Being a girl is simple if you're a unidimensional character in a movie or television series, good for her looks and, in most cases, not much else. Being a girl is also simple if you're an infant or young child, unaware of the darkness in the future that awaits you.

The simplicity of femininity ends when you realize the constant scrutiny and unattainable standard of beauty and perfection that has been placed upon you even before you took your first breath.

It's fun when you're five years old and playing dress-up with your friends, trying on ridiculously extravagant costumes and caking on make-up you've secretly pilfered from your mother's collection. It's fun on Halloween when you get to be your very favorite princess for a night and cruise from house to house, filling your bucket with candy as neighbors repeatedly remark, "Oh, what a pretty little girl you are".

It continues being fun until your hormones begin raging below the surface and, inevitably, your body transforms into that of a woman's. Suddenly, your hips have widened, and worst of all, you have breasts. Your mother takes you to buy your first bra; you think it's stupid and uncomfortable and you want nothing to do with it. You start wearing baggier clothes to hide your evolving figure. Your skin changes, too, and you're thinking oh-my-gosh-this-can't-be-happening-to-me-is-that-a-pimple? You're not pretty or little anymore; you're just awkward.

One day, you're a kid and all you think about is summer and swimming pools and hanging out with your friends. The next day? You couldn't be caught dead in a bathing suit because you don't want anyone to see your body.

You start middle school and all of your best friends start lining their entire eyes with black pencil and filling in their lips in with some unnatural, shimmering, pink gloss. You figure it seems simple enough, so you start doing it, too. You swore you would never, ever wear make-up, but here you are. You do what you have to in order to fit in among your peers.

Soon you're in high school, and you're spending hours on your make-up and hair and trying to find the perfect outfit. You don't know when it happened, but boys have stopped having cooties and some of them are even "cute", whatever that means. Your friends have gotten used to their new physiques, and they flaunt their bodies like a prize to be won. You dress however is the most comfortable, still on the self-conscious side, but you hear the "whore"s and "slut"s as you walk through the halls with your friends, and you're baffled. You don't understand why girls are being judged based on their outfits, but guys can show up in their pajamas, and everyone pretends not to notice.

You're nearing the end of high school when it finally happens to you: you've become comfortable with your body. You've begun wearing dresses, and you feel pretty. Then it happens to you. You're leaving for school and your mother tells you to change your outfit. "That dress is too short," she says. It upsets you, but you do as you're told.

By now you've realized that you grew up in a culture that doesn't value the genders equally, a culture that blames rape victims for drinking or dressing a certain way or even talking to a guy. You've realized that part of being a girl is the constant judgement, but because you have this knowledge, you can take comfort in doing whatever you want, wearing whatever you want, being whoever you want to be.

I hope that if I ever have a daughter, she will take pride in who she is as a person rather than being the girl society wants her to be.