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Real Men, Real Women

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Is it the tie? Is it the belt? Is it the shoes? What makes a real man?

For me, a real man is someone who can wear pink. Not because it looks good on him, not because it was chosen by his girlfriend, boyfriend, husband or wife, but because he likes it, he’s comfortable in it, and he’s confident enough to pull it off.

A real man is someone who is happy enough in his own skin to not care what color his shirt or sweater is, who holds his head up high because he knows who he is, not because he knows no one will say anything as long as he’s in blue.

A real man would never say words like ‘pansy’, ‘fruit’, ‘flamer’ or ‘faggot.’ A real man doesn’t need to attack. Most of the time a real man doesn’t even need to defend.

A real man wears pink, not because it works well with almost all complexions and skin tones, but because it’s a damn good color – and real men know good from bad, and right from wrong.

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Is it the bag? Is it the necklace? Is it the make-up? What makes a real woman?

For me, a real woman is someone who can wear pants. Not because they look good on her, not because they were chosen by her boyfriend, girlfriend, wife or husband, but because she likes them, she’s comfortable in them, and she’s confident enough to pull it off.

A real woman is someone who is happy enough in her own skin to not care whether her pants are knakis or jeans, who holds her head up high because she knows who she is, not because she knows no one will say anything as long as she’s in a dress.

A real woman would never say words like ‘butch’ or ‘dyke’. A real woman doesn’t need to attack. Most of the time a real woman doesn’t even need to defend.

A real woman wears pants, not because they make her figure look good, but because there’s nothing a man can wear that a woman can’t wear better – and real women know good from bad, and right from wrong.

 

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