gremlins

I really connected to this HTMLGiant post by Lily Hoang, though I am not avant-garde, nor am I Othered."

I have this thing against cuteness. Cuteness is dismissable, cast to the side as irrelevant. And I suppose, to be fair, what was the last cute thing you actually took seriously? There seems to be something inherent to cuteness that begs to be cuddled and pet, smooshed and distorted. Taken seriously, though, nah. Nope.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been described as “cute.” And I admit, I have something to do with it. I’m short, compact, I have a collection second-hand t-shirts, brightly colored with some kiddie design on it. When I’m nervous—and I’m always nervous—I fold, make myself smaller, and my voice goes higher, “cuter.” And yet, I’ve tried to balance this with being an “adult.” I’ve changed my wardrobe. These days, instead of emerald green short skirts, I wear drab slacks. Instead of bright blue t-shirts, I wear black or grey. I’ve learned that as a woman—a young woman, an Othered woman, a “cute” woman—in order to be taken seriously, I have to dress the part. Being a writer certainly doesn’t help. If anything, it makes other people see me as more quirky, more “cute.”

I'm 5' tall, 24, female, and fighting the "cute" monster every time I go to a school board meeting or have interviews in which I am standing up and writing and straining my neck every time I want to make eye contact with the other person. People with whom I must engage professionally are, a little too often, prone to patting my shoulder like I am an earnest, adorable niece. I tend to overcompensate with serious expressions. It's part of why I love film noir and related dark things so much. All these stories of people taking each other far too seriously. I like putting teeth and determination into my art that I'm not quite able to make everyone see in person.