There are two types of girls in the world: girls with perfectly ordered wallets and girls with a fierce hurricane existing within the confines of their precious leather wallets.
As I grew older I always felt a strange envy towards girls who had an immaculate portfolio. I clearly remember that one of my well-known students at the school had the most orderly portfolio I have ever seen.
His wallet welcomed only things like a clean wallet (the kind that tickets are put in order), a lip moisturizer and a cute comb the perfect size to travel.
She had perfectly blonde hair, never had frizz, not even on rainy days, and her skin was impossibly soft and free of acne. His perfect portfolio seemed to be the perfect metaphor about his perfect life.
She was a teenager whose fair portfolio was a bottomless barrel that contained things from full-sized hair brushes, 17 different shades of lipstick, rainbow bracelets, shredded cigars, wrinkled ballots, boredom notes in classes, fashion magazines , Scratched CDs and four broken containers of black nail polish.
Unlike my “perfect” partner, my hair was filled with an aura of frizz as the summer began and my skin seemed eternally covered in spots and acne.
My disastrous portfolio seemed a metaphor for my disastrous life.
Around the age of 23, I began to accept myself, and consequently my messy portfolio.
Although the content of my messy portfolio was evolving (the rainbow bracelets were replaced by wooden bracelets), it was still a complete disaster.
I started judging my portfolio differently and subsequently changed the way my life looked.
What I once saw as a symbol of dysfunction became a beautiful metaphor for my fabulous, creative and adventurous life.
I accepted who I was and I took power.
I think the time has come for all the girls who have suffered embarrassment and ridicule due to the crazy content of their portfolios to free themselves from those trials and love their portfolios and lives for what they are.
OK, maybe we’re not the girls with perfectly ironed hair, they make grocery lists and we have the perfect manicure day after day, but is it really that terrible? Is perfection really so entertaining?
It seems that I find that the crazy hair, the different clothes and a portfolio full of secrets is a much sexier alternative.