It began with getting back into the dating game and the desire that comes when dating someone new: the desire to be desired. To be thought of as irresistible, sexy, and perfect. To make a man forget the ending to his sentences, fidget nervously at your doorstep when he can't stop staring at your high cheek bones, or get twitterpated over the way you throw out the trash or pepper your potatoes. All of that, of course, in addition to your charming personality and wit. Well I met a boy and I had become that girl again. I never wanted to be seen without make-up or in the same outfit twice, always presented my best self and made sure to be an extra good listener and flirt. But as the weeks turned into months, feelings progressed and pretenses were lowered, the true sides to both of us were revealed. Mine in not really wanting to spend an hour plus getting ready every day, and his wanting and expecting me to look like I'd spent an hour getting ready every day.
Comments were made, in direct and indirect ways, about my physical traits and appearance and, though not intended to be hurtful but rather observational, coming from someone I really cared about these comments stung like an allergic reaction and stuck like cement to all my cerebral areas. Soon I became uncomfortable in skin I'd never over-analyzed and had been happy in. I began to feel so critiqued on my appearance or lack thereof that even if there wasn't a critique I would form one, think one, or feel one anyways. Not only did I feel I couldn't measure up to the airbrushed perfection of models or actresses, but I couldn't even compete with girls who shaved their legs more than twice a week or had wardrobes straight out of a J Crew catalog.
I began to subconsciously question my looks all the time: Are my freckles too bold? My eyes too close together? My nose too long? My hair too short, too brown, too blonde, too thin? Are my ear ring holes still as centered as the day I got them? Are three re-occurring chin hairs I will have to pluck until I get arthritis too obvious to others before I notice them myself? Do my eyebrows look misshaped? How's my upper lip fuzz? Are my teeth are too yellow, the bottoms too rigid, the molars too noticeably filled?
How big are my thighs? Should my stomach be tighter? I wish my legs were leaner. Do I have stretch marks? Cellulite? I need to get that crooked toe fixed. Are my elbows knobbier than normal? What's the standard weight for my age and height?
Eventually these questions came down to a consistent internal question whenever I left the house without make-up, an up do or fancy clothes on: Am I ugly?
I am not a slob by any means, but, new-man motivations aside, I don't spend much time getting ready every day just to sit on gymnasium floors, push strollers, chase boys on scooters, or shuttle around the City to soccer, speech, play dates, and school pick-ups. I have a beautiful collection of high heels, but five days out of the week you will catch me in flip flops or flats. Occasionally, straight up tennis shoes. I look like all the other Moms and nanny's on the block save for the super fashionable ones that just look great all the time and I want to punch in the face. There are those. And they look great. I have always admired (slapping urges surpressed) women who are just naturally pretty. Women who can easily look good and well rested and fresh without trying too much or having to get up at the crack of dawn and spend a long time on themselves so they leave the house looking like they don't have to try too much. Women who look good at any time of the day and simply mesmerizing if all they do is add a little blush. I have to do a little more than that.
Now, if I were the kind of girl who cared about beauty products, brushes, essential oils, bath salts, smell-good stuff, and being prim and polished 100% of the time it'd be easy to do "a little more", but... I'm not. I love to get dressed up, NY has given me a passion for fashion; I love wearing make-up and looking my best. Just not 24/7. I also happen to love a good pony tail. An every other day shower. Chapstick and a toothbrush and call me ready! I like jeans and t-shirts and leggings and zip-up hoodies. I frequent sandboxes, often catch a stray booger as an accessory, and have, on multiple occasions, returned home from a forty-minute commute only to find stickers stuck to my butt. And to me, that is beautiful. Because those highlights and accessories are natural and represent who I am far more than black lines around my eyes and glittered eyelids. For me, weekends are usually my snazzy down time by day and make-myself-up time by night. Weekdays are for living day to day and being comfy-casual. Yet suddenly that routine of mine became all I questioned, especially since it wasn't something I felt I could / wanted to change. I thought, "I really like myself the way I am, but what if that's not good enough for someone else?"
Eventually these questions came down to a consistent internal question whenever I left the house without make-up, an up do or fancy clothes on: Am I ugly?
