The Ladette is a strong breed of female. She can wear jeans to formal occassions and get away with it, burp, fart, swear, talk openly about her body, drink anybody under the table and is commonly mistaken for a chav or a lesbian.
She can also be one of the most fun people you'll ever meet.
The 'don't-give-a-shit' attitude of a Ladette should be something we all aspire to (maybe not so much the farting and practically being a bloke aspect). Why do we all care so much about what people think? Why can't we just say what's on our mind without worrying it's not politically correct, or it'll hurt someone's feelings? Are really so frightened of people disagreeing with us?
Not the Ladette. She'll say what she wants, when she wants, how she wants. If you want a genuine opinion on wether your bum looks big in that skirt or not, ask the Ladette. If you're worrying you and your boyfriend aren't meant for eachother, ask the Ladette. If you have something stuck in your teeth, you've no need to ask, because you've already been told by the Ladette.
A Ladette is is also the kind of friend who will share the worst, most inappropriate jokes you could ever imagine and you can't help but laugh. She'll usually dress in either converse and skinny jeans or a tracksuit (depending on her preference) but if the occasion calls, she WILL look incredible. This is partly because she doesn't wear tons of make up or spend hours on her hair every day like most women, and when she does you'll be in awe. NEVER underestimate a Ladette's ability to look beautiful.
Always have a Ladette in your Lady Tribe!
Monday 28 January 2013
Sunday 27 January 2013
I'm NOT a Girly Girl But...
I've just taken my feet out of a pair of impossibly high heels, I've got glittery pink nail varnish on and I have just finished my latest chicklit novel (Miranda Dickinson's 'When I Fall in Love'- I'd give it 6.5/10, nothing spectacular), but I would never describe myself as a 'girly girl'.
...Because I'm now sat with a beer, wearing boys boxers and watching Top Gear (there's something oddly attractive about Clarkson's cocky bastard sneer and pot belly. I'll never understand what, but that's us women for you...), being as blokey as a twenty-two year old woman can possibly be and I'm getting more and more infuriated by the fact that last week I was called a bimbo.
'Wow', she says, 'You've changed so much. You used to be a real bimbo!'
Ok, I absolutely love a good flirt, I used to be blonde and I was always pretty crap at maths, but one low cut top does not a bimbo make.
Why is it that in 2013 we can judge someone with such ferocity in so little time? I've got 10 GCSE's and 4 A-Levels, have worked in three different professions during my time out of education and I'm in the process of applying to some of the UK's top universities, but having blonde hair and a love of high heels apparently meant that I was an bimbo, to a person I've met only a handful of times?
Now, this girl is a few years younger than I am, I haven't seen her since Christ only knows when and I don't even know her second name. I suppose it just goes to show that first impressions really do stick, and people who you don't even know have been making judgements since they first laid eyes on you.
...Because I'm now sat with a beer, wearing boys boxers and watching Top Gear (there's something oddly attractive about Clarkson's cocky bastard sneer and pot belly. I'll never understand what, but that's us women for you...), being as blokey as a twenty-two year old woman can possibly be and I'm getting more and more infuriated by the fact that last week I was called a bimbo.
'Wow', she says, 'You've changed so much. You used to be a real bimbo!'
Ok, I absolutely love a good flirt, I used to be blonde and I was always pretty crap at maths, but one low cut top does not a bimbo make.
Why is it that in 2013 we can judge someone with such ferocity in so little time? I've got 10 GCSE's and 4 A-Levels, have worked in three different professions during my time out of education and I'm in the process of applying to some of the UK's top universities, but having blonde hair and a love of high heels apparently meant that I was an bimbo, to a person I've met only a handful of times?
Now, this girl is a few years younger than I am, I haven't seen her since Christ only knows when and I don't even know her second name. I suppose it just goes to show that first impressions really do stick, and people who you don't even know have been making judgements since they first laid eyes on you.
Testing, testing...Is this thing on? [:
Hello!!!
Thank you for stopping by to have a read. I'm totally new to blogging, so welcome to my weird and (possibly) wonderful ramblings.
I wish I could tell you what I'm going to blog about, but I honestly have no idea... I'm just going to see what happens!
I'm writing for myself, but I'm also writing for people like me- the ladies who don't fall into any particular category. The misfits of the female world who aren't really misfits at all, because we're quite normal.
There seem to be very clear categories women fit into today- the 'Essex girls', the goths, the ladettes, the girls who squeal at the sight of anything pink, the girls who recoil at the sight of anything pink, the flirters, the attention seekers, the bimbos, the party girls, the sporty girls, the kind of woman you dream of being, the kind of woman you dread to become, the ladies who lunch and the downright bitches ( and that's just a list of the kind of people I encountered on the bus yesterday!)- but there are lots of us who don't really fit anywhere. Not, I should hasten to add, because there's anything wrong with us, but because we're a little of everything.
And I think that's the best type of girl.
Ciao for now [:
xxx
(Ew, I have never said 'ciao for now' before in my life.)
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