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[girlycute-girlysad]

The Downward Spiral of a Beauty Paradigm

TW: fatphobia, dieting, sexualization

I always loved makeover montages as a child. Watching the glamour that frumpy Mia was capable of in the Princess Diaries or the more subtle depiction of Cady Heron becoming Plastic in Mean Girls sparked a unique excitement in me. As a highly insecure child who was becoming more and more cognizant of the expectations I would be beholden to as an adult, I loved the idea that an "ugly" girl could become sexy and desireable to men. Perhaps it was my own insecurity projecting itself onto these characters, or perhaps it was something uglier - a poignant belief that ugly things ought to become pretty, and that prettiness was a facet of morality. Even as an adult, I was alarmed by the immense satisfaction I felt watching Yennefer transform from a pitiful, dehumanized hunchback to an extremely conventionally beautiful woman in The Witcher. I remember desiring from the very beginning that she might change everything about herself to become attractive, and when I verbalized that thought to my boyfriend at the time he (rightfully) told me that was a shitty thing to desire. Even as I write this I consider my word choice - describing Yennefer as a woman only in my depiction of her post-makeover.

I have simultanenous admiration and jealousy of beautiful women, all while being aware of how arbitrary societal notions of beauty are. They are oppressive, racist, fatphobic, ableist and cruel - amongst many other things. I think many progressive people like myself may tell ourselves that if we just expand our boundaries of beauty that it can be more ethical - if our ideas of beauty include women of all body sizes and skin tones and whatnot, then we can engage in admiration of beauty free of guilt. As time has passed, I have become less enthusiastic towards this perspective.

Each morning before work, I take at least an hour (but typically longer) to carefully select my outfit, style my hair and put on makeup. This process is quite enjoyable for me, but also highly necessary - after I began getting dressed up for work, it no longer felt acceptable to have days where I put in minimal effort. My aspiration was to only become prettier with time; I certainly wouldn't want to glow down (we will see how this mindset affects me as I age out of my "prime".) I feel the need to lose weight despite being thin enough that no normal person would consider me chubby, and as such I go through periods of undereating, though not to extremes. It has become quite normal for me to skip lunch and just eat a few snacks here or there, especially as I often work in the afternoons and can easily distract myself. I have fostered a bit of a reputation at my job for being well-dressed, and I constantly seek to validate and reaffirm this reputation to myself and others by buying more clothes, more makeup, more accessories. I have become more consumed with my appearance than ever before - my cameral roll is an endless slew of selfie after selfie. Sometimes, when I am very high and feeling insecure, I scroll through these selfies for an extended period of time, trying to decide if I am pretty. I study my face, my angles and my body, following every curve and angle with a gut reaction that is either relief or terror. I often refuse to delete photos of myself that spark fear while in this state, because a voice nags in my head: "this is the way you look, whether you like it or not, and just because you don't like this photo doesn't mean it's not still you. You sometimes look the way you look in this photo. You sometimes look ugly and getting rid of this reminder won't change the fact". The voice is cruel, and doesn't mince its' words, and ironically it is most likely residual from the time in my life that I cared the least about my looks - about a year ago.

I did not shave my legs for the entirety of 2021, and I was what I would guess to be about 20 or 30 pounds heavier (but I will never know. One of my self-imposed boundaries upon my later weight loss was to never actually weigh myself for fear of becoming obsessed with the numbers.) I had short hair that was, at different points, a myriad of different colors - purple, then light blue, then green. I was a straight man's idea of what an ugly feminist was, and I didn't care. I went to the gym, hairy legs and armpits visible in my athletic shorts and tank top, and went straight for the weight training section that was predominantly muscular men anywhere from my age to their 40s. Every once in a while I would become insecure, but I mostly ignored them - their opinions of my appearance were meaningless and totally unimportant. It truly did not matter to me if men found me pretty. As such, I tried my absolute hardest to not shy away from photos or angles that I disliked, because I wanted to accept myself the way I was. The voice that sounds cruel now was a means of honesty to protect myself from exclusive views of beauty.

