Page 74 of Girls Will Be Girls
I twirl in the mirror a little, picturing myself as a glamorous, vintage Hollywood starlet in this dress. Maybe I’ll wrap a scarfaround my hair on the drive, wear big cat eye sunglasses, and smoke through a dainty cigarette holder. The vision is there, but I have none of those things with me.
“What’d you have?” He asks.
“Some coconut french toast, a little fried chicken, and oh, these Mackinaw Trout tacos. They were amazing. We should go.” I pause at my reflection. “I mean, you should, if you have time.”
I can hear the smirking grin in his voice. “We should. Sounds really good.” He pauses. “Picked an outfit yet?”
I twist a little again, looking at the dress draped in front of me. “Maybe.” I could wear a chunky straw sandal with a matching bag, and instead go ason holiday in Italychic.
“Need any help?”
“Maybe,” I repeat, taking the hanger off my neck. “How nice should I be dressed?”
He chuckles. “You always look nice.”
I hang my head over the balcony, sticking him with a glare.
“Don’t give me the clueless man answer that never helps,” I say. “Like,actuallyhow nice?”
He leans his head back on the couch, looking up at me. “What are you thinking?”
“Summer dress.”
“Perfect.” He says.
I shake my head. “You haven’t even seen it.”
“Show me then.”
I don’t say anything, looking down at the dress in my hands.
“Louisa.” He says like he can hear me overthinking. “Come show me.”
“Ugh.” I huff. “Fine.”
He laughs, clearly finding my clothes breakdown amusing.
I move to the back of the room again and pull the dress up onto me, zipping the side and adjusting the front so my boobslook perkier and the small cut-out is perfectly aligned. I twirl a little, looking at it on.
“Stop second-guessing.” He shouts. “Show me.”
I stand up taller in front of the mirror, trying to insert confidence into my mind. Most of the time, I like how I look, and usually this dress makes me feel the perfect combination of sexy and sweet, but today, everything makes me feel not good enough.
I may be able to rant about the merits of magazine journalism until I’m redder than usual in the face, but I still have a lot of insecurities about being judged. I know a lot of my insecurities are internal — and probably stem from my pick-me youth — and I know I should be outspoken and confident and not feel these doubts about my job, but I do.
I hate that I do.
I hate that a part of me thinks Lou wouldn’t want to tell his colleagues what I do, because he’d be embarrassed.
I hate that I can’t be confident enough in myself to not care.
It makes me feel just as bad as the people who do judge me, because in a way, I’m judging myself too.
“Louisa, sorry, I need to take a call real quick,” Lou shouts. “I’ll be two minutes.” He says.
“Okay,” I yell down.
He interrupts my idea to stay up here and try something else on as if he can hear my thoughts. “But get down here.” His smirk shining through his voice.
