Black Fingernails, Red Wine

I painted my nails black today. πŸ™‚

People used to call me an “emo” for doing so. I used to colour them in with permanent marker. Gillian and I were talking about my “emo side”.

During high school I was probably classed as an “emo”. My black nail polish, messy hair and accessories gave people that impression and hence I was labelled with such a stereotype. πŸ˜”

I don’t think it’s nice to label people – at least not rude derogatory things. Pocci was saying how it’s alright to associate people with being in a certain group, but labelling a group as “sluts” is just rude. In high school, I copped a lot of shit calling a certain group “The Leftovers”.

I had only tried to reassure my friend by commenting on her blog, saying that our group was not The Leftovers, but I referred to another group. In turn, the people from that group didn’t like me very much and left anonymous replies on that blog telling me that I was rude. Still to this date, I wonder if they dislike me for that comment.

Well, in the end, it turned out that our group – our big group of around 20 people, that had grown in the last year of high school – pretty much looked like a bunch of leftover people that didn’t fit into any other “group” in high school.

Back to my emo-ness. I was later referred to as Jazzmo. Nicknamed by my male friends who discovered the odd fact that I love jazz music yet I look like an “emo”; hence, Jazzmo. (And that’s why my username is jazzmoodles. πŸ™

I don’t really like being called an “emo”. But as I said – how I dressed really gave off that impression.

I have experimented with different looks. I dress what feels comfy, but most of the time that is something on the “emo” side. Lately I’ve been trying to work something girlie-grunge, or even just ditch any piece of clothing or accessory that would give off that “OMG YOU EMO!” vibe.

I know that the way you look can leave room for people to judge. If you’re wearing something dirty and old and you stink, people might think you didn’t have a shower or you’re too poor. If you wear something revealing, people think you’re “slutty” (in this case, for girls).

I’ve always thought that I don’t care what people think about me. You know, Arctic Monkeys’ album, Whatever You Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. People always seem to be conscious about their image and what people think of them. You might not give off a good impression to some people, but when you think about it, what does it matter?

I’ve had people stare at me in the street, even when I don’t see any reason for them to. What does it matter what they think? This all comes down to family and friends. They are there because they care for you and love you for who you are.

If someone doesn’t like me, I’ll have the willpower to fight back… πŸ‘Š But only because in my heart, I believe in me. And if that person doesn’t know me, or if they don’t like me… take it or leave it.

Comments are closed.