Beep, beep, beep. My alarm clock screams at six in the morning. I stumbled of bed and turned it off and quickly ran back under the warm covers. Ten minutes later my sister pushes open my door.

“Jess?”

“Ough, what do you want?” I moan.

“Does this outfit look okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, you look really cute.” I say automatically without even looking up.

“You sure? You don’t think these pants make my butt look weird?”

“No Julie you look fine,” I say know getting annoyed’ my little sister the fashionista. Great, I think to myself, might as well get up now. I rummage through my clothes until I find an appropriate outfit, shove it on, quickly brush my hair and go downstairs.
7:00 AM the microwave oven reads 20 minutes later.
“Julie!” I scream up the stairs, “Let’s go!” A few minutes later she appears in the kitchen, smelling of Sweet Seduction Victoria’s Secret perfume and with practically an inch thick of eyeliner smudged on her eye lid.
“You actually look cute today.” She said.
“Oh gee thanks, why did you change your outfit? You looked nice.”
“I don’t know. It made me look fat.” She replied. I roll my eyes as she turned away. Why do people care so much what other people think? I thought to myself. Especially my little sister, I never understood why she changed her outfit a hundred times or wore a pound of makeup everyday. She was pretty without all that. I would kill to have her body, not to mention her ability to be outgoing. Yet if it came with the insecurities I wouldn’t want it. Everyone is insecure about something, but she hated everything about herself and cared what people thought about every little thing she did. Friends, family, to complete strangers you won’t ever see again, she had to be perfect for them. I don’t get it. Don’t get me wrong I like to look nice but I like to make it effortless, simple beauty.
Grenade by Bruno Mars comes on over my car radio. I begin to sing along, Julie laughs.
“You are really a horrible singer.” She giggles.
“Whatever…” I say as we pull into the school parking lot. I climb out of the car grab my bag and begin to walk towards the entrance. I look back and there is Julie checking herself out in my car window.
What made her so insecure? Perhaps it was that she had access to media at a younger age than I did, and was bombarded with what a woman is suppose to look like way before I did. Maybe like me she had grown up before she was ready. For whatever reason; she was the way she was. What would my morning be if she wasn’t running down the stairs as I am heading out the door or bargaining into my room for fashion advice? She is my little sister and I love her for all that she is, and I will always be there to say “You look great.”