The Icons

The Icons were unstoppable, fluttering in heels and skirts. Exacting standards and specific taste, with specialties in handbags, shoes, and an eye for detail. They knew exactly what they wanted and how they preferred things—bootcut pants and boleros with vast handbag collections. Made of confidence and composure with bright smiles and the right shade of lipstick, they could pull off anything, and they made sure you knew you could too.

“Good morning, ladies!”

“It seems I’ve started a little bit of a trend..”

“I can do anything they throw at me, but they cannot make me get another degree.”

“That Giant once told me in my early twenties not to be so sweet. Now we have a project that I’m leading, and he has to deal with it; It’s not correct, and he will be hearing from me… Look who’s not so sweet now.”

“Do not answer that. I will be giving her a call…”

“Oh, my husband and I went there for our honeymoon! I’ll send over some recommendations.”

“Yes, that is very nice, but do they have taste?”

“Never forget, ladies, marry the guy who is a total gentleman from the start. Those boys better be properly courting you.”

~

There was once a time in history when it was empowering to reclaim an insult, especially if a man tried to drag your name through the mud after a simple,

“No.”

The universally recognized sentence could be above some reading comprehension levels. A real Icon did not allow anyone to tell them what to wear, what or when to eat, when to speak, or how to act. They were twice as capable as any man in the room and had worked twice as hard to get there. Meanwhile, blind eyes glazed over at the sound of their own voice and the view of their own reflection. When Icons departed from the Village for lunch, their proteges would turn to each other with one word.

Iconic.

Made with Honey