I am noticing a strange pattern in my personal life these days. It all started at work, when I asked a colleague for something. He replied, “Yes, princess” and smirked. Perturbed at the character assumption I just brushed it off.   Oddly enough, the next week another co-worker remarked at my supposed regal title.  I was talking to my lady Meghan about it and she just laughed and told me that I was, in fact a princess.

Pardon me?

It is my own personal belief that pseudo princesses are spoiled, pampered and not the most humble. A princess in the societal term refers to over the top girly-girls who cannot balance a cheque book and require a big strong man to lift boxes. When I think of a princess, my mind reverts to the smutty office bitch, or the high school cheerleader who threw a temper tantrum when she didn’t get the newest car model for her sixteenth birthday. A princess has a shoe closet the size of my garage.

I am none of that.

Having had a job since I was eleven, and having to pay for everything since then, it astounds me that I would be categorized as such. I didn’t get a car when I was a teenager, I work for everything I get, and am grateful for whatever is given to me. Independence seeps through my pores; I am resourceful and an impeccable hustler. Moreover, I am a scholar, a bit of a book worm and extremely spiritual. Does that a princess make?

However, I started to really question if the image I was projecting was in fact, that of a princess. Because, if many a folk call me that, then perhaps there is a grain of truth. I am the common denominator in this princess saga, therefore my definition may need to be evaluated.

Glamour puss, feminine, anti-tomboy… that is a given. I was a born dramatic with a flair for all things lavish. I require a life of luxury and comfort, however that is because I grew up with next to nothing, have earned everything I have, and have learned from prior mistakes. Not because I feel entitled, privileged, or spoiled. I believe that is the error that people make when they judge my lifestyle. It is another reason why it burns my toast that people assume I am a ‘princess.’

Even though it is ridiculous to me, I have come to the conclusion that there may be a stem of princess in my veins. . Chances are if I am called it on the regular, I may have to suck it up and just accept it for what it is. It would be a waste of energy to debate each stranger who assumes that is my character.  I will have to work on accepting that, but the one-dimensional brat I associate with being a princess is not so. As much as I can get lost in a M.A.C cosmetics boutique, I can also spend a day fulfilled in Chapters bookstore. I have to have my hair done, and tanning salons are my therapy, but I also spend hours learning new religions, and brushing up on history. If that makes me a princess, then so be it.

Today, at work, a different co-worker called me the dreaded P word again. Perhaps, for my own sanity I will decide what my own personal princess principles are. I will choose to look at it as a feminine creature with a quiet confidence, as opposed to a moronic tart. This way, I will diffuse any princess-like temper tantrums and respond poised, refined and just nod.

Photo Credit © Kruchenuk | Dreamstime.com

Tags: glamour, identity, princess, self image