I am not a slob by any means, but, new-man motivations aside, I don't spend much time getting ready every day just to sit on gymnasium floors, push strollers, chase boys on scooters, or shuttle around the City to soccer, speech, play dates, and school pick-ups. I have a beautiful collection of high heels, but five days out of the week you will catch me in flip flops or flats. Occasionally, straight up tennis shoes. I look like all the other Moms and nanny's on the block save for the super fashionable ones that just look great all the time and I want to punch in the face. There are those. And they look great. I have always admired (slapping urges surpressed) women who are just naturally pretty. Women who can easily look good and well rested and fresh without trying too much or having to get up at the crack of dawn and spend a long time on themselves so they leave the house looking like they don't have to try too much. Women who look good at any time of the day and simply mesmerizing if all they do is add a little blush. I have to do a little more than that.
Now, if I were the kind of girl who cared about beauty products, brushes, essential oils, bath salts, smell-good stuff, and being prim and polished 100% of the time it'd be easy to do "a little more", but... I'm not. I love to get dressed up, NY has given me a passion for fashion; I love wearing make-up and looking my best. Just not 24/7. I also happen to love a good pony tail. An every other day shower. Chapstick and a toothbrush and call me ready! I like jeans and t-shirts and leggings and zip-up hoodies. I frequent sandboxes, often catch a stray booger as an accessory, and have, on multiple occasions, returned home from a forty-minute commute only to find stickers stuck to my butt. And to me, that is beautiful. Because those highlights and accessories are natural and represent who I am far more than black lines around my eyes and glittered eyelids. For me, weekends are usually my snazzy down time by day and make-myself-up time by night. Weekdays are for living day to day and being comfy-casual. Yet suddenly that routine of mine became all I questioned, especially since it wasn't something I felt I could / wanted to change. I thought, "I really like myself the way I am, but what if that's not good enough for someone else?"
I've never thought of myself as ugly, but I'm certainly not delusioned into thinking myself a gorgeous traffic stopper either. Except for that one time... a guy really did stop in the middle of traffic, got out of his car, and ran up to me to tell me I was beautiful. So there are exceptions. Of course then there's the rebuttal to this with questions about the stranger's looks or sanity. Even though I thought he was good looking that could be debatable because we all have our own taste in looks and sometimes mine are quite liberal. I promise in this case he was tall, dark, and handsome. And didn't stalk or kill me. Bonus! Yet in using this story to try and "defend" myself and say "Hey, I am beautiful, that stranger in the street said so!" it would get turned in to "Yeah, but was he off his meds and homeless?" I felt even more like crap because even my happy stories somehow ended up with me attracting crazy, ugly men. Like I didn't deserve compliments and traffic stopping strangers unless they were "below par". Middle-class attracting middle-class. This made me question my taste in looks period, not just my own.
While I do have eclectic taste, I also take personality into great consideration and it does affect my physical attraction to someone. Don't get me wrong, if you ugly, you ugly. I've said no to plenty men based solely on physical appearance. I can be brutal, shallow and make unforgiving physical judgments like anyone. I did it to my boyfriend when we first started dating, just like he had done to me. We all do it. Looks are the initial introduction to a person and are important, for men especially. In New York it's an all all judge-fest the moment you walk out the door regardless of your gender. I check out almost every person I pass on the street strictly to size up their personal style. The difference is I don't make un-censored comments of disapproval to their faces, nor did or would I do this to someone I was dating. While jabbign someone behind their back isn't exactly the highest road it beats saying it out loud any day. Baby steps on the criticizing, people, baby steps. I liked my now boyfriend's looks and how his personality played them up more than I liked scrutinizing them and that is how I got off my high horse and realized I'd be lucky to date him. But my turn to be under the magnifying glass wasn't up and boy was I feeling the pressure. Would he ever feel lucky too?
My thoughts on beauty and outer appearances became very focused and time consuming and worrisome to those close to me. It was never something I'd worried about or brought up before, and suddenly it was all I could talk about.
My thoughts on beauty and outer appearances became very focused and time consuming and worrisome to those close to me. It was never something I'd worried about or brought up before, and suddenly it was all I could talk about.
So I had to do some soul searching. Or, in this case, I needed to take a good hard look in the mirror and find myself again. Aside from mortals or models, aside from straight toed women and their even straighter, leaner legs. I needed to listen to only myself, see only myself, be only myself. And then answer all those harsh questions bouncing around in my brain.
