As a child, I hated all things pink. I suspect that being my mother’s youngest daughter, she tried in some small ways to extend the experience of having a girl by occasionally purchasing things in pink, perhaps to discourage my tomboy ways of playing football and running unchecked through the woods. A pink dress, ribbon, hair clip or pink Mary Jane shoes and ruffled socks for church – finally her last attempt was a pink scooter- which I dearly loved despite the color.

I will admit, as a grown woman, that most of why I fought her in the pink was because I also associated it with being girly – which I clearly did not identify with even though I had nothing against the color itself.

It’s only been in the last ten years or so that I have stepped, first tentatively, then firmly into the color pink.

While a deep bloody red is still my favorite color of expression – I have begun to be drawn to ever more buoyant enjoyments of the lighter shades of “the girly color”. And believe me, I get no end of shit about it from Meme, and many of my other girlfriends.

But in the last year specifically, I’ve discovered that much of my wardrobe is morphing in to white, pink and teal.

And I have a new sense of conviction about my defense of the color pink.

The other night at Dante’s I wore a pink and white chiffon mini-dress over white jeans. I also had with me a Jacky Kennedy bright pink short pea-coat. A treasure with a long and silly story.

Infamouscoatcheckgirl hung it up for me in coat check and I thought nothing of all how brightly I was dressed or how much I evidently stuck out in a crowd. In fact I didn’t think much of my coat or outfit at all until fairly near the time I was about to leave when I was sitting near the coat check and a man who’d been standing nearby for quite some time looked at all the hanging coats and said, “Nice pink jacket.” To no one in particular then his gaze wandered drunkenly around the room and he said, “That’s just ridiculous.” Right about then his gaze stopped on me and I sipped my water, innocently wide-eyed, just waiting for him to make the connection.

I don’t think he did, or else he was not as drunk as I thought and was able to hide it before he hastily moved away.

Add that to the other drunk guy who told me, “It takes a real woman to wear pink.”

This is all it took to have me wondering for days… What the fuck does that even mean??

A real woman to wear pink?

What has pink got to do with anything? Really?

Then I remembered this post from waaaay back when.

And after reading it and thinking about it I realized, I still get a little bit miffed when I feel easily dismissed for being feminine/girly or for dressing in bright colors or wearing my lipstick or sexy shoes and dresses. Which could be why I do it so rarely anymore and why I feel like it’s exhausting to be in the same space as people who presume I am some way based on my appearance.

But ultimately there is a new sensation that has begun to accompany these feelings that I did not have back when I posted this blog.

NOW, I feel a small sense of glee when I am pegged a certain way. It’s still new so I’m not sure what to call it, perhaps –joy? Maybe a little powerful? It is possible I feel a little sadistic pleasure when I feel like I’ve just been a tiny bit misjudged?

Sadistic because I know – for the first time in a very long time – when someone assumes I am weak, or froo-froo, or girly and they go no further in their exploration of my capabilities… they have just given me an immense upper hand. They might as well have just handed me the advantage of conversation, physical expectation, and surprise on a silver platter covered in rose petals.

The last guy who mentioned my pink wardrobe, (strangely I was wearing the same pink mini-dress – but I was also wearing white thigh-high stockings with a garter belt and pink stilettos), he mentioned casually as we played pool that I would make a pretty trophy for someone. He also said that he found it refreshing that there were still women in the world who knew what it meant to dress like a woman. Later he said in conversation that the feminine colors evoked a need in men to be protective.

All this I processed at the time with no small amount of irritation. Maybe he thought he was being complementary? I’m not sure. Am I just not wired to understand how that’s supposed to be flattering?

And I haven’t worn that dress since – until Sunday at Dante’s.

I dunno. Maybe it’s the dress.

But I think I’m going to investigate this new sensation a little more. Find out why I’m so irritated and yet tickled and amused that I feel so easily dismissed of any real threat/potential/strength/and even intelligence when I am dressed up in the brighter shades of pink.

Maybe this feeling underneath is why I have been gravitating to these colors over the years and not known it. Maybe I’m drawn to the self expression that I enjoy while feeling bright, free and energetic in my clothing, and yet also having the upper hand against people who stop short in seeing that I am not from any typical stereotype.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m making peace finally with my inner girly-girl and my outer tomboy. Maybe they can learn to speak and play well together and have a little harmless fun with the boys.

I see some shopping in my future.

How do YOU feel about the color pink??

For not getting out a lot lately, I made up for it this last weekend. A night with Jordy on Friday for dessert at the Heathman and a wander through Powell’s. Then a Day with Kenya for Thai food at Tuk Tuk, shopping for running shoes and meandering around the Freemont District to find the cute nook and cranny stores such as the little Turksih import treasure store. Then Sunday with Infamouscoatcheckgirl for coffee, self defense class and a night at Dante’s.

