We all love a good montage, which is French for “editing” and also rhymes with fromage (mmmmmm cheese montage working on my night cheese).

But these short sonic shots can be reeeeaaaal sexist. Man montage: training, sweating, working, achieving, kicking ass, maybe there’s a shed, something outdoorssweetest thingy. Woman montage: trying on outfits, sunglasses, a ridiculous hat, dancing, posing, laughing, hair flip, cat walking.

A man’s montage is a journey of will, a woman’s is a makeover. And don’t get me wrong, I LOVE montages. I enjoy watching someone run up steps as much as I do watching someone swipe their way through a department store. But montages contribute to the lies we tell ourselves and also to the amount of excuses I find not to go to the gym. Why do a chin up when all I need is lipstick?

It’s a romantic and oft repeated narrative that a woman’s mobility is her beauty and a man’s is his athleticism (both are lies, we all know this). In real life convenience trumps conventions so most people’s montage’s are simply a daily grind of whatever it is they do to pay bills. But montages have certainly shaped my ambitions, or lack there of.  There are few things I want more in life than to wear 

louboutin shoes

Christian Louboutin shoes. I’m convinced that when I become the woman Im meant to be, one that wears Louboutins, then I will be happy.

What would I be doing in these shoes? Where would I be going? How could I afford them? Why do I want them so bad? These are questions I have not answered but I know there’s a montage involved. I wish I lived in a world that shaped my ambitions to be a little less Devil Wears Prada and a little more poundee da pavement or Lord Knows. But buying shoes seems easier than doing sit ups, so I dream of red heels.


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