I’ve been pondering over the word “beautiful” & have been trying to collect my thoughts surrounding its myths & misconceptions. It’s true that everyone wants to be considered beautiful or charming. Everyone, I’m sure, has wished they could be someone else. All because the grass seems greener on the other side of things. I am certainly guilty of these thoughts & I’m not too ashamed to admit that. Well, maybe just a little.
Talking about “beauty” is difficult for me; I want everyone to know this. I can never find the right words to describe my feelings on the matter. Even now, I am stuttering over my thoughts as though I am speaking them out loud. Beauty has so much relevance in this world, which makes it extremely powerful & impacting. To not be “beautiful” is to be shunned & looked over; to be unattractive (not just physically, but mentally) is to be lonely & undesirable. This cruel world is doing numbers on the minds of women because of these cosmetic judgments. For instance, I think it’s a shame that one must be a certain size to be the acceptable weight; not too thin, not too “fat.” I find it hard to stomach the fact that most plus size models are a size 5. How can that be? I wear a size 5; does this mean I am plus size? This whole idea of beauty & weight & appearance makes me terribly distressed; not just for me, but for others.
I will not lie that this whole subject boils me even more so because, with my outward appearance, there is a bit of a misconception that none of this would be of any concern to me. I suppose I have no real reason to complain, depending on how you look at it. But that’s what troubles me most: why shouldn’t I complain? Does it make me a strange girl to be irked by the amount of pressure that is put on me — by my family, mostly — to be the pretty one? Am I weird to be bothered by suffocating compliments by strangers? Is there something wrong with me that instead of enjoying this attention that I find it disgusting & materialistic?
This so-called “beauty” comes with a price. I’ve been in scary situations where I have been followed in stores by gawking men, holding their crotches & making grunting noises in their throats. I’ve had men in their 60s strike up conversations with me, just to see if I’d like to date them. I’ve been driving in my car, & had hoodlums shout at me from their windows, asking if they could “holler” at me. I have been innocently window shopping in the mall, only to be grabbed by the arm by a nosy admirer & asked, “What ARE you?” (& by this question, they mean to know what nationality I am. Apparently, it’s difficult for people to decipher my ethnicity because I get this infringing question most.)
Disturbingly, I have been poked, pinched & prodded about my weight. There have been so many times where a random stranger will creep up to me & ask me if I ever eat. Some have even asked me point blank if I have an eating disorder. Of course I don’t! But even so, is it any of their business to know why I am so thin? Does it even matter? I’ve toyed with the idea of answering them in a simple way, “Why, yes. As a matter of fact I DO have an eating disorder. Thank you for noticing!” just to see the ridiculous looks on their faces, hoping they have learned their lesson in asking presumptuous & trespassing questions.
All the while, I am not trying to bring this senseless attention to myself. I don’t wear revealing or loud clothes. I’m not strutting down a hot pavement in heels & a cocktail dress. I am not fishing for compliments; I am not expecting approval. I am just myself. I am quiet, shy & a bit timid. Truthfully, I try to go unnoticed most of the time. Yet… people flock to me as though I’m asking for their undivided fixations. Sometimes, I just want to be left alone. Sometimes I want to be treated like I am — dare I say? — obsolete.
There are some women who enjoy this kind of flattery; some are models, some are movie stars, & some are just urban divas in need of a sufficient compliment to lift their spirits. I am not any of these women. I am not one to brag. While I have been blessed with the features of my mother & father, I do not gloat in what has been given to me. I don’t want to be made a spectacle of. I don’t want to be known for my looks or my legs or my hair; I want to be known for my mind & the words that escape my mouth.
I loathe knowing that beauty is such a big factor in this world. It makes me sick to hear women say that the reason they get plastic surgery to correct their “flaws” is because “prettier women make it farther in life.” Is that really so? I mean, statistically I’m sure… but does it truly matter? & why? To know I am apart of this statistic, a statistic I never wanted to be in at all, infuriates me. I hate knowing that little girls — much like my 13 year old cousin — are obsessed with their looks & depict long hair, for instance, as being one of the biggest indicators of female beauty. Who decided this? Quite frankly, I could care less if I even had hair & I’ve played with the idea of shaving it off, just to prove that hair doesn’t make beauty.
If I could declare one thing to the world, it would be that I am more than just my looks. Because I hate to think that all of the jobs I got was because I was “pretty” or all the friends I made liked me because I was “pretty” or the reason Lover fell in love with me was because I was “pretty.” If I could dumb myself down a little to show that I have flaws & low levels of confidence, I would, if only to make beauty seem useless. I would love to shout from the rooftops of this superficial city “The grass is never greener on the other side.” I would love to tell each woman that they are beautiful, regardless of what they look like. They are beautiful because they are alive, because they are breathing air, because they smile & laugh, because they are unique, because they are themselves.
Beauty is nothing without intelligence. Beauty is nothing without integrity or modesty. Beauty is nothing without personality or imperfections. Beauty is nothing without heart or kindness. Beauty is nothing without originality or self-sacrifice. & even with all of those things, beauty is fleeting.