The Business of Being – ‘Beautiful’ Edition
By the standards of the world, I am not beautiful.
I’m too short, too buxom, too curvy, too zaftig, too hungry, too plain, too unmade, too spotty, to stretch-marked, too muscular, too natural, too uninterested, too hairy, too dark, and/or too modestly dressed.
I will never be a size 0. I will never be taller than 5’6″. I will never have flawless skin. I will never be “pretty”.
My “normal” sizes as a full-grown adult and mother of three children are somewhere between sizes 8 and 14. I have an hourglass figure; my pant (hip) size is generally 2 sizes larger than my dress (waist) size, though sizes vary by brand. My “normal” weight is always 15-25 lbs heavier than what the [faulty] BMI recommends for my height. I am very muscular for a woman. One could call me a ‘brawny’ female to get a better sense of what I mean. Not bodybuilder muscular, but solid and strong enough to lift 120 lbs with little effort. I am fit and healthy. I exercise every day, I have good stamina and willpower, I eat a healthy diet. My body and mindset are ideal for hard work and manual labor. There is nothing dainty about me, thus I am “too big” to be beautiful.
I don’t wear makeup, rarely make any modifications to my hair other than to cut it myself or straighten it once in awhile to see how long it is. I prefer to wear comfortable clothing that covers all parts of my body, and I generally wear sneakers or sensible dress shoes. I don’t carry expensive handbags or visit spas. I have no interest in false modifications to my body, whether they be as simple as french nails or as complex as implants. I do not wear flashy jewelry, and also have no interest in anything having to do with diamonds or other precious stones, metals, or similarly expensive accessories.
Thus, I am not beautiful.
Or, so they tell me when I am bombarded with advertisements and media promoting “beauty” products. So they tell me when I’m walking through a department store and have makeup counter people yelling at me about how I need a “free makeover”. So they tell me when I walk past and notice their lips curling and eyebrows rising as their eyes sweep over my unmodified body.
Is there even such a thing as natural beauty for humans?
I don’t feel like there is. I feel strange when I try to consider whether I might be “pretty” or not. I don’t have anything to compare myself to. Comparing myself to myself, I think sometimes I look better than other times. The main difference is whether I’ve had a shower and untangled my hair yet that day. I don’t think I “look pretty”, though. I just look more tidy.
I have a very hard time identifying with other women, because other women seem overly preoccupied with “cute” clothes and “sassy” shoes and makeup and drinking wine and making fun of other people. I just don’t have any interest in looking at people or comparing myself to other people.
That said, not a day goes by that I don’t look at my body and tell myself how fat I am. I’m not sure why I think I am fat – the truth is, I know I am not fat. I realize that I am not thin, yet I understand I am not overweight. It doesn’t matter, though, because I have been brainwashed. I have been told since birth that I am fat and dumpy because my thighs and rear aren’t thin, the number on the scale is higher than 120, and the number on my waistband is sometimes double digits. Apparently, it’s an either/or situation – either I’m fat or I’m not. Every single day, I look at my body critically, telling myself I “need to lose weight”. It’s weird and backward and makes no sense other than that it is an automated behavior.
I know I’m lying to myself when I talk like that, but it is a habit. This is something I’ve done for more than twenty years. I have believed I am fat since I was a little kid. I don’t understand why I still have these thoughts, because I automatically dismiss them. I think thoughts like, “Nobody would ever be attracted to me, my butt is too big.” or “I’m so ugly; my thighs jiggle so much.” or “Why would anybody ever want to be with someone who’s so thick and who has so many stretch marks?” or “Why do I wear such a big size? Am I really that fat?”
Now, there are several things about the above statements that are completely incongruous with my true feelings on the subject:
- The only person I believe is “fat” is me. I don’t even look at other people’s bodies in any critical manner.
- I have no interest in random dating; “finding a boyfriend” is not even on my list of priorities at this point in my life.
- All bodies are different. A clothing size has nothing to do with personal fitness.
- At my heaviest, I wore a size 16 (XL) pant and size 12 (L) shirt. These are not particularly massive sizes, and I tend to wear loose-fitting clothes to avoid feeling like a sausage.
- I don’t even think about my body at any time unless I am in front of a mirror. That’s pretty much only when I’m actually using the bathroom.
- I have no idea why I feel insecure.
