Stereotypes suck. Nobody likes being on the other end of them, especially when they’re wrong. However, there’s one that I wish was a bit more true about me. I’m unfortunately ungirly. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with not being a girly girl whose life is dedicated to Starbucks and pink stuff covered in glitter. If that’s a life you want to live, live it. I’ll stick to my converse and Hollywood Undead music. However, these things tend to make people think that there’s something wrong with me. I actually wish I was capable of being slightly more girly, but seemingly it just isn’t in the books for me. Allow me to explain...

Fingernail polish hurts my soul. I see people who have cute nails that match their outfit or are decorated for certain events...but that’s a life I can never live. I have no ability to paint my own fingernails unless I want to paint my whole finger along with it. When other people have tried to paint my nails, the polish ends up chipped within minutes of them drying. I can’t stand having long nails, so fake nails have never worked for me either. They have always gotten popped off the moment I’m off stage or the grand march is over. I’ve learned to just accept my plain, bland, short fingernails. At least I can pick things up with them like this.

I’m incapable of having nicely curled hair unless I hire someone to do it for me. I’ve spent my whole life trying to fight my hair’s desire to be a curly, thick, poofy mess but sometimes you just wanna try it and see if you can look like the pictures you’ve seen. In fact as I write this, I’m cringing in pain from the multiple burn marks I have on my neck and ears from trying to curl my hair. In case you didn’t guess it, I have no freaking clue how to operate a curling iron. Straighteners are easy, you just squish the hair strands in it and slide it on down. Curling irons have this clamp thing which I can never figure out where it goes and then you have to somehow curl it without touching your skin with it, all while getting all of the hair from that strand on the hot part. Every time I try, my hair ends up with a weird 90 degree angle somewhere and then maybe one successful curl if I’m lucky. I suppose that living my life with ponytails and straightened hair isn’t so bad, it’s not like I ever go to formal events or anything.

I don’t understand makeup. Yesterday, at the age of 19 years old, was the first time I learned that people normally to use a brush to apply foundation...or that you even could use a brush to apply foundation. I don’t even own a makeup brush. I also have no idea what those little numbers on eyeshadow means. I get that there are different colors for different parts of your eye, but every time I’ve followed the little diagram, it looks like I’m some kind of clown so I just use one color for the whole eyelid. As someone who often performs in theater, you’d think I’d pick up a tip or two, but I haven’t. I can make a face look like a sloth or do some fake black eyes and scars, but actual makeup is beyond my comprehension. The upside to this is that my makeup routine has never taken more than five minutes. That being said, I’m perpetually forced to look like a tween who got her first makeup kit for Christmas.

Bro tanks are fun. I’d much rather wear a tank top that has a picture of Ron Swanson’s face on John Cena’s body than some flowy shirt with the same pattern as my grandma’s couch. The only dress I have that wasn’t for a play or prom was made by Marvel and is covered in superheros. It makes dressing up for events really hard. I just can’t justify paying $80 for something I’ll only wear when someone I know decides to get married, which so far has been about four times in my entire lifetime. I’d rather someone smile and say “I love your shirt!” because they think it’s funny or they like what’s on it as opposed to them saying “Oh that’s cute!” as some kind of congratulations for waking up and putting effort into my appearance. Plus, who doesn’t need a picture of Abraham Lincoln with a mermaid tail immortalized on a tank top?

It’s not that I don’t want to be a bit more girly, it’s that I actually cannot. I’ve tried, and I’ve failed. So before you judge that girl wearing jeans and a hoodie with her headphones in, just know that maybe she has no desire to suffer through curling iron burns or stabbing herself in the eye with an eyeliner pencil. It’s sometimes nicer to be comfortable than it is to be trendy.