Whew!

So to sum it up –

Friday night with Jordy.

“I need another physics book. I’m almost done with Brian Green’s, ‘Elegant Universe’. I need something that explains Quarks more.” I said. “Any recommendations for a good book on physics?”

Jordy Shrugged and pointed at, ‘The Cartoon Guide to Physics’. “That one would probably work for you.”

“Thanks,” I replied dryly.

As we were walking to the car, the conversation took a different turn.

“They have these lovers’ kits for making a mold of a penis so you can fill it with chocolate. Sort of a personalized chocolate cock mold. Cast your cock.” He was saying.

“Awww! Jordy! Are you volunteering to make a mold of your cock for me so I can have your chocolate penis?” I asked.

“Uhm. No.” He squirmed. “I just don’t think it would be appropriate to know that you have my cock mold. That would be weird.”

“Yes. But I’ve been trying to get a look at your penis for the last three years. You know me, I try every angle to get a look at your winky that I can!”

“I know.” He admitted. He thought about it for a bit then said, “You can’t have a chocolate mold of my junk, but if you come with me on the naked bike ride this year – you can see it then.”

I grinned. “If I make it through boot camp I’m so totally going on the naked bike ride with you!” I squeed happily. “I’m sooooo finally gonna see you naked!”

He shook his head smiled at the ground, “Only if you make it through boot camp.”

“Oh – I’m gonna make it now!”

“Great.” He said, voice laden with sarcasm, “So glad I can provide some motivation.”

And as he walked away, I decided that the chocolate cock mold conversation was still not over… I wonder if they make them for boobs.

Sunday

Infamouscoatcheckgirl invited me to a women’s self defense class that takes place on Sunday’s and is taught by one of the bouncers from Dante’s with the sole interest of arming women with options.

At first I was self-conscious. My kicks were sloppy, my punches looked like they were definitely being thrown by a girl. I’m sure it will get better with practice and I’m excited to go back again. More info on the class in later posts.

The second half of the class was learning how to break fingers. Now that was empowering. I’ve never heard or even thought of the concept of going for the fingers. I’ve always been taught to go for the vulnerable spots on an attacker; eyes, throat, balls, etc .

But in this class as we were being show how to break an attacker’s hold or escape a grip – he was also showing us how to break fingers in the process or control an attacker’s direction by gripping and crushing the fingers that had us.

In just one class he boosted my confidence in his teaching so that I can’t wait to come learn more. I’ll post the detail of his class soon and how you too can join!

Sunday Evening

Infamouscoatcheckgirl invited me to Dante’s for the Christian Kane show. I was reluctant at first because she told me how fast they’d sold out and I wasn’t really up for being in a crowd, but once she said I could hang out with her in the back with chocolate and whiskey – well, what’s not to like? The company of a sexy lady, booze, chocolate and people watching! I win!

So I dressed up in a pink and white chiffon mini-dress and white jeans and went to hang out with my girl.

The concert was unremarkable.

But the people watching was amazing. I met a few new cool cats, had a little too much whiskey too fast and had to sit for awhile. Chattered with a New York escapee and tried to just soak up the crowd to fuel some character ideas I’m working on for the current book.

I was sitting in the chair in front of the poker machines when I saw a guy not far away telling his friends how he shaves his chest, “I just Bic that shit right off!” He was saying as he mimed dragging a razor across his pecs.

I burst into unexpected laughter as it caught me just right. He saw me and came over.

“I see I made you laugh. You like my story? You’re a very pretty woman, you know that? I saw you before you even came in, back when you were walking around the corner of the building and I’ve been watching you all night.”

He leaned in and continued, “It takes a real woman to wear pink, you know.”

“And it takes a real man to admit he shaves his chest in public.” I retorted. “What pair we are then.” I laughed.

And he was chatting at me as his less-drunk friend pulled him away. “Let the lady alone, man.”

All in all, I had a wonderful time with Infamouscoatcheckgirl and new friends. Got to watch the drunks and the crazy interesting fans be on their best, but usually worst behavior, and got to drink some Jameson while nibbling succulent strawberries.

I did notice an interesting attitude that surfaced while I was there. At some point – and I don’t know when this happened – I have adopted Dante’s as “mine” in my thinking. It may have happened last summer. I’m sure it’s due in part to all of Infamouscoatcheckgirl’s generosity and thoughtfulness – but somewhere, somehow, I have begun thinking of Dante’s as “my club”. Although, clearly it is not.

I remember the first time I was in Dante’s back when I was managing a burlesque show and I was checking out the space as a potential place to perform – that was almost a decade ago.

A lot can happen in ten years, it seems. All for the better.