Sometimes I think we get too specific about beauty. We think we know exactly what it's made of.
I can look at my face in the mirror and describe to you at great length exactly what would have to change in order for me to be gorgeous. I am mathematical in my precision. The same with my body. A couple inches added to the length of my calves, a tightening of the skin on my back, a slight adjustment to the shape of my breasts. I am surgical in my attention.
And then I remember that once, I didn't think of beauty as a string of measurements and numbers and proportions. I didn't have to think of it, really, because it was obvious that I was it. I'm turning twenty-six tomorrow, and before I go any farther, I want to pause and remind myself of another side of beauty.
Here are some reasons why I was a gorgeous little girl:
I was smart. I could figure things out.
I had brown hair, which I thought was the best color.
I had beautiful things. Like an old wedding dress that a tiny great aunt had once worn and a veil that an aunt had worn. I rocked that outfit. I was a princess in it -- and not necessarily a bride. I had dresses covered in flowers. I had shirts with trains. I had a dinosaur costume.
I looked different from my friends. Which was important, because I could distinguish my beauty.
I had a bump on my nose, which was striking. I thought that queens had bumps on their noses.
I did not look like people on TV or in movies -- which I thought meant I was prettier.
I was talented.
I was a fast runner. My new Reebok sneakers were puffy and bouncy and perfect. I felt, briefly, like I was flying.
My parents told me I was beautiful. Once we were at a Passover seder at my Grandma and Pop-Pop's and my dad said to his brother, "Isn't she beautiful?" and he looked at me and got a little teary. My mom was always telling me I was beautiful. She always said I looked good in everything I put on.
I was great at drawing, and I could draw myself -- with lots of brown hair and green eyes.
I had green eyes. I made a chart of eye colors and the different magic powers they should come with. Brown/green meant forest magic. Even though I'd made it up, I wasn't sure what it meant, but it was my favorite.
I was adventurous. Beauty felt tied to adventure in my mind. Beauty was all about being interesting and strong-minded and good at following streams and bushwhacking paths through fields. I followed the stream all the way through the forest and out the other side, where it ran into a road. I was disappointed, but at least I knew where it went.
Boys thought I was pretty. I knew, because the boy next door told me I looked pretty in my blue bathing suit. And then he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said, "No way, I already have a boyfriend," even though I was ten and I definitely didn't. I was proud of myself for lying because it felt bold and I knew I wasn't ready to have a boyfriend. But I was also sure that when I was ready, boys would line up. I mean, why not?
I liked myself.
I was likable.
I was me.
I'm still me. I'm brown-haired and adventurous. I still like dinosaurs. There's a chance I'm still gorgeous. Maybe we all are.
Can you remember what made you awesome as a kid? Come tell me about it on Eat the Damn Cake! I'd love to know.
Follow Kate Fridkis on Twitter: www.twitter.com/eatthedamncake
I also think that the ideas you present in your work are quite shallow, and that you need to read some great fiction and philosophical works to round out your idead. Else you should consider writing for Vogue. Or maybe Seventeen magazine.
http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/exchange/node/2042
http://www.jyi.org/volumes/volume6/issue6/features/feng.html
Men or women...if you want beauty, you have to work for it. Physical symmetry is the first step. Diet, exercise, and moderation in all things. The media didn't cause your problems...you did.