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Origin of the Myth: Why Women Can’t Be Friends

I went to an all girls school growing up, and before you think this is a sob story or a Walmart version of Orange is the New Black. I have to say, maybe it looked like a prison but I spent the best years of my life stuck with girls in those four corners. A day in class felt like we were planning a heist, those girls could lead a revolution if they wanted to. Once I moved here, adjusting to a co-ed high school became a nightmare. Especially since my face was responding to the calls of nature, puberty was also the worst to me. Sure, I was humbled when I had the chance to show my hair freely and wear makeup to school, but I wasn’t ready for Mean Girls turning into a reality. While the trajectory of my eyebrows throughout high school is one of the bitter-sweet memories, the “locker-room talk,” on the other hand, wasn’t. Of course, there are mean girls everywhere, but where I grew up we were taught that a girl’s best friend is like a sister. We were taught that a man will never understand the gravity of your pain, your fears or your period. Eventually, I found my own girl club and we recreated moments of Mamma Mia and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I live my main character moment vicariously through them. I don’t think their distinctive characteristics make them too dramatic, overly sensitive nor do I ever feel the urge to slut shame them or abandon them for a guy.

I had this revelation a while ago when working as a hostess for a nightclub. I remember it specifically because it was the coldest night of the year and I was bedridden after that. Other than the amount of fist fights I witnessed working, there was also an usual amount of lone drunken girls walking. This night in particular, a girl projectile vomited her dinner right beside the door. She proceeded to pass out right after in the blistering cold until the snow started covering her like a blanket. At this point, the crowd is about to depart before the music stops, yet there isn’t a sign of a single one of her friends. This is when I thought to myself, sometimes us women forget that a common denominator exists between us all. Besides, the natural urge to compete for men or be living proof of survival of the fittest, our femininity binds us all together.

To be honest, I can’t imagine a future where me and the girls aren’t meeting over cocktails in our thirties while we all live in different parts of the world. Of course, you can take on the world on your own, but even Harley Quinn had her Birds of Prey to come home to when the Joker left her astray. Even if you are waiting for a Prince Charming to save you, what’s a bachelorette party without a cat fight?

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