Molly, a girl with frightening blue eyes and a buzzcut, replied that she was a writer when I asked her what she does. I don't quite find blue eyes attractive as I find them terrifying. When we make eye contact, it feels like my soul is being pierced. I met her in Cincinnati, so if the last few sentences isn't enough context for you, to put it plainly, Molly is a white, liberal, midwestern female. I find these types to be a bit more forward, since the privilege of her skin color doesn't give her much credit in the lefty scene, it's as if she needs to assert her Identity Beyond more directly-- her hair, her sexuality, her political views, her job. And that is surely enough to stick out in the conservative midwest. I was intrigued that she identified herself as a writer, because she had no notable published works. At least, none that I could find on Google at the time. But I still thought it was cool she called herself a writer, when she could have easily said she was a bartender, which she also was, but I didn't find out about that until weeks later. I remember wondering at what point you can call yourself a writer.
Several months ago, a similar sentiment was presented to me. I met a few friends of friends at a quiet bar in the East Village in the middle of a work week. I must have been sharing a personal opinion based off of personal experience, because I remember starting off by saying, "As a woman..." and felt a little self-conscious for having intentionally used "woman" instead of "girl,"which is what I typically mindlessly blurt out. While no one had anything to say about whatever opinion I had, after a bit of silence, the new acquaintance asked if he could ask me a random question, excusing himself from lack of relevant comment. As if he knew I was testing out identifying as "woman" for the first time, he gently asked at what point did I start calling myself a woman. I can't remember his face, or even his name, but I do remember thinking he reminded me of a high school friend who also asked gentle questions, although he didn't always succeed at avoiding offending me.
Just now, I told him.
