With my twin, I feel like it’s us against the world. The world, on the other hand, seems that it would prefer us against each other. Over our 19 years, we’ve received comments such as, “Wow, your sister’s gorgeous! You look nothing alike,” “Oh, so you’re the disappointment, then?” and “How does it feel to have a sister so much smarter than you?” And my personal favorite: “You’re just so… different” (Ambiguity only baits the imagination.)
I can’t shake the fact that my love for Los Angeles Apparel opposes my self-professed feminist politics. When I add another tennis skirt to my shopping cart, I line the pockets of a man who built his career on the degradation of women.
I remember how much I struggled to find the right words to write — staring at the computer screen for hours, refusing to write the word “disabled.”
I realized, in what felt like the middle of nowhere, on this expedition to prove to myself that I could find security in my new environment, that I was alone in being responsible for myself.