis