Here's to Girlhood

The internet moves fast. By the time I think of something I want to write or get around to some silly little TikTok trend I want to jump on, it’s over. We’ve moved on. Our collective energy is focused on something else. You don’t have to look far to see this. There is still a war raging in Ukraine and the blue and yellow flags that flew with such fervor stateside have faded, tattered, or been torn down. There is a new war to focus on. People know they’ve cancelled some celebrity or company but can’t remember what for anymore. Women were walking around saying, “Hi, Barbie,” to other Barbies that crossed their paths, and before my personalized HI BARBI license plate could even arrive, the hope of Barbieland becoming real seems to have disappeared, giving way to the Kens, once again.

But not me. I have not moved on. Not from Barbie, not from Taylor Swift, not from the Eras Tour, not the fierce girlhood vibes that this summer gave birth to. None of it. This summer was transformative for me, and I will hold onto that energy for as long as possible. Looking back, I think I started noticing a change in the proverbial weather in the Spring, and by August, my entire awareness about myself, the world around me, and where I belong in it had shifted. A course correction, a new path foraged, my destiny outlined in bright pink. My life will never be the same because I will never be the same. And, it started with The Eras Tour, and I never saw it coming.

To know where I’m going here, I want to briefly tell you where I’m coming from. This time last year, I would not have considered myself a Swiftie. I don’t even know that I was aware of the term. I was a casual Taylor fan at best, I knew her most popular songs, and had enjoyed them for the last decade and a half, adored the 1989 album and Lover was growing on me, even though it had been released years prior, but that’s about it. I didn’t know her cats’ names (Olivia Benson, Meredith Grey and Benjamin Button) or her best friend’s name (Abigail.) I didn’t even know she was going on tour, or that there was a presale or when it was. I didn’t know about it until I had multiple clients sitting in my chair throughout the day fighting what is known as “The Great War.” Let me tell you. The arc from casual fan to full-blown Swiftie was steep and, dare I say it, swift. I never in a million years have thought that I would be selling furniture to pay for tickets IN ANOTHER COUNTRY less than six months after her opening tour date. But once the videos from tour started making the rounds on social media, the spell was cast and three things gradually happened: one, I fell in love with this woman. Two: I found myself in complete awe of the girls and women that were going to these concerts, in their best dress, fearless. I was in awe of their bond, their friendships, their girlhood, their femininity, and their joy. And three: I understood completely that I was missing something very important in my life, and it was what all these women and girls had, and I knew that I wanted it.

It is important to know that I have always had more male friends than female. I don’t know if this was a conscious choice or not, or what it means. I’ve spent some time mulling this over, and I think it is ultimately a combination of factors. We moved around a lot when I was young, and it always seemed easier to be the new girl squeezing into a guy group than a girl group that had the rules and roles already clearly defined. Perhaps it had something to do with feeling out of place, or lacking self-esteem, and not feeling worthy of the girls and their attention. Maybe it was just a part of my personality that made it easier to connect with boys. I’m not sure, maybe it was all of it. And as I got older, and learned that guys like the “guy’s girl,” and I wanted to be liked so badly, I suppressed any of my girliness to fit that mold. Like, I’m chill, I’m totally one of the guys, I’m the coolest girl you know. So, at first, when I started seeing these videos, the friends, the friendship bracelets and the glitter and sequins, I didn’t understand the deep, aching feeling that I couldn’t place.

Then, in April, I flew out to California and had a mini-bachelorette party with a friend of mine. We were going to go out to dinner and celebrate my engagement, and because I had never had a bachelorette party before, and don’t have a large group of women friends in Austin to wear ridiculous bachelorette party gear while taking shots called “Woo Woos” or something like that, and knew by observation that this is what people do and somehow knew I wanted to experience something like that, I said, “If you have any friends that would like to join us, go ahead and invite them!” So, I bought a white sundress (because I know this is also a thing betrothed women do- wear white to bachelorette parties) and this woman, who knows what it is to be a girls’ girl, rolled out the red carpet for me. Then her friends, who clearly understood the assignment, wrapped their arms around me, welcoming me into their tribe for the night. Before we had even left for dinner, I found myself comfortable enough with these women to be sitting at the kitchen table in my bra and leggings, having pre-dinner drinks, because I had spilled hummus on my dress.

