Jenny Kessler Klump

Today marks eight years, three months and nineteen days since I moved to Cincinnati. Little did I know I'd become besotted with the city, pouring my heart and soul into loving the people and advocating for the region more than most my age. I'm a Cincy guru - giving advice, recommendations and history lessons (oftentimes unsolicited) to anyone who will listen. I've had the opportunity to participate in building a community, in making a home and a name here.

Why on earth would I leave?

One year, six months, and twelve days ago, the third season of the OTR Kickball League began. Team Losantivillians welcomed a new member - a guy who, I later learned, was my neighbor in OTR. The fire escapes of our apartments faced out onto the same street. Nearly a year after that game, I started dating this neighbor of mine.

We enjoyed a great summer full of trips to the park, ball games, pies, and learning more about each other. In September, the unthinkable happened. He got a new job, in a new city - an offer too good to pass up. I had a choice to make.

Baltimore with him is better than Cincinnati without him.

this is the harbor.

Everything's fallen into place. It's the right decision - a hard decision, to leave the people and home I know so well - and scary, to drop everything and try something new.

My new job is a mobile office - I can work from home in Bmore just as I was in Cincy - and come back every so often to check in. We found a new apartment in a neighborhood that could be Over-the-Rhine's big brother. Fell's Point is historic, renovated, and stuffed to the gills with bars, restaurants, shops, live music, parks close by, and even a little market a block away. To the left is the harbor. To the right is the market. The farmer's market sets up in the square literally fifty feet from the front door.

Snow much fun in Baltimore

So far, my impression's of Baltimore has been pretty good. People are friendly, there's lots to see and explore. It's a (relatively) inexpensive, water facing, industrial town - about as Cincinnati as the East Coast gets.

Guys, I need to discover what's left of me - my personality, brand.. whatever- when Cincinnati is taken out. I'm afraid there's not much left over - and that's the part that needs building up. I hope this next chapter will do just that.

So now you know - a lot of you already knew - but it's happening. It's really happening. I'll be unpacking more feelings in subsequent posts, but please know this:

We'll be back.

So. I have 65 days left in Cincinnati. Time to make them count. Wanna hang out? Get a drink? Do something crazy or meaningful or have a chat or make a pie or get dinner or lunch or breakfast or dance or sing or laugh or watch a movie or play games or ANYTHING at all? Let's not put it off. Get in touch.

it starts early.

I am eccentric - always have been. From a young age, I was the bookworm who made up stories in her head and never quite had enough play-dates. In high school, I wore a duct tape dress to prom, and was very nearly voted "Most Unique" - queen of the drama kids, floating in between social circles - cool enough to say hi to in the hall, but not to get invited to parties. It didn't bother me.

Thrift store shopping, weird catch phrases, a propensity to speak my mind and somehow get away with it- I embraced the strange parts of me, and so did everyone else. I mostly grew out of my awkwardness and quickly learned that my bubbly personality and unique style was attractive (especially in art school). The attention didn't inspire me to work harder on my twee - but it certainly didn't discourage it, either.

Then a year or two ago, I learned there was a term for girls like me. Manic Pixie Dream Girl! You know, like Zooey Deschanel. or Audrey Hepburn. I got grouped in with two of my favorite actresses? Sign me up for that. It didn't change who I was, and it was a cute moniker; an easy to understand facet of my more public personal brand.

Over the last few months, though, it's stopped being sunshine and unicorns. Ugly, dismissive articles are popping up across the web. Dissecting the stereotype - women bravely coming forward and confessing that it was all just an act - a way to get men to like them - that they purposefully diminished certain parts of their personality to come across a certain way.

I'm here to tell you that some of us are authentic. This is just the way we are. Just like there are some men who are more or less Michael Cera's shy character. I know; I dated one.

oh God. the twee. Make it stop.

To assume that I am manufacturing my personality to fit a stereotype or please someone else is even more condescending than backing away from the label in the first place. Just because you put a name on who I am and stuck it in there with your other female stereotypes does not somehow make me less. To insinuate that I should stop being so cutesy - how dare I?

That my interests and personality should be changed in some way so you can feel better about the way you think and feel about me as a man - so you'll stop making me the girl of your dreams - is not going to happen. Screw you.

I have a girlfriend who is Elle Woods. Graduated law school, blonde and bubbly as they come, with an apartment full of inspirational sayings and glittery tchotchkes that would look out of place anywhere else (hey Britt!) She is also one of the smartest, most articulate women I've ever met, and she will not hesitate to rip you a new one - even dressed to the nines in her favorite OSU gear (light up sunglasses and pom pom gloves). We are who we are. You're the ones putting us in a box.

So this Manic Pixie Dream Girl label - the backing away from it, the dismissal of us women who have always embraced the quirky - eventually it will go out of vogue, and intellectual men-children everywhere will find some other trope to jerk off to. That's not going to change me. When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple, with a red hat that doesn't match, and continue doing and acting however I see fit - and we'll see who has a crush on me then.

Are you actually attracted to the idea that I'm some waify little daydream that's going to swoop in and magically change your life? Maybe you're drawn to my authenticity and confidence - and the rest of the world has followed suit. No doubt about it - MPDG is the fashion of the times.

Let's break apart the acronym and see where it goes south, shall we? Remember, the original definition was created by a (male) movie reviewer who saw a pattern to these tragic supporting actresses whose characters were presumably written by men, but based off real women- or so he assumed.

Manic - Dictionary definition: frenzied, intense, mad, frenetic. from mania - infatuation, passion, preoccupation, craving, fixation, madness. Wait one second. Infatuation? Preoccupation? We're not the crazy ones - it's you sad sacks that are obsessed with us. The mania is not from the girl - it's of the girl. Not her fault (or often, even her intention.)

Pixie - playfully impish or mischievous; prankish. Again - another assumption - we're driving you mad, and it MUST be intentional. We're playing with your heart strings, tugging you around by the nose, all for a good laugh. Because sucking you in with my eclectic nature and then breaking your heart by not actually being interested in you is somehow my fault.

Dream - not based in reality. I am a real person, with flaws and imperfections and bad hair days. Sometimes I'm not witty or interesting or adorable. And the moment I'm not, the illusion shatters. Get to know the real girl and embrace her wholeness.

Girl - not a woman. Definitely defenseless. Must be taken care of. - Okay, I'll admit fault on this one. It's fun to occasionally play the damsel in distress. Being taken care of feels good - sometimes. I've experienced enough heartache in my life - and seen the real life scenario play out in my family - to know that at the end of the day, I have to take care of me. Just because I wear twirly dresses and ride my bike in high heels doesn't mean I'm helpless.

This label is not a reflection of me. It's a reflection of you - I'm not manic, pixie, a dream, or at this point, even a girl. Yet somehow, these tragic, shallow adjectives got attached to a category of women who dared to step outside the confines of acting "normal".

I'm gonna keep doing me, whatever you want to call it.

The negatives of the trope do not diminish the positives of my personality. Am I doing myself a disservice by accepting the stereotype? (I did the same thing with 'hipster', by the way.) I'm gonna go with no.

I can't change the way you act or perceive me. I can only directly affect how I act and how I perceive others. And you know what? I choose positivity, and petticoats, and painted toes, and looking for the best in people.

Stop pooping on my parade - leave us quirky women alone, to our cats, bicycles, and pie baking. Or swoop us off our feet and fall in love with our unique natures and sparkly souls - and our bad sides, too. But seriously, stop the shame, and adjust your viewpoint.

Maybe we need a new label - I'm certainly open to suggestions. I'll still be here, doing my thing, whether you're paying attention or not.