“What? You’re gorgeous! How can you not think you’re beautiful?”
That’s what I hear from people who have known me for a while when I tell them truthfully that I don’t think I’m pretty. Really… You may think I look nice, or beautiful, but when I look in the mirror everyday, that’s not what I see. I see an overly tall, overly skinny, oddly proportioned, overly pale girl with flat hair, a big nose, and bad skin. My lips turn down so it looks like I’m perpetually frowning, and I slouch because of my height. The only thing I really like about the way I look are my eyes. I love the way they slant up at the corners, I love how elven I look, I love the color green they are. Most of all, I love that they can show me such beauty and wonder in the world that I don’t see in me and can never hope to reproduce on mere paper.
Why do I feel this way? Maybe it goes back to my childhood. I was teased mercilessly about my skin (I was called “pizza-face” by all of the 5th grade), teased about my height, teased about my skinniness, teased about my mind and my shy voice. Everything, and it hurt. Eventually, you begin to believe this. There’s only so much time one can hear things from your peers before you begin to wonder if they’re really true. The bad things are so much easier to believe too. When 50 kids your age are calling you ‘pizza-face’, but only one mother tells you they’re wrong, it’s just a matter of numbers. At that age, I only wanted to be accepted. Instead, I was shunned. I had no friends. No one would even help me pick up my books in the hallway when I was pushed or tripped by my classmates. Everyday, I looked in the mirror thinking I looked terrible, and the more I grew up, the more I saw these things my childhood enemies had pointed at and laughed. Things like that tend to stick around.
Why would I want to be pretty though? In a world like this, being pretty is just about the same as being one of the rest of the herd. I don’t want to be pretty like every other girl in town. I don’t want to suddenly need 5 other women with me on a bathroom trip, or take 5 hours to get ready, or spend all my time wondering what clothes make me look the best. Worst of all, I don’t want to ever think that I can smile and get anything I want from a man just because I’m pretty. I’m so afraid that thinking I’m pretty will go to my head. I want to make it in this world without manipulating the people that like the way I look. I never want to be that girl that titters like an idiot just to get some guy who’s fixated on her looks to buy her something in the mall. On the other hand, I do want to be pretty because when I feel I’m not, it makes me think about how I look instead of being relaxed and having a good time. I try to look as good as I can, but I never really see myself as beautiful.
I’m not bitter, or even jealous. I think Kate Winslet is beautiful, but I don’t hate her because of it. I don’t wish I were pretty all the time, and whenever I meet a pretty girl, I want to draw her, not hate her or be her. I want to re-create her on paper, not on me. Over the years as I’ve grown up a bit, and forgiven most of the cruelties I’ve endured. There’s still some there, though. On some days I can see some of what other people might call pretty, but I don’t ever think to myself “Yow, I’m looking hot today!”, and I doubt I ever will.