Skip to main content

When is a girl not a girl?

There's been some debate on this blog and out in the real world as to whether or not I can reasonably claim to be a girl. Yes, I suppose technically I'm no longer a girl... if you were to rely on the following dictionary definition:

girl

  [gurl]  Show IPA
–noun
1.
a female child, from birth to full growth.
2.
a young, immature woman, especially formerly, an unmarried one.
3.
a daughter: My wife and I have two girls
Origin: 
1300; Middle English gurle, girle, gerle  child, young person;compare Old English gyrela, gi(e) rela,  item of dress, apparel (presumably worn by the young in late OE period, and hence used as a metonym)

galgirl, ladywoman 

It is true that, to quote from one of my favorite films, that I am indeed "...as old as f*ck" (comparatively speaking) and thus claiming to be a girl might be viewed as an outrageous lie. I would argue, however, that being a girl is not entirely down to how old you are; it can also be a state of mind.

Take my late grandmother, for example. My Texas-born grandma was very much a girl until the day she died; even in her 80's Granny exhibited a girlishness which was closely linked her ready (and raucous) laugh and the determination to have as much fun as possible. 

Some people might see a female of a certain age who exhibits traits of girlishness as irresponsible, foolish or in dire need of growing up. Boffins talk about Peter Pan Syndrome, although this is usually applied to men with a focus on the negatives - someone who chafes at boundaries, craves freedom and is not always capable of dealing with the adult world. The state of girlishness is at least one step removed from this and is, to my mind, not quite so damning.

So what is it? It's about being able to step outside of the constraints of adult-world responsibility (not all the time, but now and then). It's being able to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. It's not really giving a sh*t about what people think. It's allowing yourself to look ridiculous if the need arises because really, who cares? It's about a lightness of spirit, doing something purely because it's fun (and not because it's age-appropriate) and shaking up the mundane - basically, the state of girlishness takes some of the best aspects of being a child and applies it to adult life. 

Being childish is often used as an insult (and yes, I have been on the receiving end of this particular gem) but let's face it, being a grown-up all the time can be rather dull.  Children are fun because they appreciate having fun so much, silliness can be amusing (in small-ish doses) and their zest for life is hugely attractive. Why shouldn't we, as adults, aspire to the introduction of certain aspects of childishness to our lives? 

As I've said before, I'm so pleased I'm a girl. And if I have my way, I too, just like my Grandmother, will be a girl until the day I die.

Comments

Suse said…
I'm a girl too! Age ain't nothing but a number.
juicyfatkin said…
If it's about being a girl then surely it should be called the Tinklebell Syndrome rather than peter pan.
Unknown said…
must be a "smith" family thing...
Kate B. said…
Juicy - double like! Now, why didn't I think of that? Lovely.

Wanda - it's in our blood! No escaping it...

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...