So I had occasion to walk through the city this afternoon and observed a rather large portion of the population while I was at it.

As I was walking through City Place a group of young girls walked past us, probably aged very early 20's, if that. Definitely not any older. They were all decked out like a christmas tree; hair done in ridiculous upstyles or flat ironed so straight it could cut you, enough makeup to shame Kiss, jewellery enough to sink the Titanic and heels that would make even the most hardcore dominatrix pale in fear. Their clothes looked incredibly hot and uncomfortable given that it was more than likely at least 37 degrees (that's celcius by way non-Australian peoples). As they tottered past one of them tripped up and naturally I pointed and laughed and said "What kind of dickead wears shit like that walking around the city?". Of course that didn't win me any friends, but it did elicit a snigger from the guy I was with.

Women do some seriously weird shit all in the name of vanity. I saw a girl on Friday who had huge long nails, the kind that you look at and wonder how they manage to do anything without ripping themselves apart (use your imagination). She had little rings on the ends of them and diamontes glued to them. WHY??? Why would anybody want to do that?

Why would you spend hours perfecting your hair and makeup and then spend the day walking around the city in sweltering, melt your face off kind of heat? You're going to look like Alice Cooper's little sister by the end of the day. Why not just wear something cool and comfortable? Oh yeah, that wouldn't be, like, cool, to be seen like au naturel. Because we all know that breaking your ankle from teetering about in sky high heels is something to brag about. And wearing clothes tight enough that I can count the change in your pocket as well as see the outline of what you had for breakfast snaking it's way down your digestive tract is sooooo attractive.

You know why women do these stupid things? Women's magazines. Seriously. If you are A: a man; or B: a woman who has never read one, purely as a social experiment go and have a look at one. "Ten ways to a slimmer new you! - Top tips to make your tummy toned for summer! - What does your clothing style say about you? - Boost your self confidence! (after we tear it down)" the headlines all read.

Reading a women's magazine is tantamount to having hot bamboo rods shoved underneath my nails. They are filled with articles talking about empowerment and self confidence and on the very next page show this years 'must have' jeans with a size chart... if you are above a size 10 you get the message "Sorry these jeans don't come in this size because you are a fat arse". Way to build a girl up and then tear her down again. We're constantly made to feel bad about ourselves because we don't look like the anorexic hos on the catwalk who are being hailed as the image women should strive to be, never mind the fact that for 99.99% of women, unless they have their ribs removed and all their bones shaved in half, being that thin is absolutely impossible. We're expected to look at pictures that have been photoshopped beyond recognition and think to ourselves "Golly gee, I should look like that too" and subsequently spend our entire life savings on overpriced beauty products, ugly clothes, tasteless accessories and then be driven to spend all of our time slaving away at the gym or over the toilet bowl with our fingers down our throat trying to acheive a look that will kill us in the end. Women's magazines are there to capitalise on your insecurities by ingenious product placement and hypocritical editorials. Get a clue idiots, it's not cool.

So with that in mind, I have accepted the fact that I will never be cool. I don't want to look like a trussed up peacock or an acid rainbow. I don't want to wear bubble skirts that look like lampshades or wear baby doll tops that make me look pregnant. I don't want to spend hours painting my face or doing my hair.  I'm too lazy to be a 'real woman'.