Danni Turner
From a young age, women are taught that it’s good to be not like other girls. Other girls are fake, superficial, ditsy and dumb. Other girls don’t have ambition. All they care about are boys, boys, boys. They listen to pop music and watch trashy TV. They wear too much makeup and not enough clothes. They have no morals and no self-respect. You don’t want to be like other girls.
You want to be like her: the Zooey Deschanels of the world. She’s cool. She’s smart. She reads books. She listens to records and shops second-hand. She’s probably vegan (and a real a**hole about it). And get this — she gets the man and the job. And not just any man or any job: THE man and THE job. Just because she was not like other girls. So naturally, I didn’t want to be like them either.
Taylor Swift and Other Girls
I remember the release of Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” like it was yesterday. I, like every other girl on the planet in 2008, was obsessed with it. Every day I’d play it on repeat, usually as I played The Sims, usually as a not-like-other girls-inspired character. “IT’S A LOVE STORY BABY JUST SAY YES,” I’d shout, as my artistic, bookworm, good sense of humour sim kissed their hot nerdy boyfriend (also my invention). Later she/I’d dump him to focus on our burgeoning writing career; classic not-like-other-girl things, though I hadn’t consciously categorised myself then. I was simply a girl. And then I came across the music video for “You Belong With Me.”
“She wears short skirts / I wear T-shirts”
The premise of the song is simple. It’s about a quirky not-like-other-girl who’s in love with her cute neighbour, only he’s in love with the popular girl. Taylor Swift plays both girls, and the dichotomy between them is clear: literally spelt out for us in the lyrics, “She wears short skirts / I wear T-shirts / She’s Cheer Captain, and I’m on the bleachers.”
Not mentioned, but visible to viewers, are quirky girl’s dorky glasses, cheesy dance moves and painful awkwardness, and hot girl’s form-fitting clothes, confidence (read: arrogance) and model looks. The irony, of course, is that they are both Taylor Swift, and therefore both beautiful — but the director really wants you to know that quirky girl isn’t trying to be beautiful, and that’s what matters here.
And of course, she has her magical transformation moment, arriving at prom in a white dress sans glasses (shocker), as Swift sings the titular lyrics, “You belong with me.” And what do you know, cute boy realises he does belong with her, dropping hot girl like the bag of trash she supposedly is.
The Taylor Swift effect: Hot girl versus quirky girl
But like how it matters that quirky girl doesn’t try to be beautiful, it matters even more that hot girl does try. It was a conscious decision to make her look that way: pretty, polished, feminine. Just as it was a conscious decision to make quirky girl look goofy — but not too goofy that she’d be ugly; no not-like-other-girls are never ugly.
And because films like Mean Girls and She’s All That exist, we already know not to like hot girl. Before she’s even slighted our girl Taylor, we’re wary of her because she is feminine, and worst of all, sexy — as other girls are. It’s pretty much their defining trait. Not-like-other-girls are virginal, or at least give that impression; other girls are sluts.
P!nk and Stupid Girls
As well as being a Swiftie, I was also a huge P!nk fan (Pinkie?) growing up, so you can imagine the impact “Stupid Girls” had on my developing distrust of other girls. (I know, I know, “Stupid Girls” came out before “You Belong With Me,” but in my memory, I discovered it after). “You Belong With Me” made me think it’s good to be not like other girls, but “Stupid Girls” taught me it’s absolutely essential.
The lyrics for “Stupid Girls” are one thing: “Baby, if I act like that / Flippin’ my blond hair back / Push up my bra like that / I don’t wanna be a stupid girl,” but the music video is something else entirely. Something that borders on bullying. But I didn’t know that then, and I started to think P!nk was the only female artist with her head screwed on — around the same time I started to reject Taylor Swift.
Indie Films and Not-Like-Other-Girls
As a teenager I loved films. Especially trashy coming-of-age films which are rife with the not-like-other-girls trope. (I still have a soft spot for these films, though, importantly, I have critical thinking skills now). I also discovered indie films around this time, which also love a quirky not-like-other-girl: think Clementine from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or Summer from 500 Days of Summer. The more I watched these films with their kooky characters, the more I wanted to be them.
These girls were independent and driven; they didn’t give a s***, whereas I gave a s*** about everything. I wished I didn’t. I also wished I was pretty like my sister, but when I realised that was never going to happen, I decided to rebel against feminine beauty standards (which, to me, looked like wearing my hair naturally instead of straight and baggy clothes instead of fitted — which is to say, I was hardly rebelling at all).
“You’re not like other girls”
I found solace in these characters who didn’t care about how they looked (but looked gorgeous anyway), and instead devoted their lives to creativity and freedom and whatever else the male protagonist wanted in their own life. I wasn’t above male attention myself, and since I was getting virtually none, I thought becoming like these characters would boost my chances. And the sad thing is, I think it did.
“I believed feminism was about rejecting femininity”
“You’re not like other girls” was the biggest compliment you could have given me back then. It meant I was doing something right — finally. I liked being not like other girls. It was a challenge.
But it was also isolating and completely un-feminist, though it started as a misled feminist pursuit. I believed feminism was about rejecting femininity — and even now, I have to remind myself that by shaving my legs I’m not setting feminism back fifty years. But what’s feminist about hating women and their interests? Why is it cool to hate on things girls like? I’d ask my fifteen-year-old self, though I already know her answer.
Other Girls and Me
“like how I wore my self-given not-like-other-girls identity as a badge of honour, I now wear my exactly-like-other-girls identity with pride.”
I genuinely like the Pixies. But did I mention my love of pop music as much as I mentioned the fact I saw the Pixies live? Absolutely not. I became that douchebag. The person who wouldn’t dare admit I liked Taylor Swift. Or would admit it, but only after listing all of the other (not coincidentally male-fronted) bands I was into. Liking Taylor Swift then would be a quirk, not a defining characteristic. I would’ve taken offence if you had called me a Swiftie. Which brings me to today.
As Taylor Swift grew up, and her feminism evolved with her music, so too did mine. I don’t know when the shift happened exactly — maybe around the time I started my master’s in Gender and Media studies — but I no longer want to be not like other girls. And like how I wore my self-given, not-like-other-girls identity as a badge of honour, I now wear my exactly-like-other-girls identity with pride. Women are wonderful (just ask TikTok), and the next time a man tells me, “You’re not like other girls,” I will say what I should’ve said a long time ago: F**k off.
Featured image courtesy of Eva Rinaldi on Flickr. Image license found here. No changes were made to this image.
Danni Turner
Danni is a 20-something freelance writer who likes to write overly-personal essays and, not coincidentally, has rewatched HBO's Girls multiple times.