But I Chose Freedom

So here I am on a Sunday afternoon, head still reeling from the night before, stomach still hollow. Perhaps I should eat an orange. Sometimes I like seclusion- I love the freedom of doing whatever I desire to do. Sometimes it's cleaning, other times it's taking a bath, surfing the Internet, playing dress up. Tonight I was aimlessly wandering through my seemingly endless Internet bookmarks and I came upon a site that I had forgotten about. Likealittle.com is so interesting...it's voyeuristic and sort of creepy, but intriguing in what anonymous people will say about others without the repercussions of identity. As I was scanning through people's posts, I saw one that made me pause. It was a girl, asking the men of my university what kind of girl is their "type". She asked of body type, what their type of look was, and even the hair color they prefer on girls. I found this question to be completely interesting.  I suppose it is interesting what guys think about women, but I don't think girls understand that different men like different kinds of girls. If every man loved the whole Megan Fox aesthetic (and many do, I'll admit) then some of them might not think that Lady Gaga is a total babe (she is). I just didn't understand why in the world this girl was wondering what guys like, so she could presumably change something about herself to better please the y-chromosome. Didn't she understand that she is completely beautiful, gorgeously unique, and probably a bombshell in her own right? It drives me crazy that these perfectly lovely girls don't recognize their own beauty, something that stares out at them from the mirror every day.
I'm bored of the girls who gripe about their insecurities when there are plenty of people in the world who have real problems. I feel bad for them, but it's hard to sympathize too much. See, girls are told by everyone that they are beautiful: their parents, their families, their girlfriends, the boys who fawn over them. They either just choose to not believe it or are looking for attention by moaning about their supposed flaws and deficiencies just to be told they are gorgeous (which is a form of insecurity in it's own form). I'm bored of it. And while I have days when I don't feel like a babe, a bombshell- days I refuse to have my picture taken on- I still don't let it affect how I feel about myself. I still toss my hair to my shoulder, slink my way down the sidewalk, whisper sweet nothings coyly in my friends' ears. I just look in the mirror a little less.