First I took on my face. I stared long and hard and decided it wasn't so bad after all. I'd say my look is pretty basic and plain. White, Caucasian, five foot six inches, thin brown hair (dyed blonde), hazel eyes, size seven feet. Standard. I'm certainly cute. Most french girls are. I'd say that's my usual day to day appearance category: the cute freckled french girl. My nose gives that away, but I have no desire to change it. Nor would I give up my freckles. Nor do I think it's an injustice to simply be cute. My looks give off nothing extraordinary, but passing me on the street wouldn't initiate your gag reflux either. I'm a happy medium. On a really good day, after hair and make-up, I can pass for pretty. On a really bad day I could straight up be the picture image of the walking dead. Oh well! All those stares I get on the street and compliments from men and women alike are completely genuine and much appreciated and I refuse to be told otherwise, even though I admit it does hurt my feelings when someone refutes their credibility. I may not be "hot", but I do have a rockin' body (extended flaw research aside) and even my face has its moments.
Then I put my "rockin' bod" under the microscope. Pinching, clinching, flattening, smooshing. I examined every surface of my flesh and outline of my torso until the shower ran out of hot water. Now for those of you thinking, "What could a skinny bitch like you have to complain about?" I'd like to preface this by saying that no matter what size you are, no one has the perfect body. Not even if they have plastic parts. We weren't made to be perfect, physically or otherwise, though the self-conscious instinct to want and try to be is inside us all. I have super skinny friends who wish they could have curves or boobs or something for clothes to shapely hang on, but no one wants to hear a skinny girl complain and so they internalize it and it eats away at them. I have larger friends who have tried every diet in the book and still have a hard time fighting to stay at a goal weight. Often no one can relate to them or people think it's their fault or they should have paid attention earlier or they don't work hard enough to loose it or whatever the presumptions may be. And in then things get internalized and fret over and a lot goes unsaid or unprocessed and often not dealing with it results in it becoming a bigger problem or worry. Other friends are held back by diabetes or genetic malfunctions that just don't coincide easily with keeping trim. My point is, that this is something that may have been new to me, but is a daily struggle for others that I am aware of and my woes are no greater or smaller than theirs. They're just mine. Our bodies are all different and difficult in their own unique ways, and mine is no exception.
I feel very lucky for the body I have. One of my biggest fears is loosing it to injury, illness or lack of proper care and it something I often take far too much for granted. I'm skinny and curvy in all the right places, but certainly as I get older I have to work on it more. I found a stretch mark or two. I've got a spider vein on the back of my leg that may one day do a tarantula proud. My waist is bigger. When I lean over my tummy leans over too. I wish I had Sarah Jessica Parker's abs. Or just her trainer. I've been working on eating better and going to the gym. I get frustrated when I gain a few extra pounds on vacation or outgrow a pair of jeans. While I don't struggle with being overweight, that doesn't mean I don't struggle with what I want to weigh or how my body is changing over time. My metabolism isn't what it used to be and a trip to Europe or a binge on junk food certainly extends the circumference of my thighs! I want to stay thin and fit and true to my body. I also want to know I'll be loved regardless of my size or shape or facial structure. Any man or woman just wants to be loved. Regardless. Over time, my looks will change no matter how much work I put into it. The wrinkles are coming, the saggy skin is on its way. It's just a matter of time. Oddly, I'm kind of excited. It feels like my body is turning into a map of sorts. I want it to be a treasured map.
Then I put my "rockin' bod" under the microscope. Pinching, clinching, flattening, smooshing. I examined every surface of my flesh and outline of my torso until the shower ran out of hot water. Now for those of you thinking, "What could a skinny bitch like you have to complain about?" I'd like to preface this by saying that no matter what size you are, no one has the perfect body. Not even if they have plastic parts. We weren't made to be perfect, physically or otherwise, though the self-conscious instinct to want and try to be is inside us all. I have super skinny friends who wish they could have curves or boobs or something for clothes to shapely hang on, but no one wants to hear a skinny girl complain and so they internalize it and it eats away at them. I have larger friends who have tried every diet in the book and still have a hard time fighting to stay at a goal weight. Often no one can relate to them or people think it's their fault or they should have paid attention earlier or they don't work hard enough to loose it or whatever the presumptions may be. And in then things get internalized and fret over and a lot goes unsaid or unprocessed and often not dealing with it results in it becoming a bigger problem or worry. Other friends are held back by diabetes or genetic malfunctions that just don't coincide easily with keeping trim. My point is, that this is something that may have been new to me, but is a daily struggle for others that I am aware of and my woes are no greater or smaller than theirs. They're just mine. Our bodies are all different and difficult in their own unique ways, and mine is no exception.
