A 3rd person description of myself.
She looks uncomfortable in her own skin. She wears her clothes, they do not wear her, thank christ, but there is something about the way she stands in that skirt that screams “she’s not at ease”. Poor thing, who is she trying to impress? Her make-up is near perfect, that 50’s-pin-up style suits her big, animated eyes and her prominant lips, but surely it’s all a bit much for a dash to the corner shop for tobacco and skins. The fading black dye in her hair has left an unexplainable marroon residue, and the once sharp, sleek, sexy bob cut has grown into a messy, knotted, bowl-shaped nest. For someone who clearly spends most of her day grooming you would think she wanted to look after her hair. She’s trapped somewhere between glamour and grunge, suffering an idnentity crisis built on a foundation of teen angst, which is slightly embarrassing, seeing as she ended her teenage career three years ago.