Dear “That Girl,”

As girls, we are told who to be. It doesn’t matter if you like make up, or sports, or hunting, or reading; if you’ve got an interest there is an archetype, and you are expected to fill in certain standards. Anyone who fails to comply is ostracized and judged and made to feel inferior and wrong by any other girl. Don’t pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about, because you do. We say that we’re advanced and that we’re feminist, and we’re accepting and open, but really, we’re only as open as we allow ourselves to be.

From this misunderstanding came “That Girl.” We all have one, that one girl that we can’t stand and really it’s for no other reason than she’s different. “That Girl” that I can’t stand is nothing more than someone who’s never had to experience the things I have, therefore she’s different. She’s never been exposed to some of the things I have, and she’s never had to make some of the choices I’ve had to make. And I don’t like her for it; it’s wrong. I’m wrong to not like her just because she’s not me.

Before we get all ‘Oh Natalee, you’re awful’, I guarantee you do it, too. Everyone has preconceived notions of what makes a person valuable and what makes them worth something, and we are all entitled to prefer some people over others. Where we, and I personally, need to improve is the acknowledgement that just because she’s that girl doesn’t mean she’s “That Girl.”

Hell, if I wanted to I could probably list of similarities between her and I, but instead of what makes us similar, I focus on what makes us different. For that I am sorry, to her and to every girl who’s ever been made to feel like she’s “That Girl.”

Frankly, I think that it’s all bullshit, and I’m a little ashamed that I’ve done this. So, I’m sorry that I’ve decided not to like you based on how you’re different, I’ve also decided that I can’t hate you for some of your decisions. You made them because you’re different. Don’t misunderstand me here, you’ve done some things that are wrong no matter what, but so have I.

You developed out of my own hatred and prejudices, and for that I’m sorry. I may not be better than that yet, but I’m trying to be. So your death, the death of “That Girl,” isn’t actually really a death; it’s a rebirth. It’s the day I stop seeing you as someone who does things different and wrong, but the day that I accept that all of these decisions are you, and you are you. A whole person who can’t be broken down into someone who is both similar and different, but someone who is them.

Calling you “That Girl” is a mistake. We’re all someone’s “That Girl,” we’re all being hated and judged by someone who simply doesn’t understand our choices and our decisions. So, I’m done with that. I may not be you, and I may not understand, but you’re not “That Girl.” You’re just a girl, trying to do the best she can with what you’ve got. You’re just like me, and just like everyone else.

Love,

Someone else's "That Girl"