Put on too much lipstick. Pull your boobs into a jumpsuit that enhances your curves. Go to a hotel rooftop, feign shock when men look at you. Laugh about it. All it takes some flesh to get attention, not brains or natural beauty nor humour. Just some simple skin. We all have skin. No wonder I don’t crave male attention in the same way other women might. I didn’t wear this for anyone on the street, I wore it for me. Funny how most refuse to believe that. Male attention actually makes me terribly uncomfortable. Typically I start sweating or scowling. It is never the men I want to look at me that look. My boobs might be uneven, one bigger than the other and with 26 years of gravity threatening to pull them down, it was no easy feat getting them into this lace up. As for my lipstick, it took constant fixing, with it mostly on my chin rather than mouth. But, I still felt pretty. Simply because there I was walking down a sunny street with navy shoes to match an outfit I quite like. Is that superficial? Perhaps, maybe… but pulling on clothes that hug your bones and urge you to celebrate your own skin? I think that’s a lovely thing. We all need this embrace sometimes, of clothes that fit tight but just right. A lovely thing indeed.