A friend of mine posted about how women are still valued for looks over their talent and skills, how homely women are expected to no embrace our looks but to follow the rules of making ourselves more like the beauty standard.
I am not pretty or beautiful.
My mirror isn’t busted, I can see what my reflection looks like. I am odd looking.
My nose is too big. My face is round and would be even if I was skinny (seriously, I just have a round face.) My eyes are covered in glasses.
I have nicely shaped lips. My eye shape is fairly nice, too, but overall I am an odd looking woman.
As a woman with two gorgeous sisters, this is tough. I fit, and this same friend discussed this some time back, the idea of a handsome woman. My face isn’t horrifying, but it isn’t what you would ask for in any place.
On top of that, I am fat. Yep, really fat, not “oh god, I gained 8 pounds, kill me, fat,” but actually faaaat. While, yes, I am working on it, I am fat. I accept that I will never have a size 6 body.
I wear makeup, but it is too please me. I like color on my face, I enjoy learning how to do makeup. Lipstick makes me happy. I do not follow all that weird contouring shit because who the hell has time for that? Besides, contouring just makes your face look odd oftentimes.
My clothes are not fashionable. There are no fashion rules according to me. Dark colors are not my friends. I wear bright colors, jewel tones. My spring and summer wardrobe is all bright big patterns, many of them florals. All things fat women are told not to wear because it makes you look fatter.
Oh, fuck that. I’m fat. Wearing dark colors is not going to make me look skinny.
I am weird. Yep, I get that. I realized that in fourth grade. I wore what I chose to, I made some of my own clothes out of older clothes. My teacher treated me like shit about it.
This is also the same teacher who made fun of me for being poor. The same teacher who stood me, and another poor child, in front of the classroom and asked why we were able to buy ice cream once a week (it cost a whopping quarter,) but were on the free lunch program.
More than 30 years ago and it still angers me so much.
Anyway, I knew I was the weird kid then. I was too smart, I read too much, I liked weird things.
Nerdy and weird and not pretty.
I have come to embrace all of this now. As an adult, I get that I am a nerd, I am weird. I am not beautiful.
I am however a fierce friend, a good wife, damn good at my job, smart, and stubborn enough to learn whatever I put my mind to.
I am an incredible aunt, my niblings tell me so.
So what if I’m not pretty. I am so much fucking more.