My greatest moments of insecurity and shame at that time were actually when I was around other women who did shave and perform their femininity quite outwardly. I felt unappreciated, as if the women in my life did not correctly respect me for what I was trying to do for us girls. I told my closest woman friends that I was not shaving anymore, and I was met with mild interest and subtle disdain. They did not understand that I saw this choice as revolutionary and a sacrifice to marginally lower the expectations placed on women to perform femininity - they saw this choice as a girlboss moment for me where I was exercising my free will to stop shaving because I didn't feel like doing it even if it would make me look gross. My laundry list of disappointments in my friends for their lack of effort to understand my views on gender and patriarchy is long and perhaps unrealistic - maybe my bar was too high for expecting them to understand why I stopped shaving my legs. Maybe my perception of the nobility of my actions was foolish, thinking I was a martyr for people who didn't want or ask me to be. Nevertheless, I found my friends' perspectives wholly unsatisfying. When I found myself surrounded by women I didn't know well who were performing standard femininity, that was the most draining and fear-inducing of all social crowds. I suddenly felt like I was in middle school again, ashamed of daring to be ugly in front of pretty girls who were so obviously more beautiful in the eyes of men. I shyed away from these situations.

In October of 2021, I went to a party at a friend's house, and I was wearing a crop top and sweatpants. I had some photos taken by some friends, and viewing them the next day I felt an intense shame analyzing my body - I had gained weight and was heavier than I had ever been. When I was 18 I was more insecure for weighing less. Looking at photos of my rounder, larger body in the first months of being 22, I was overcome with humiliation and a switch flipped in my head. I needed to lose weight again.

Months later in 2022, I began working at my new job as a leasing agent for a luxury apartment complex. This position was more social, sales-oriented and demanding of a conventionally feminine look than any other job I had previously. I was suddenly spending 20+ hours a week with girls who all looked feminine and men who all looked masculine, and I began shaving my legs again shortly after starting to avoid the anxiety of flashing a hairy ankle to these individuals who clearly had no interest in alternative presentations. A budding interest in fashion was now more relevant to my everyday life, and I started coordinating my business casual attire more carefully. Foolish and misplaced sexual interest in my 28-year old manager furthered this behavior of intense feminine performance. First, I needed to have color-coordinated outfits. Then I needed to put extra care into making sure my hair wasn't frizzy. Next, I needed to have my eyebrows done to go to work. Shortly thereafter I needed to wear concealer under my eyes and on blemishes, and then I needed to have a base layer of makeup and completely change my eyebrow shape as I became afraid my previous style was unflattering. Most recently I began rotating purses to match my styling - something I had never once done before in my life. None of these changes are inherently moral or immoral, but they did carry a sense of permanence - for after all, I care too much now to allow myself to become less attractive. I feel this need to reach new highs, to have even better skin and better clothes and better makeup. Stagnating or putting in less effort (god forbid) would mean falling short of my expectations and my perceived expectations from others.

I, the flagrant anti-capitalist who won't shut up about how capitalism has ruined our livelihoods, now have an ever-strengthening capitalist grip on how I present myself as a product to the world and specifically to men. This can't end well - right?

I speak of inclusivity in beauty and body neutrality, but my words must seem hollow, certainly to myself and possibly to other people. My foundations for the perspective that beauty considerations can be made ethical are purely based in rhetoric as I have no behaviors that I can claim embody this belief. If I try my absolute hardest to fit in with the existing beauty standard, how hypocritical am I to say that beauty can exist in more forms than most people recognize? Worst of all is that I fear friends who detriment from the beauty standard for being heavier would see right through my well-intentioned bluff. How can I claim that size does not matter and that body-shaming comments are absolutely incorrect when I constantly check my body throughout the day just to soothe myself and provide assurance that I am not what my heavier friends are told they are?

