a real woman

by Aqeela Naqvi

So incredibly tired of reading articles or overhearing conversations about what a “real woman” is. Newsflash: a real woman… is a real woman. End of story. She is not a specimen to be dissected by countless magazine titles; not a doll to be dressed up and dictated by societal pressures. She is not the nerdy but sporty but also beauty-queen-girl-next-door from your favorite romance movie (heads up… that girl doesn’t exist). Not the curvy girl, skinny girl, cool girl, funny girl, anything-you-want-her-to-be girl.

So when you raise your nose in the air and proceed to grace us with the profound knowledge of what a ‘real woman’ is and our response is to stand there in stunned silence – know that it’s not because we’re in awe at your many smarts, but because we’re shocked that someone with such little functioning brain matter was able to get up and brush their teeth that morning. Because only someone with such limited understanding of life, the world, true beauty, and themselves could look at such a perfect creation and proceed to cast a plastic mold for it because it ‘suits it better.’ Like a fumbling child playing with clay, smearing it on a marble masterpiece.

Men and (unfortunately) women – stop perpetuating judgement – explicitly spoken and (perhaps more dangerous) implicitly unspoken – nullifying or affirming a woman’s right to beautiful existence where you see fit.

Real women are who. we. are. We span the breadth of talents passions appearances interests personalities intelligences. We exist in patterns like constellations, leaving stardust in our wake. We were not made to be contained, and will not give you the power to contain us.

We are – all of us – real to the flesh. Graced to the very last bone.