I feel very lucky for the body I have. One of my biggest fears is loosing it to injury, illness or lack of proper care and it something I often take far too much for granted. I'm skinny and curvy in all the right places, but certainly as I get older I have to work on it more. I found a stretch mark or two. I've got a spider vein on the back of my leg that may one day do a tarantula proud. My waist is bigger. When I lean over my tummy leans over too. I wish I had Sarah Jessica Parker's abs. Or just her trainer. I've been working on eating better and going to the gym. I get frustrated when I gain a few extra pounds on vacation or outgrow a pair of jeans. While I don't struggle with being overweight, that doesn't mean I don't struggle with what I want to weigh or how my body is changing over time. My metabolism isn't what it used to be and a trip to Europe or a binge on junk food certainly extends the circumference of my thighs! I want to stay thin and fit and true to my body. I also want to know I'll be loved regardless of my size or shape or facial structure. Any man or woman just wants to be loved. Regardless. Over time, my looks will change no matter how much work I put into it. The wrinkles are coming, the saggy skin is on its way. It's just a matter of time. Oddly, I'm kind of excited. It feels like my body is turning into a map of sorts. I want it to be a treasured map.
As I struggled with how my appearance may appear, it all came down to just wanting to be liked or loved completely. Not for my looks, not for my nail color, not for my bronzer. For everything. For me as a whole. On made up days, and throw up days. For my thoughtfulness AND my nice ass. For my laugh AND my hourglass figure. For my cooking AND my long eyelashes. For my fashion sense AND my infectious grin. So that on the days when mascara is the last thing on my mind and there very well may be bags under my eyes, there's still nothing better than snuggling up to me on the couch or kissing me goodnight. Cause it's still me, and more likely than not the better "me" will be back tomorrow. I'll even make sure to put on deodorant.
Another thing I needed to remind myself of and even re-accept is that judgments about me are not in my control. People have made them, will make them, and do make them. We all learn that at a young age and do it in return. People used to call me rat face in grade school, compared me to a mouse in middle school, or made fun of my big boobs and tiny body when as a dis-proportioned high-schooler. Sometimes it hurt my feelings, but most of the time I found a way to laugh along and own my quirky looks. I do a pretty good rat face impression, and I could easily be Fivel's sister Tanya in An American Tale, but I think she's cute!
And if I'd seen a girl with a small waist and big chest I would've thought she stuffed her bra too. Which is why I flashed everyone in the locker room. And then the rumors stopped. You're welcome gals! Sure comments hurt my feelings, but I knew who I was. I knew what I looked like. I knew what I was worth. I knew I was more. I knew I wasn't just my outward appearance, even though I knew that was important too. And, after analyzing my body, I still know that. I can't control what people think. What I can control is how I respond. Especially to my body changing naturally or if / how I want to spice up my daily routine to look nice for my man.I could also change my silence. So I let my man have it. I ranted and raved and complained and explained and made him feel bad for making me feel bad. You would think that would go poorly, and I did think that, but you know what? He listened. He understood. He sympathized. He consoled. He apologized. He un-jerkified himself. He changed his behavior immediately and made sure I knew that I was beautiful. He hadn't realized what he was doing or how hurtful it was. I hadn't realized that it wasn't personal. That there were things bothering him too, outlying circumstances, tones, my own off the cuff remarks, that had caused him to lash out in return. There were things we had both said that offended or hurt each other's feelings. Out of the conversation we were able to agree that there are things that should go unsaid or, if really important, be said as kindly as possible. Especially when it comes to appearance.