We didn’t wear matching sunglasses or anything, and there were no shots, but by the end of the night, I felt like I had known them for a lifetime. I told them how special it was- to go out for dinner and drinks with them- and one of them cried. For me. She said she just felt sad for me that I didn’t have this at home because they do this almost every weekend. This was when the veil really started to lift, no pun intended. These women get together weekly and talk and laugh and drink and cry and support and challenge and love each other every week, and after 14 years in Austin, still haven’t been able to find a place I fit into. Not like this. The aching, which I started to understand now more as longing, got stronger. I could put a name to it now.

So back to Taylor. By now, my entire feed on pretty much all platforms was this powerhouse of a woman. And one day I guess I just decided I needed to go to this tour, but even the most anti-swiftie knows the impossibility of getting tickets, unless you have thousands to spend on resellers. But it started to consume me. I binged albums the way I did as a teenager, playing them on repeat. Selected eras. Planned outfits. Shared videos with my younger sister, and all our conversations turned to Tay Tay. I watched Miss Americana multiple times, which honestly, is worth the watch. Witnessing the way that woman’s brain fires is a marvel. But I digress. I just wanted to go. I just wanted to have fun, and singalong, but I don’t think I fully understood what was happening inside, or what was awakening, or what was really pulling me in. I only know now because I’m on this side of it. And then, I saw Barbie.

The first time I went to Barbie, I went with my mom and my aunt. And it was good. I enjoyed it. It was fun, but I didn’t yet understand the depth of it. Obviously, I understood the patriarchy, I understood the main principles, but TikTok helped me see some of the themes I missed. Helped me see my own power, and the power that comes with being a woman. And because of that- seeing so many women have so many different perspectives, thoughts, and takeaways- I made my way back into the theater to see what else I could discover that I missed the first time. The second time, I saw it with my now husband (and thank God, he got it.) By the end of that second viewing, I was a puddle. I sobbed, and he held my hand, giving me permission and a safe place to feel it all. And in the car, sitting in the parking lot, it all came together. THIS was why I needed to go to the concert. THIS was why Barbie was so powerful. I missed my girlhood when I was young because I was playing with boys. I missed my girlhood when I was a teenager because I was playing with boys. Even as an adult woman, I worked in a barbershop instead of a salon, because I was still playing with boys, and I never, ever, let the little girl come out and play because I thought she was lame. Guy’s girl for life. So, there I was, sitting in my car in a movie theater parking lot, crying, because I understood that the ache, the longing, was for all the sleepovers and brunch dates and girl’s nights I never had. All I wanted in that moment was to be in a stadium with all the other barbies, wearing sequins, singing, crying, trading bracelets. I wanted to give myself everything that I was either too cool or too scared or too shy to give myself, or to ask for. I just wanted to be a girl. Unapologetically. And so I did.

I saw Taylor. My husband flew to Mexico City with me and he wore a “Look what she made me do” t-shirt, (and ladies and gents, if your partner won’t dress up and have fun with you then they aren’t the one) while I wore face gems and a sequined shirt and I made friendship bracelets and I traded them with little girls and I sang at the top of my lungs and I cried and I was unapologetically a woman, celebrating the little girl that still lives inside me and celebrating the woman I am now. And I walked away new. Different. Changed. Things healed that I never knew were wounded.

I will never be the same woman that I was before this summer. I had no idea that a concert or a movie could change my life, or change how I saw myself, and yet here I stand, on flat feet, braver and stronger and more powerful than I ever knew I was or ever could be. Because of women. For women. For every generation of women that have ever or will ever live. But it was not just a concert. It was not just a movie. Both things- experiences- while separate, will forever be entwined in my memory and my makeup, and gave me the courage to do, to be. To be bold, to be fearless, to cry, to laugh. To stand strong and to stand tall. I want us all to remember how we felt this summer. Remember the Hi Barbies. The bracelets. The bond foraged through girlhood that connects us all. I want us to remember that this summer, we all felt powerful and seen and like we could take on the entire world.

This is long. Longer than I planned and took a turn from where I was originally tending to go. Barbie and Taylor and girlhood were all going to be their own pieces, but now that I read this, I don’t see how I could’ve separated them. That’s the whole point. This essay is about girlhood. The patriarchy and the barbie dream house can hold their own in another piece. And this piece can be unapologetically long. That’s fine. But I have mountains to climb, so, I leave you with this, as I fly across the country to have girl brunch. Long live, my Barbies. Long live.