These days,
we live in a culture that is dominated by looks. We are selfish, superficial
beings who believe that the smallest amount of attractiveness makes up for
sour, unpleasant dispositions. We find unfavorable behavior acceptable because if
you’re appealing, it shouldn’t matter. We are a society obsessed with
appearance, resulting in a world that is seemingly monochromatic, and it can be
cumbersome when you don’t fit the mold.
I am just
one of those people: I have never fit the mold. And it isn’t for a lack of
trying. I have always wanted to be one of those beautiful people. A girl who
skips the line because she is perfection. A woman ogled on the street because
you just can’t not look at her. Someone who really impresses people with her intelligence
because how could she be that
beautiful and smart? I wanted to be
envied because being that threateningly brilliant and painfully gorgeous is
just so unfair. But that’s not me; and I’m not fishing for a compliment. I’m
just being realistic.
There are
some people who stop time with their beauty and there are some who do not.
Sometimes, like in an enormity of cases, people are just normal and
unadulterated. There are some individuals who just blend into the crowd
unnoticed, but that’s okay because they’ve got other things to offer.
And then there
are those other individuals who seem to have fallen from the sky. These individuals
are flawless and sparkling; they wake up gorgeous and clean up even better.
They are the Shayne Dahl Lamas of the world. The Natalie Woods and the Sharon
Tates. The Kate Beckinsales and the January Jones.
They are
perfect and sometimes it can be difficult not to take it personally. It can be
hard not to ask why they were chosen instead of you. It can be hard to
appreciate your own limited beauty in a culture so obsessed with looks. But
sometimes I think that I’m the lucky one.
After all,
being ordinary has its charms: People are less likely to murder you during a
crime spree that began on 10050 Cielo Drive. The fear of public speaking isn’t
nearly as daunting because it’s not as if anyone is staring at you. And it’s
not as if a crazed maniac will try to lock you in a torture chamber in their
basement because you personify the Homecoming Queen who rejected them.
Sometimes I really believe that being pretty is a vulnerability, a curse. And
then sometimes, I think it makes life easier.
That’s always seemed so ridiculous
to me, that people want to be around someone because they’re pretty. It’s like
picking your breakfast cereal based on color instead of taste. –John Green
I used to
have this friend who was just such a creature. She was so painfully beautiful
that even her slight imperfections were dazzling. I have never admitted this
until now but I was always a little jealous of her. I coveted the way people
(men and women) fawned over her. I was envious of the attention she got
absolutely everywhere we went. I was in awe of the way she made people nervous
because her beauty was so unsettling and intimidating. Men would become
children around her and because of this, she could make anyone believe what she
wanted. She was so charming and exotic that standing beside her in the
Starbucks line could be captivating.
She also
had an enormity of medical ailments, making her somehow fragile and childlike.
People always wanted to take care of her and fuss over her because for whatever
reason, she needed the catering. And if you want my honest opinion, however
bitter or otherwise, she liked it.
She thrived off of the incessant attention she got from everyone. She got off
on people worrying about her and was almost like she instigated all these
alleged medical problems. The future psychologist in me would say that all
these things are red flags for histrionic disorder… but hey, what do I know?
I do know
that she was profoundly self-centered. Literally everything had to be about her
and if it wasn’t, she would somehow manipulate things so they were. If she was
out at a social event and the conversation turned in the direction of someone
else, it must have driven her crazy because she would quickly turn it around.
She would faint or fall ill, tell a sob story or have a flashback, start a
fight or break a bone, and then just like that, everyone would virtually drop
everything to fix her. All of a sudden, everyone was digging through their
purse for a cell phone, breaking up an unnecessary fight, or flagging down the
waiter for a fruit bowl. How no one ever seemed to pick up on these
intentional, attention grabbing calamities is far beyond me. And incredibly, irrevocably
frustrating.
It is amazing how complete is the
delusion that beauty is goodness. –Leo Tolstoy
I could
never understand how people, more especially men, were incessantly falling for
her dramatic antics. I could also never see why this kind of attention made her
feel good about herself. I mean, the majority of the time, it was negative
attention, but she just never seemed to care. And the multitude of individuals
who were continually coddling her didn’t seem to either. They found her
gorgeous, fascinating, and charmingly troubled. To this day, it infuriates me.
