As a woman, you tend to think you’re pretty hot when you’ve waxed, plucked, smooshed, smeared, pushed up, shed five pounds, glittered, sheened, shaved, and puckered. Whenever I go from my Before (jeans, t-shirt, and Chucks) to my After (nice shirt, clean hair, and a little more makeup), I think: I clean up well. But do I feel hot Hot? Nope.
A few nights back I had a funny moment. It’s one I’ve had hundreds of times. But this time it registered in my head: This is when I’m hot.
I feel especially hot the second I get off a plane. Music from this playlist is blaring in my ears (I need something to wake me up as my flights always get in near midnight) and I’m stomping towards my car. Gracefully and expertly maneuvering my roller bag past lagging passengers. The airport is empty so there’s plenty of space for a long stride. I’m guessing it’s how Giselle feels working the runway. Fucking hot.
Am I’m Runway ready? Hell no! I’ve got a full day of travel stench wafting off me. My face probably has the imprint of my zipper on it. My neck is killing me because I’m too vain to buy a travel pillow. If I have my contacts in, my eyes are scratchy and full of goo and crust nuggets. My clothes are wrinkly and my belly is full of crap-ass airport food. Not a pillar of beauty. But I still feel incredibly hot in that moment.
Maybe it’s because:
- I’ve got Wake up Music blaring in my ears and no one else can hear it. It’s usually a badass tune which makes me feel badass.
- I’m alone in an airport and it fuels my deep desire of independence. I’ve always been pretty independent and my need for it is growing as I age. Airports yank that out of me. I’m alone in a city and no one can do a thing about it.
- It always reminds me of the 23-year-old who still got lost in her tiny hometown neighborhood. I’d get off the plane knowing that I successfully navigated through Chicago, LA, Dallas, etc. All alone and before Google maps or cell phones.
- And when I’m in Columbus, it means I’m home. Soon I’ll see my family and get to snuggle with my beloved pillow.
Getting dressed up is lovely, but doesn’t leave me feeling the same as the airport does. You can’t get it from a smoky eye or a new bra. No new cleavage deep shirt or smooth legs have that power. There’s no fancy media airbrushing to create this kind of strength. No celebrity has the power to make me believe in myself. Nope. It’s simple: strutting through the airport makes me feel unstoppable, unwavering, confident, and fucking hot.
As women we shouldn’t rely on products or celebrities to fuel our self-confidence. We should rely on creating it for ourselves. Some think self confidence is difficult to achieve or spend thousands trying to grasp it. We need to turn off the shitty voices in our heads, recognize when we’re fabulous and embrace it. Maybe it’s when you changed an outlet. Or told the salesman, “NO! I don’t want that car. I want THIS ONE!” Maybe it’s when you caught your kid’s puke in your hands and didn’t freak out. It’s in that moment when you realize you’re pretty damn amazing. You’ve got the kind of self-confidence people hope little girls will cultivate for adulthood. It’s the kind of self confidence that allows you to stand strong during difficult times. It’s the kind of self-confidence that bubbles in your core and will explode if you let it. Only you can create this kind of everlasting self-confidence. It’s that kind of self-confidence that let’s you believe, “Yep, I’m hot.” And mine shows up in the airport.
When do you feel hot? Tell me and own it all day long.
- No one likes a blog post without a picture.
- Proof I was in an airport.
- Why else would they put full-length mirrors if they didn’t want you to photograph in them?
- You can’t see anything, Ma!
- Why do they have ashtrays in airplane bathrooms if you haven’t been allowed to smoke FOREVER! That freaks me out.
- It takes me a while to pee on a plane. I got bored.