Wearing pink doesn’t make me a girly girl

I’ve been a tomboy for as long as I can remember, always rebelling against anything girly, which of course meant hating the colour pink.

I remember walking home from primary school telling my Mum how wearing a skirt was stupid because I couldn’t run properly in it. It was one of those smart, straight skirts that came down to my knees. I believe that was the first and last time I wore a skirt until I was about 16.

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Hoping across boulders on a family holiday

Over the last few years I’ve noticed the amount of pink in my wardrobe has been increasing gradually, and the tomboy in me is slightly repulsed by this. However I’m becoming more drawn to the colour and it seems to suit me.

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I’ve come to realise that wearing pink doesn’t make me girly. I am me and I cannot be defined by the colour of my clothing. I can wear pink and still be strong. I can wear pink and like mud. I can wear pink and go camping and mountain biking and hill walking.

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I hate the whole pink for a baby girl and blue for a baby boy situation. Why should we define sex by a colour, or anything else for that matter. Girls play with pink barbies and boys play with blue trucks or guns. C’mon. It’s the 21st century. Girls can lift heavy weights and men can like dressing up and doing yoga and that’s okay.

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So yes I do like wearing pink but that doesn’t automatically mean I also like painting my nails, doing my make up and all those other things that “girls” do. And even if I did that doesn’t make me weak… a pushover… someone who needs to stay in the kitchen and do all the cleaning.

A colour does not define who I am.

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