I’ll never forget the first time my longstanding crush finally asked me out on a date.
At last, I thought, our club-side cigarette breaks were finally going to pay off. I was thrilled. But it didn’t take long for my elation to wear off and for the anxiety, panic, and insecurity to sweep in.
Before I could even start planning out our wedding and future power lesbian couple status, I had to plan something infinitely more important: my first date attire.
My mind immediately ran to my closet in hopes of finding a fitting answer to the now burning question: “What am I going to wear?”
I had no idea. Even when I was hiding in the closet, I never knew quite what to wear once I got out of it.
I tried googling the restaurant, a fiercely fancy sushi place in Chinatown. The seats were white leather. The chandeliers sparked like glitter in an ivory sky. I was doomed.
I spent all day musing over what I was to wear, how to do my hair, which shade of red lipstick I was going to rock. I tried on all my favorite pieces–from flannel shirts to flirty skirts–in hopes of finding the perfect fit.
After what seemed like an eternity in a Forever 21 fitting room, I decided to play it safe and settled for a plain, sleeveless black cocktail dress, appropriately knee length, with a funky A-line cut. I straightened my hair, did a quick lipstick check, and headed out the door.
When I arrived at the restaurant, it was ever-so-apparent that I had spent way too much time and effort in what to wear. She glanced at me in all my femme glory for all of two seconds, said I looked nice, and began sweeping me up in talk of her job, career, cats, and mutual acquaintances.
Was I annoyed? Maybe. Slightly. But at the end of the night, the five-second kiss she gave me made me feel 10 times more beautiful than the outfit I had spent so much time to prepare.
Femme Problems 102: Sorry, But I Believe in Dating >>
