I apparently have a lot of feelings today…
I hate women’s magazines, and Self in particular — it’s basically Marie Claire wearing sneakers — so I’m enjoying watching this tutu debacle unfold.
I don’t like running. At all. But part of the reason I still do it, and the main reason I pay to do races, is that runners are (generally) some supportive sons of bitches, and it makes me feel awesome to be part of that camaraderie.
And this? Is bullshit. I don’t give a baker’s fuck what that woman is wearing — she’s out there running. (While, I might add, SURVIVING CANCER.) I personally don’t do the tutu, but I’ve run in a tiara. Why? Because I CAN. I like running because you can do it in a tutu or tiara, or in high-tech running gear, and it’s all good. I know there are some judgey panda “real runners” out there, and you know what? Whatever. I’m having fun, and being active, and feeling good about ME.
As long as I’m wearing clothes, my friends who run aren’t gonna go all Regina George on me: “That is the ugliest effing tutu I’ve ever seen.” Because my friends aren’t assholes. And from what I’ve seen, particularly in this case, a lot of runners aren’t assholes, either.
So screw you, Self. And by the way, on Wednesdays, we wear pink. Pink tutus.
Smug Singleton 