Beauty standards over the past few decades.
I used to wonder why women always feel like they have to contort themselves.
I grew up surrounded by women who worshiped cosmetic surgery and the idea of having the perfect body. I never condoned it, but I secretly wondered where the desire for that look came from. Of course, this was the idea of a naive girl who knew nothing about the selfish world of beauty standards.
As I grew up and started using social media, I started hating the way I looked. I hated my big nose, my doe-like eyes, and the way my face looked unintelligible in the mirror, especially when I wore glasses. I compared myself to the crappy paintings I found and wished I looked like the clinically gorgeous models I see in magazines.
Eventually, about a year ago, I met one of the beautiful women I wanted to be like. I decided to watch the video on her YouTube channel for Vogue Magazine. It was part of the “Beauty Secrets” series, where various celebrities shared their skincare and makeup routines. This video was of Ariana Grande, a world famous singer known for her amazing soprano vocals.
I had a daily routine of watching these “beauty secrets” videos and taking notes on the next product I would buy to improve my appearance. So, of course, I waited to see the secret to Grande’s perfect cat-eye eyeliner and clicked on this one.
What I didn’t expect in this video was for her to open up about her journey with Botox (a toxin used to smooth out wrinkles) and lip fillers. She emotionally explained that stopping to change her appearance in 2018 made a huge difference. She now wants to age naturally and see traces of the life she lived when she dies.
While watching this video, I had a strange feeling in my chest that I couldn’t fully decipher. All my life I have been led to believe that women should always look their best possible, especially in public. Whether that means signing up for a spa service that magically removes wrinkles or wearing excessive makeup to hide imperfections, I’ve always believed in what society has taught me. I tried to maintain a standard of beauty.
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I hope that as you grow and learn, your wrinkles will become more noticeable and you will smile more.
Until high school, I had never been called beautiful, gorgeous, amazing, or any other synonym for beauty. Therefore, I did not believe that I was beautiful. As if it needed validation from someone for it to be true. I believed that in order to have any success in the real world, I needed to maintain a youthful appearance.
But seeing gorgeous women like Grande admit their beauty flaws changed my perspective on beauty.
On my lonely 14th birthday, I finally learned the truth. Beauty is incredibly subjective.
As women, we are taught from an early age that being “girly” is shameful and subject to male accomplishments. Running “like a girl” is considered childishly skipping out of the situation, while screaming “like a girl” is clearly the highest note that the human vocal cords can make. . A beautiful woman is said to be a white-skinned girl with glass-like skin and a round face. The ideal girl has no acne, no glasses, and no flaws. And she is expected to stay that way.
Despite all the “negative” aspects of my appearance, there’s one thing I know: I am. That is, I am like my parents and I love them deeply. My appearance traces a long history of people I once loved. My appearance is a mosaic of laughs and glances shared in a world where no one else exists, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Over time, I learned to love my appearance just the way it was and found myself looking forward to the day when I could achieve the smile lines, tear bags, and deep wrinkles across the canvas of my complexion. I hope that as you grow and learn, your wrinkles will become more noticeable and you will smile more. I want to smile and look at the beautiful aspects that come with aging, such as freckles and sunburn. I want to see evidence of a woman who lived freely without conforming to those around her.
With my last breath, I suppressed a laugh from my crazy white hair and drooping jawline, and realized that I was alive, and the happy memories etched on my face in a tapestry of ecstasy. I hope to die knowing that everyone I know will be able to see it engraved on me. .
