Being a teenage girl is rough. When I meet someone new and tell them my favorite artist is Taylor Swift, I can see the spark in their eyes go out. It’s worse than mere disappointment – I can actively see my worth going down in their estimation, my reputation shattered beyond saving. 

“Surely,” I can almost hear them thinking to themselves, “surely such an intelligent young woman wouldn’t be preoccupied by something so frivolous, meaningless, stupid. And surely, if she is interested in these things, she must be beneath my notice.”

This is the narrative that’s been tossed around for centuries – that liking stereotypical “teenage girl things” is a symptom of unintelligence. 

Well, I’m here to tell you that I, a teenage girl with a 5.0 GPA and full ride to Harvard, am a diehard fan of Taylor Swift. I love painting my nails and making cute Pinterest boards. I’ve watched Twilight seven times. I’m obsessed with cottagecore and healing frequencies and I’m not afraid to say it anymore. 

I shouldn’t be looked down upon or treated any differently for the fact that I write a heart after my name in my signature. Or for going to art museums to take aesthetic pictures. 

I’m just as worthy of love and respect if I make harmless mistakes sometimes, like hiking in a pretty dress or hitting the curb while parking or collecting someone’s eyebrow hair to channel their aura at my next sleepover.

I can hear your protests, and I get it. I know my hobbies aren’t always logical. But so what if I ask everyone I meet for their birth time so I can map out their star chart? So what if I’ve written the same name a hundred times in my manifestation journal? So what if I broke into my ex’s house one night to sneak rose quartz under his pillow so he’d be forced to fall back in love with me? That doesn’t make me crazy.

People love to tear down women for these simple, harmless activities. I mean, where are our morals, right? God forbid we have thoughts and feelings of our own. Sometimes it’s the wrong bows in my hair, sometimes it’s the wrong heart medication to make you even more drop dead gorgeous… damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Well, I’m sorry that I don’t conform to the perfect ideal of what a man wants me to be. I’m sorry I don’t care about soccer. I’m sorry I tried to set your car on fire. Both times. We all make mistakes, okay? Stop unfairly criticizing women for things outside of our control.

And okay, I admit it, I’m the reason your brother’s been missing. I stalked your entire family on LinkedIn and tried DMing him your darkest secrets and let’s just say he didn’t take it too well. But I took care of it. I did what needed to be done. And I put on “Bad Blood” afterwards.

I know you’ll judge me for this, and for every other little thing. Just like they judged witches in Salem and suffragettes in Washington. Just like women have been hunted and harangued throughout history just for the crime of existing. But I won’t be brought down by the haters, because I know I’m never wrong. It’s just part of life as a regular, well-adjusted teenage girl.

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