Beauty

“Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” – Confucius

“You are beautiful… You are beautiful… You are beautiful…”

Those words, a mantra, repeated out loud as I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. Some days I am overflowing with confidence. I can leave the safety net I’ve created for myself behind the computer screen and step out into the real world, ready to conquer it. I can hold my head up high, smiling radiantly at the world around me. All my troubles melt away; paranoia escapes me; for I am a strong, confident young lady, not concerned with the thoughts of others. Oh, but the other days… the days when that confidence withers like parched roses… those are the days I fear the most. Those are the days when I stare at that face in the mirror, but I don’t see myself. The girl looking back at me isn’t the same beautiful being I knew before, but rather a monstrosity, with every flaw highlighted. The oddly shaped face, the nose that’s too large and is possibly the furthest thing from perfection. The coffee stained teeth which beg to be whitened and braced so they can finally be perfectly aligned. The eyes that can be considered “too big” to be cute. It’s a good thing they’re hidden behind a pair of glasses. There’s the mole on the cheek that struggles to be noticed as a real beauty mark. Let’s not forget the frizzy excuse of hair. The mantra is repeated, but the words have no meaning. In a dull, dry, monotonous tone, I say to myself, “You are beautiful!” yet, the eyes of my reflection reply, “stop lying to me.”

Those are the days when paranoia asserts itself into my life. Darkness weaves its way into my head, whispering dismal words, chasing the remnants of my sanity into the cold, deserted crevices of my mind. Those are the days when I am rendered slave to the disease of the mind… FEAR. God forbid my eyes stray any lower than my neck and catch a glimpse of the body below. *shudders* These arms desperately need sculpting, worse yet the jumbo thighs which any cannibal would desire to dip into flour and oil to enjoy a crispy (yet grossly fattening) meal. My disproportionate breasts which Victoria Secret would forbid from advertising their bras, if even for free! Then there’s the worst of the worst… my stomach. Most would, by modern day definition, describe me as having that “skinny bitch” look. Yet, I see imperfection scribbled on every inch of me. I see the fat that I long to shave away. I see the pounds that need to be shed so I can have that supermodel figure. In the mirror, I don’t see an image of beauty with a small frame. I see a heifer with the face of a troll.

But why? Why must I allow myself to be consumed by these qualms? Why can there not be a day when I set foot outside of my haven at home and not fall apart by these mind crippling trepidations? Why are there days when I look around me and imagine that everyone is staring at me, whispering the cruelest of things… making me the laughing stock of the century? They probably think that my top makes me look fat. They must wish that I covered up my face with some makeup to spare their eyes from such hideous view. My hair isn’t styled right, is it? My clothes are far from “trendy” because they aren’t branded with the logos of companies most people flaunt these days? I walk weird, don’t I? Oh, why can’t it stop?! Why can’t this voice in my head quit implanting these negative thoughts?

I curl up in a corner of my room. Door locked. Tears streaming down my face. I feel like a failure. I want the pain to go away. I search for an escape. Perhaps a few shots of tequila can make me forget? Or if I pop a couple of pills, then I’d fall into a coma-like slumber and awake, not recalling all the bad that has happened to me. No… That won’t work. Eventually, it’d all come back to me and I’d return to this same corner, sobbing, blade in hand, devoured by the feeling of worthlessness. I need to prove my worth. I need to reinvent myself and become that image of perfection that society wants us to be. I can’t be beautiful unless I change myself.

I scoff at it now, as I reflect on my thought process in the past. Who I am, and what I’ve made myself into, oh… how I am ashamed to be the creator of this monster. I’ve been seen as vain for trying to achieve this perfect look. Each day, I engage in the critical process of planning an outfit, then selecting the right accessories and choosing the best hairstyle to complete the look. I view myself at all angles in the mirror. Does my butt look big enough in these jeans, or does it look like a pancake? Am I showing enough cleavage, or do I need to let the girls out some more? Is this shade of red painted on my lips seductive enough? Does it make my lips look tantalising to the male eye? Are they now desirable? Once that process has been completed, I of course must engage in the trending thing that is the “selfie”. Some argue that selfies have aided in the development of a more narcissistic society. Perhaps it has groomed us to become more self-absorbed, attention craving, bubbleheads in the world that pop culture has crafted for us.

