I am the girl next door.
In my youth, I may have even qualified as teenage wallpaper – quietly blending into my surroundings, acting as a background accent to allow more noticeable living room furnishings to take the spotlight. Did I want to be the statuesque lamp? The Italian leather couch in red? Sure. There was a period of time (read: the college years) where I yearned to be the hot girl. I wanted to be her so bad. On a few unfortunate Halloweens, I fought the girl next door image with my costume choices. Daydreaming about turning heads when I walked into a room left me feeling dangerously inadequate. And uncomfortable in my own skin.
A girl next door is anything but inadequate. She’s not naïve or demure, either.
The girl next door is a force to be reckoned with…in pink and pastels. She a subtle-type-of-glam. Uniquely her own. The girl next door’s looks never fade because she’s got a confidence about her. She radiates beauty not matter her age or what she’s wearing. She dresses for herself.
I wouldn’t want to be anything but the girl next door.