What bothers me the most about feeling insecure is that it is involuntary. I think these thoughts automatically because I’ve been conditioned to think this way. I do not like to think like this. I do not enjoy wasting time thinking about superficial and imaginary self-criticisms. I get frustrated because I can’t seem to shake these thoughts, even though they don’t originate in my innate personality.
Another frustrating thing is that I can go from feeling perfectly fine to feeling awkward and uncomfortable and insecure within a minute if I enter the presence of a “pretty” female. Interestingly, these females aren’t actually attractive (well, from my perspective, but I’m not attracted to females so what do I know?) – they just have all of the “right” cosmetics and fashions and perfumes on. I don’t feel bad as a person, but I immediately start to think of all of the things that are “wrong with me” that I believe the other female is noticing. I start to feel like a hulking, heaving behemoth. I start to feel inferior.
To feel inferior simply because another person “looks better” outrages me. I hate that I can’t get away from these self-inflicted judgments. The superficial caste system that society has organized falls into place as soon as another female enters the room. I start to compare myself to her, and I decide whether or not I am higher or lower than her on a scale of attractiveness. The comparison isn’t even anything real; it’s a “which one of us would a stereotypical random male like more?” comparison that is completely subjective.
From an evolutionary standpoint, this automatic competition makes sense. Our species would never have survived if we did not have this competition bred into us. However, at some point along the way, “survival of the fittest” became “survival of the fanciest”. I could dress like a fancy lady and spend all of my extra time fiddling with my clothing and accessories… but I don’t want to. I’m honestly not interested. I’m not even in the game of seduction, so why should I pretend to be?
Another issue is that I feel guilty and ashamed any time I think of myself as “attractive”, because I don’t think I deserve to imagine that there is anything about me that is beautiful. I’m not even sure who I’m supposed to be attracting. As I said, I’m not on the market for a mate, so there’s honestly no point in putting forth any effort whatsoever to be attractive. This is not to say that practicing good hygiene isn’t important, just that extra primping and strutting is unnecessary in my life.
I don’t even know what “Beautiful” means anymore. The things I see in nature are what I consider to be beautiful. I know the definition is: delighting the senses or mind… But there just aren’t very many humans who delight my senses or mind. It is the awe-inspiring and unassuming majesty of the mountains that I find to be beautiful. The superficial enhancements of humans look awful to me – very harsh and false, to the point that I inwardly wince sometimes. I have a hard time seeing what people actually look like because I can’t see anything real about them. I just see posturing and acting and insecurity and fear. That makes me feel sad.
It makes me feel even worse that there are children who feel inadequate and imperfect and ugly because they cannot meet the world’s standards of “beauty”. Everywhere they turn, they are bombarded with the idea that they need to be “made” beautiful. I feel completely helpless and upset when I see a young child wearing makeup and high-heeled shoes and revealing clothing. I feel like I need to protect these little children and nurture them and tell them they are perfect just the way they are, without having to draw attention to themselves. I want to tell those little children who are suffering from anxiety disorders that there are people who love them as they are.
I know that these situations are the fault of the parents, who either don’t care or think it’s “cute” to objectify young children. I have heard many women talk about how they think it’s “adorable” that little girls wear women’s fashions in public. They think it’s “sweet” when little girls wear lipstick and eye-shadow and blush to kindergarten. They nitpick at their “fat” children; ranting about how their children eat too much and are getting chunky. And, yet, these same people complain and express astonishment that their young children feel inadequate and ugly.
A lot of women don’t seem to understand that their children are always watching. These women don’t seem to recognize that their young daughters are mimicking their behaviors and echoing their self-critical sentiments. The mother who spends her life striving to be “pretty” will quickly teach her children to be critical and ashamed of who they are – and she may not even know it.
There is something terribly wrong here. This is not how it’s supposed to be.
I feel so helpless – like there’s nothing I can do to change things for these children who are growing up to hate themselves.
The only thing I can do is to be aware of my own actions and behaviors around my children. I can talk to them and listen to them and love them as they are. I can voice concern without criticism, I can treat them with love and caring. I can love them unconditionally, the way they love me.
I know I am beautiful, because my children find me to be a delight to their senses and minds – just as I find them to be beautiful. They do not question their beauty or perfection or awesomeness – they have not been marred by the rude comments or hateful behavior of others. They are happy to be themselves, and they love themselves the way they are.
It is my duty to learn to see myself as my children see me – beautiful – because I need to reflect that inner love to my children so that they may continue to see themselves as beautiful, no matter what the fickle standards of the world may say.