I had this one friend who lived by a certain code, and although she didn’t realize it, her words of wisdom stuck with me. She had what I like to call a constantly changing personality that would depend on which boy was her flavour of the month. That is to say, who she was dating or had a crush on. When it was the hypster, she loved punk rock, when it was the gangster all of a sudden reggae was her favourite tune, and when he was a baller, you could always find homegurl shaking her groove thang in the clubs. Now I’m not one to judge, but I was judging hard with this serious case of personality disorder. Trust me, this is a thing.
I’ve been told that I can be a negative person, my roommates in university used to call me a sour patch kid. Let’s just say I’m not the kind of person to sit around and take in all the beauty of nature around me, instead I’m the one wallowing in self pity and suggesting that nature is inevitably out to get me. So when I see people in love and changing themselves for a relationship I kinda want to punch them in the face.
Now, I’m not one of those people that believes people can change, because honestly I don’t think that’s the case. I think that we make moves to better ourselves and experience new things, but deep down at our core we are who we are. Just as cheaters will always be cheaters. I read this amazing post by one of my favourite bloggers, Karley Sciortino, where she states that “In a way, we are always plagiarizing the people we respect, from their outfits to their morals.” So, is that what my friend does when she looses herself in all these boys?
I decided to test this theory years ago by dedicating my undivided attention to my summer fling who was all wrong for me. In my head I knew he wasn’t the smartest choice, but let’s just say I wasn’t thinking straight. Now this was back in my prime, when I was the epitome of a party girl, and he was the bad boy that just wanted to have fun so on paper this sounded great. What he liked I liked, where he’d go I’d go, even if I had work or class the next morning. Hell, we even began to dress alike, and let me tell you, if you ever want to avoid being hit on in a bar, just wear matching outfits with your boyfriend. I swear it’s like wearing a wedding ring or having an F-off sign attached to your forehead (which I’ve been told I have, no wonder boys stay away, sigh).
One day I looked at myself and realized, oh dear God, I’ve turned into my needy dependant friend. And all at once, my social experiment became more a reality than a challenge. And although I don’t like to back down from challenges, I was forced to gracefully bow out of this one.