Look. As a kid I was Not Allowed to decorate myself in sparkles and color like I wanted to, because it was “impractical” and “a waste of time and money” and shit like that.
I was the kid who, when I was granted the concession that I could have nail polish but ONLY CLEAR, figured out that I could use my drawing markers to color my nails actual fun shades, and then seal it with the clear polish so it wouldn’t be gone as soon as I washed my hands. I was in fourth grade, in no way was this about attracting male attention or whatever. I liked colorful shiny things. I literally dumped a vial of glitter over my head once just to be sparkly.
I was the kid who fought tooth and nail for a pair of heels in fifth grade, going so far as to sabotage the fit of the flat pair my mom was trying to force me to choose instead by shoving my toes farther forward than they really would naturally have sat in that shoe. I was the kid who refused to give up my sparkly jelly shoes (originally, I was permitted to have them in the first place because they were waterproof and I also liked to splash in puddles, and they were cheap enough to evade the ‘waste of money’ complaint) until I had a new pair of glittery jellies to replace them, and ended up wearing a too-small pair out of sheer stubbornness and love for glitter after they got discontinued, so long that my toes are permanently deformed because of it. I wouldn’t stop wearing them until I literally could not force my foot to go into them anymore after putting them aside for the winter (too damn cold where i live to go outside in winter with jelly shoes on).
Kids love putting colorful and sparkly shit on their bodies. Ask almost any young child of any gender, who hasn’t already internalized some bullshit about “nail polish is only for girls” if they want some hot pink glittery stuff put on for them and they’ll be like HELL YEAH.
The world is cold and cruel. Let people have color and sparkles. If it’s not your thing I literally do not give a single shit, do as you will with your own body and your own space, but keep your bland, joyless, fun-hating rhetoric to yourself or expect me to speak up in objection. I know from the depths of my soul what it is to be forced to fit a mold that doesn’t suit me, but the mold I’ve been forced into is one of blandness masquerading as practicality; a muffled, neutral-toned artistic flatline. Do not tell me that I only like what I like because someone else told me to, when the entire core of my being to this day still screams for more and rails against the confines of society that would punish me for indulgence in that desire, and expect me to sit silently and nod along with you.
