I am an extraordinarily materialistic woman.
As I have declared myself such, I would like nudge myself out of my nonchalant observance and clear up a few (intriguing) misconceptions about myself and women like myself, whom our society has both pronounced common and hateful. It is, in fact, only suitable that a materialistic woman is measurably brimming with an unrelenting generosity and a sense of the transitory nature of things.
I appreciate small, beautiful things. Contextually, I appreciate small, beautiful things as little gestures of love. And like gestures of love that struggle with consent, a small beautiful thing taken from hesitant hands is a kind of sick perversion; upon sensing the presence of even a flicker of the sheer force of expectation rather than consummation of love, I become so good-naturedly unwanting of the beautiful thing that to take it from the offering man me becomes psychologically distressful.
But I don’t need to tell you.
Ladies and Gentlemen of Our Societal Jury, I have never cared, or will ever care in the foreseeable future, how much a man makes–why, when I can simply make what he does?–but rather the portion of with which he is willing to part. Despite the rumors, I have never wanted to take from him what he, or anyone, did not wish to give. To blossom into something full and swollen and spilling with love takes no coercion. To appreciate the material things that are rendered is to hold close all the depth of a personal history. The thing is transitory, but the giving of it, and the appreciation of its elusive nature–that is buried deep in the shape of our souls.
It does not stop with romance. A close friend of mine, before she had ever seen me, sent me a heart-shaped locket a year or so ago because she had always wanted one herself. Looking at it in my hand, I had remembered, slowly like a dream, longing for it in my early years of childhood, since I would frequently read about things with such intense meaning in books. This is a connection of the heart;
and when, I step out into velvet high heels and a laced skirt you will call me a materialistic woman, and I only flip my hair over my shoulder, that is why. I am far too happy, dear. I will be happy when I have nothing. I am wrapped in love.