Society wants us to believe that in order to be beautiful, you need a small waistline and curves in what THEY consider to be the “right places”, i.e. ass and breast. If you have a little more “chunk” in any other area, then trade in that cheeseburger for a salad. Swap the chocolate cake for an apple. Skip a meal or two. Heck, stop eating altogether! Let’s top it all off with exercise as you repeatedly call yourself any demeaning “fat” name while running on the treadmill or killing yourself with crunches to burn all of those “evil” calories.

How could I be such a fool? I am supposed to be an educated young lady, yet I have bought the lie that pop culture sells to us. Beauty… what is beauty? I can’t answer that question, for there is no real answer. Beauty is nothing but a mere subjective concept shaped by different societies and cultures. However, it all comes down to personal tastes and preferences. What is beautiful for one person may not pique the interest of another. In the end, when viewing oneself, the only thing that matters is YOUR opinion. This is where I have faltered. With my low self-esteem and confidence, I always believed that to I needed to dress and act a certain way to appeal to others. Comparing the before and after, I assumed that the “new” Nicky must’ve been a lot better than that excuse of a person I once was. She made heads turn. She received attention from the males around her, and many requests to exchange telephone numbers. People desired her. People noticed her. But, just how positive was this attention truly?

It is called “self-worth” for a reason, and it is measured by how much YOU, the individual, value yourself. It is not based on the thoughts and opinions of the people around you. It all boils down to your attitude towards yourself, and the way you see yourself is the way you shall present yourself.

True beauty comes from within, as cliché as it may sound. It matters not if you wear size 0 pants, or size 12. Beauty isn’t based on whether or not you rock an A cup brassiere, or have double D’s. Beauty will never be what society tells us it is, but rather what you perceive it to be.

For me, when my mind was corrupted by the fashion industry, I had two extremes. Either I’d boycott the concept of beauty that is sold to us, or I’d embrace it. I’d wear no makeup to make a statement about natural beauty, or I’d paint my face a bit to amplify my look, giving me more of an edge, just like those girls in the magazines. I’d put on clothes that covered me up and pretend to not give a damn about what people think, or I tried extra hard to have that sex appeal and feminine look that women are “supposed” to have. Did any of that matter? No. It never did. I could dress up or dress down, but I’d always have to repeat those three words to myself in order to feel a little confident. “You are beautiful.”

Complying to the socially accepted norms of beauty never made me feel comfortable in my skin. Why? Simple… It’s all an illusion. You don’t need a magazine or industry to tell you what beautiful is. You can invent it all on your own. Put on whatever outfit YOU feel comfortable in, whether it’s short shorts, or long, loose fitting pants. If you love the way you look and choose not to cover your face in a mask of beauty products, then don’t. If you love the way you look but enjoy playing dress up and making up your face, then go right ahead. No one can tell you what to do with yourself. It’s your life, and you have full control over it. You enjoy burgers covered with cheese melted all over it and crispy strips of bacon, then get one, bite into it, and savour the delectable flavours. Are you health conscious and like your salads with strips of grilled chicken and low calorie croutons? Then by all means, eat a salad. Conscious about your weight? Then exercise. But don’t starve yourself, and don’t gorge in food 24/7. Find that healthy balance, because at the end of the day, your health is a bigger priority than looking like the chick in the centrefold. Love yourself as you are. It is something I am working on doing. Not a change that would happen overnight, but as I gradually see the world as it is, and not what society wants us to believe it is, I realise there are bigger things to be preoccupied with than getting a compliment from some guy or having a bunch of likes on your picture. Additionally, I see now that I don’t need others in order to value myself. As the days go by, it is becoming a lot easier to look in the mirror and say “You are beautiful!” Not because I need a confidence boost and would like to believe that, but because I truly do believe it. I am beautiful!