For as long as I can remember, I have been described as “cute.”

My appearance, my mannerisms, and this column have all been described in that single word. The one most often used to describe Hello Kitty, small children in bonnets and puppies.

I had become complacent about the word “cute” until very recently. Maybe, I decided, being “cute” wasn’t such a bad thing to be. After all, I was probably asking to be “cute.”

I’m short and wear dresses that can only be described as “adorable,” a synonym for, yep, cute. I say things like “goody,” “swell” and “yes indeedy.”  My mother called me from Target recently in an effort to convince me to buy a bright pink butcher knife. Because, she said, I was the kind of girl who needed that cute of a butcher knife.

It seemed that everything about my existence made the case for my abject cuteness.

And besides, cute people are liked — they are endearing.Yeah, I found the repetition of the adjective a little frustrating. After all, I do not wake up in the morning with the soul goal of being cute. At least, not most mornings. Being called cute was a compliment. I was enriching the lives of other curmudgeon-y, less cute people.

Yes indeedy, I was contenting myself with my cuteness until I heard a friend say “God, I hate being called cute. It’s so condescending.”

I had never, until then, considered the negative implications of being called cute.

I had always seen it as a good thing, using it to appease my demanding ego.

But what if my forte, my voice and my actions were actually detrimental to how others percieve me? Hadn’t I, in the two decades I have inhabited this planet, ascended beyond the same word that described me when I was a toddler?

And what if being called cute is condescending? Is there a chance that I have been brushed off, or ignored because of my adorable persona?

One of my biggest insecurities is to not be taken seriously on a professional and personal level. It is not a matter, you see, of my personal apperance, but of how the work I do — the efforts I put forth — are percieved.

I realized, though, that it was not time to give my mannerisms an overhaul.

What was I supposed to do? Buy a motorcycle? Wear more leather? Snarl?

I am not by any means a badass, I just am not as cute as I might hope people would see me.

I have a mean streak and merciless gossip. I hold harsh opinions of others that are not easily changes. I am, not always, unkind.

No. I did not want to create an alternate identity as a means of securing my persona.

I would prefer to examine my need to behave cutely.

Cute-ness is tied up in geniality and the nonthreatening. Perhaps I have promoted my cute image because I do not want to be seen as being mean or threatening.

I believe that we are not the sum of the superficial adjectives used to describe us. We are all complicated individuals made up of a variety of emotions.

But I also have to acknowledge that I have a choice about  my identity. What I wear, my body language and words I say all alter the way the people I meet see me. This goes for my perceptions of others as well.

And if I am so concerned with what people think, then I have to set aside my own self-esteem, and change those opinions.

No, I am not going to shirk my cute reputation. There is just a part of me that wants to, I don’t know, wear a great bonnet.

I am, however, going to consider what I can do on my part to change what people see, so it matches up with how I see myself.