This is complicated for me. I can't wear makeup due to sensory issues and OCD--also the reason I can't wear pretty clothes or style my hair--and one consequence is I feel even more unfeminine than I already am. But it's not a true cause-and-effect thing, it's all mixed up. I've never felt feminine or "girly" in my life--I never liked dolls, never wanted to play princess, never wanted to dress up and it always irritated me when my childhood friends wanted to play with my extra-long hair (which, despite it being like the ONE thing that made me feel female, I ended up getting lopped off in adulthood--after my mother had forced me, crying, to get it cut shorter previously--to combat my OCD tendency to need it put in a "perfect ponytail" every day (because I hated wearing it down), which always led to screaming/crying fits when my mother couldn't get it right after numerous tries...I cried when it was cut for the second time too, fully believing nobody would be able to tell I'm female without it)...when I had awards ceremonies and such to go to, my mother always tried curling my hair (and was disappointed when the curls quickly wore out), blushing my face (other makeup was out of the question, I'd smear it off), and putting me in pretty floral-print dresses (I hate floral print) and shiny shoes (I hate shoes) and nylons (hate hate hate)...I was always uncomfortable and miserable. And discouraged that not only was I not into any of this stuff like I should've been, but I obviously wasn't the girly-girl my mother had wanted.
She actually bought me a fancy porcelain doll which slightly resembled me, pale skin, blue eyes, long brown hair, that is, if my hair had managed to retain its curl and if I'd liked wearing a dress...then told me I wasn't to play with it, it was just to sit on the shelf for looks. I guess it was a good thing I didn't care for it, though it did have an awfully pretty green velvet dress.
I loved a dollhouse for its detailed miniature furniture, but didn't care to fill it with dolls (which I didn't possess). We never finished assembling it anyway. I had a Barbie and it was vaguely fun dressing her in different things but I never really got into it and I never made up stories with her. I didn't care about Barbie's life because I couldn't relate. Ditto with the homemade Cabbage Patch Kid my mother made to resemble me (pale skin, blue eyes, long brown hair...and a dress
); I never connected with her the way I did with my plastic animal miniatures, my stuffed toys. I spent my childhood playing with those instead, and running around pretending to be a dog or a monster, not a princess. I identified with animals and imaginary creatures. (I loved
Pound Puppies and My Little Pony. The original, not that crappy remake they have nowadays.)
While poking around in my parents' room once, I came upon my mother's makeup. Just this once, I tried putting on the lipstick, the blush, maybe a bit of eyeshadow. (Despite all I've typed, I do find eyeshadow to be quite pretty sometimes. Such beautiful colors, I resent that I can't wear it.) Gazed at the result in the mirror. I looked like a clown, like a sl*t (in my mind). Like a dumb child failing at dressup. I know, this was partly due to me not knowing how to put on makeup properly. But that wasn't the only cause. It was just wrong on me. I put the makeup away, washed my face off, and never tried any on again.
Never even got my ears pierced.
Eventually, awards ceremonies and family gatherings ended and so did my mother's efforts to make me look and behave like a girl. And now here I am today. Guys, when they bother to notice me at all, have said I'm not remotely like most women--and not in a flattering way, either--and I can't really argue because it's true. It's been true my whole life, it's only been recently that I've realized. Guys don't consider me female, much less a romantic prospect, and a vocal handful have been quite cruel about it, even while denying that I can suffer from the same loneliness and rejection they do (a weird contradiction, but apparently it makes sense in their minds). Trying to escape the ridicule of men and to find somebody who empathizes, I've attempted numerous times to fit into women's-only spaces yet even they ignore or outright reject me, and never notice or care when I'm gone. I'm not joking when I say I picture myself as some sort of amoeba, not male, not female, just...formless, invisible. I belong nowhere. No one will have me.
It's painfully lonely being an amoeba. -_-
Anyway, makeup and clothes and hair and girly-girl stuff. It isn't just that sensory issues and OCD prevent me from utilizing such things to make me more feminine. It's also that I just feel I don't deserve these things
. Obviously, prettying up is for feminine people. People who can pull it off. Personally, I've always felt like a fraud when it comes to being "feminine." I have the XX chromosomes, and anatomical female parts, but that's it. I don't feel female (or male). I just feel like a genderless lump. In my mind, wearing pretty clothes (no matter how comfortable and flattering--and I've never found ANY that fit either one of those criteria, it's like they just don't make clothing for someone like me, which only proves my point that I don't fit in anywhere), styling my hair, and especially putting on makeup, is like committing some sort of hoax, tricking people into thinking I'm something I'm not, except I'd never even be able to do that, I'd never "pass." Everyone would see right through the girly effects. I literally feel that for me to put on makeup would be like putting lipstick on a pig. Or an amoeba.
So...I guess I have no positive associations, personally. Not because of how makeup and such look on others but because of me, who and what I am. Whatever it is. I'm not feminine, so feminine things won't work for me, no matter how desperately I wish I were girly and pretty and that just once
a guy would consider me beautiful or attractive. I don't want to be a joke. I get laughed at enough just for being who I am, I don't need to get laughed at for who I'm not (but still wish I was).
...Don't know why I've spent all this time typing this up. I've mentioned this various times in the past but no one has ever commented, so I guess nobody else can relate, as usual. Freely disregard my mental vomit.