This experience also opened my eyes to the "I'm just being a guy" reasoning (or excuse). A much too opinionated and perhaps oblivious one, but a guy nonetheless. Looks are important to guys. They can be shallow buggers. Not all, but many. Some are really good at internalizing, which I don't always think is the best thing either. Is there a happy medium to thinking you want your significant other to look better or try harder when it comes to appearance versus saying something to that person without being offensive or coming off as unhappy? If you have the answer, pass it along!! Can I blame my boyfriend for saying out loud what many guys think and, really, what many girls know but try to avoid or pretend they are the exception to? He was only saying things I've heard before from my guy friends or talked about with my girl friends, but never been told with myself as the subject. It's different to have things said to your face. It's worse when it's by someone you love. Yet it has also been incredibly helpful to know these things and, like I did when I was younger, use them to my advantage or learn to accept the things that may be down falls but that I love anyway. Although it doesn't make the way I was told OK, it did help me to see another opinion on looks, and even its validity. My boyfriend is not a bad guy and his opinions and ideas on looks don't make him one. They may drive me crazy and sometimes be shallow, but they're real. And they have a point. And he's not the only one who thinks them. And as long as I don't loose sight of myself within them and my boyfriend doesn't loose sight of me, I actually get it.
It's nice to have someone to look nice for, someone to admire and be admired by. It's even better when the person you are with looks hot. It reflects on you and your taste and how lucky you are to have snagged that fine piece of hotness. I get it. Guys want arm candy. They will settle for less in the personality department as long as she's hot. Girls want eye candy, but will often settle for less in the looks department because they value personality and the way they are treated much more, and find that very attractive. Fascinating how different we are. I really need to read Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. Anyways, the commonality I think we all share is that when you look good you feel good. When your significant other looks good you feel even better! When you have someone by your side who looks good, and IS good, well then you've hit the jackpot. Yes, looks are important, on that we agree, but they're not everything. We both agree we've hit the jackpot too. And that is everything.
I recently saw this video...
I was so inspired and overcome. I admire her strength, her families strength, her husband's strength. Their deep love and faith. I started following her blog, read many back posts, and I appreciate her tender and open honesty about the pain, physically and emotionally. I sympathized with her feelings of not feeling / being beautiful and greatly respected and appreciated her deeper understanding of beauty. I felt like an idiot for my complaints and harsh self-analyzing. While at the same time trying not to directly compare because no matter what, someone always has it worse. That doesn't make what we each go through less significant though.
I don't want to take my body / looks for granted. Nor do I want to waste time by not appreciating what I have or focusing on all the negative aspects. I think my boyfriend and I both needed a reminder of the bigger picture. Thank you Nie Nie.
Beauty is not only physical. Life is a gift. Health is a blessing. Looks are fleeting. We are not our bodies, but we can and should take care of them. We can and should take care of each other. We can and should watch our words and the thoughts that form them. Myself included. We can and should focus on being our best selves inside and out. No matter our physical appearance, maimed or complete, our beauty within shows our beauty without, and vice versa. We owe it to ourselves to show that to the utmost of our ability, but we especially owe it to people who would give anything to be able to primp and get all gussied up. We can gussy in their honor on the good days and know what it means to be gussied within on the lazier ones.
I wish I could say there was a magic eraser to get rid of self consciousness, but there's not. I wish all that deep thinking had cured my insecurities, it didn't. Even when I weigh my worries against that of a burn victim, I still have worries, though far less. I wish I could say I don't make mean comments about people's looks, but I cannot. Once you feel self conscious, there's no real cure. And we all feel it. And we all lash out against it. It rears it's ugly head throughout life, increasing or decreasing with all the many ages and stages we go through. What I can say is that making myself aware of it, making others aware of it, and going to the source of the issue and feelings both inward and outward was much needed. What I can say is that watching my own mouth and my own judgments helps my confidence and compassion increase tremendously.
I still wish I could look my best all the time, and I still don't some of the time, but I do have what every girl wants and deserves. First and foremost I have self respect and confidence and beauty. I am beautiful. Second, I have a man who sees that beauty in its entirety, even if I had to shake it out of him at first. He likes all of me. Sweat pants and leg stubble included. Yes there is value and importance in appearances, and yes an effort should be made if you can make one. But that value does not extend above who I am. Who anyone is. After all, beauty is only skin deep.
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1 comment:
You know how I feel about you and your sexiful self... with that being said I always dig reading things written from your heart, which is essentially everything you write.
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