Maybe it’s
because no one ever seems to get any points for having things together. No one
ever reaps any credit for acting like an adult individual who avoids drama,
fights and chauvinistic, abusive men. I could never understand how people found
her so bewitching when she had done absolutely nothing with her life aside from instigate problems, and then whine
about them incessantly.
She was
primarily unemployed, had given up on school, and spent her time lying around
complaining about how allegedly terrible her life was. I would listen to her,
be a good friend, and not say a thing. But what I really wanted to do was shake
her awake and scream at her, “Maybe if you got out of bed once in a while and
actually did something with your life, it wouldn’t be so terrible.”
It just
seems so unfair that some people try incredibly hard to be good people. They
work towards set accomplishments and focus on being someone who others can
depend on and seek comfort from. There are people out there who actually take
the time to work on cultivating who they are, people who want to add to the
world.
And then there
are those who are exactly the opposite. They take advantage of people who
really care about them and meanwhile, they’re just handed everything because
they’re beautiful. It’s seemingly their god given right. Because being
beautiful just seems to make life easier.
Moral of
the Crazy: I’m not going to sit here and pretend like my looks don’t consume
me. I mean, I can’t. I have a “Thinspo” board on Pinterest, for crying out
loud. I buy makeup that costs more than health insurance because I would rather
be pretty than healthy. I plan my outfits the night before because the most
important part of my day is my outfit. I read magazines like it’s my job
because I want to be trendy; I want to be a celebrity because of the style. But
I’m not Shayne Dahl Lamas, friends. I’m a normal, ordinary, not uniquely
special person. Those are the cards that I was dealt.
Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in
looks. Not in what they say. Just in who they are. –Markus Zusak
But sometimes,
I’m really thankful. I once heard this story from this woman who was a model.
Being a model, she was obviously absolutely
gorgeous, but it was something that burdened her sometimes. Obviously not all
the time because she profited off of it. But sometimes, it made her feel bad
about herself. She told me once that she felt like in a way, people judged her.
That because she was pretty, they made assumptions about her, and she didn’t
want to be just a pretty face.
She told me
about this one time in particular when she did a photo shoot with this guy and
throughout the day, he had mentioned that she was perfect for a project he was
working on. It was a movie and although the role was minute, it was still a
credit. It could get her foot in the door, he had told her. He asked if she
would be willing to meet with him after the shoot, pending she was even
interested. She was excited, exclaimed she was massively interested, and agreed
to meet with him after the shoot.
Needless to
say, there probably was no movie and even if there was, he wasn’t considering
her for the role. He was hitting on her shamelessly, even after she had made
numerous attempts to rebuff his advances. He kept touching her shoulder, moving
closer to her in the circular booth in order to eliminate any distance between
them. He had even made a move to kiss her. And I remember, when I was listening
to her tell me this, while I was watching her grow increasingly more agitated,
I thought to myself, “Thank goodness I’m average…”
I know I
shouldn’t, but I get caught up in looks all the time. I tell the girls I work
with all the time, “I feel so cute when I leave my house and then when I get
here and see you guys, I’m like, Why did
I even get out of bed…?” I think it’s a natural thing, to crave whatever it
is you don’t have, to want those things you’re lacking. With everyone being so
hyper sexualized in the media, it’s hard not to.
But as I’ve
gotten older, I have realized that there’s more to life than how you look.
Sure, being attractive can be really beneficial sometimes. But sometimes, it’s
not. I’m just not so sure that I would want to be judged as just a pretty face.
I want to be taken seriously. I would rather be seen as brilliant than
beautiful. I would rather be considered selfless and giving than self-absorbed
and vain. I would rather contribute to the world than just live in it, than
just be an abnormally beautiful fixture.
And maybe
that’s what beauty is really all about: the knowledge that it can exist in more
ways than one.
You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed,
and you are beautiful. –Amy Bloom
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