There are only two explanations for my words that contradict my behaviors and both seem grim. Either I am simply a victim of my the mentality bred into me and I cannot truly escape my perspectives on beauty, or I am just not as morally upright as I thought I was. Considering how long I was able to go without caring about my looks in 2021, the latter seems more likely. It seems that my nihilism about the end result of capitalism and overpopulation and my belief in the futility of action has declawed my former tenacity for feminist revolution. As I sit and stare in the vanity mirror, wishing to be sexualized and objectified in my tight blouse that emphasizes my waist and breasts, I feel a simple and hollow joy. I fantasize that as the world falls to pieces, I could garner the kind of attention I dreamed of as a 12 year old, watching makeover montages that turned the "ugly" girl into something worth fucking.

Privileged as I am, that joy is a redundant.

[girlycute-girlysad]

Introduction

I am a 22 year old woman in the United States, but referring to myself as a woman feels incorrect - rather, I would want to call myself a girl. Yes, 22 year old girl sounds better, despite being perhaps oxymoronic. I come from a family consisting of my mother, father, three brothers and two sisters (I am the second youngest). The family factors that likely played the largest roles in my socialization and upbringing were the following:

1) we are white.

2) my father has a PhD and considers himself a scholarly academic, and my mother came from a family that highly values education. The emphasis on school performance in my family was high.

3) we struggled a good bit with money for the first half of my childhood.

4) my parents argued aggressively, loudly and frequently. They had an extremely tumultuous relationship and it absolutely negatively affected their children.

For most of my life, as far back as I can remember, I was very insecure, often of being socially awkward and especially of my appearance. I remember being in high school and looking down everywhere I walked because I was ashamed of my face and body being perceived. I have never had an especially good relationship with food and I find self love very difficult.

I was a very good student in elementary school and was very much a teacher's pet (a total suck up) until about 5th grade. I was in the "gifted" programs at schools I went to and had a high opinion of my academic capabilities until high school, at which point I cared less about grades but developed an insecurity about being inadequate compared to my fellow "gifted" students who continued to care. This insecurity has persisted into the present, although it has been partially defanged by aging.

I was largely unsuccessful romantically in high school, and I remember having intense shyness around anyone I developed a crush on. I would never, ever tell a soul if I thought a classmate was cute, generally out of fear of being found out and being (most likely) rejected. Even to this day, I have this same kind of feeling, though to a lesser extent, and it feels like a part of me is yet to mature. Whenever I feel that shyness and anxiety in my stomach I feel like a child again.

Socially I tended to have a close knit group of friends who were all socially awkward, academically inclined and probably pretty annoying to the kids who were more self-aware and cognizant of social cues. However, among those weirdos, I always seemed to receive some kind of appreciation from them for my unhinged sense of humor and intense playfulness. Looking back I am sure I was exhausting to be around at times, but the generally positive reception I received for my comedy antics throughout my life has been very comforting to my sense of self worth.

Always since adolescence, but these days in particular, I have a tendency to market myself as a product, the way many women in the digital age do. I wear my clothes and makeup a certain way to seem stylish, youthful and flirty. I want men to perceive me as playful, witty, energetic, and perhaps most importantly physically attractive. And of course I know that viewing myself as a product is a disservice to myself and that men wanting me isn't the form of acceptance my brain thinks it is. Previously I tried very hard to stifle the urge to seek male validation and these days I barely care to put in the effort. I feel like being painfully aware of misogyny has affected my presentation less and less over time.

Realizing the world was going to collapse in my lifetime made caring harder. At least the lack of caring has made it easier to dismiss low self esteem. When I catch myself feeling insecure about my looks or personality, a phrase rattles in my head: what good has caring ever done for me?

Anyways, this is my space for unfettered thoughts and reflections on my life and socialization, politics, people I know and philosophy - because why not?

My world is literally going to fucking end. Why not make a self-absorbed little blog about myself?

Live más.