At nearly 50 it's been both liberating and poignant to look back at so many pictures of me in my younger years when I was so absolutely convinced that I was fat and unattractive and realize that I was gorgeous. Maybe, or maybe not, by conventional standards, but definitely by mine now. Being able to see that about myself has certainly been aided by having kids and seeing how much they look like me. I'd never had that experience before. Both my siblings were adopted and my folks were older parents, so when I was young I never felt like they looked like me. Having my kids and just being gobsmacked by how beautiful they were to me, and then having other people repeatedly mention how much they looked like me really transformed my view of myself.
I tell them they are gorgeous all the time. Not because their looks are the most important part of them. I'm super clear with them on that part. But because I hope they will never waste the years I did devaluing themselves because they don't understand how beautiful they are.
Well, damn, I got myself a perm in my senior year in college and guess what? That's my senior photo! People will forever remember me as the Chinese female student who had permed hair, and though I hardly think they were/are intentionally wondering if I was denying my culture and my straight hair, I do wonder about that for myself now. So many other Chinese American young people around me (male and female) were perming their hair and I got on that bandwagon. I mean, really, what was that all about? I can't not think that denial of our culture (due to racism and racist beauty standards) informed our decisions collectively. Otherwise, why would we sit in a beauty shop with curlers in our hair and chemicals burning into our scalps to turn our straight thick locks into dry curls?
Interesting, from a distance, that distance being New Jersey. I showed this post to my girlfriend whose reaction was, "These women are all narcissists," then went back to coloring with her son. A little background. She's pretty, a mix of Greek and Scandinavian with light brown hair and green eyes. She's 5'4" and 135 pounds of lean muscle—yes we met at the gym. She's also a single mom with two kids, 1.5 jobs, working on an advanced degree and could not care less about her hair and makeup. She's never been in a Sephora and has no inclination to go. She doesn't wear lipstick. "I can't be bothered." She's never slumped in her mirror, fretting the day she's too chunky to try on that knock-off YSL Mondrain from Redbubble. She considers herself average; I have a higher opinion, but she's not at all bothered by her self-assessment. Perhaps it's because we live on the corrupt, industrial, eastern edge of flyover country, where the oppressive beauty musings of midtown straphangers don't matter. Or perhaps she's just so grounded that she's able to recognize they really don't. I'm certainly NOT attempting to minimize the real feelings of the very real women who suffer with feelings of inadequacy. I'm simply saying I bet there are many more women like my friend than NYrs imagine.
This is such an important post. We are spending a lot of time these days talking about how critically important it is to stop judging others for attributes they cannot change—skin color being chief among them—and we women loathe ourselves for nearly the same thing: noses, eyes, lips that we were born with.
Let kindness begin with me and may I spread it everywhere, all the time. Y’all are all beautiful and you can do good things in this world.
At nearly 50 it's been both liberating and poignant to look back at so many pictures of me in my younger years when I was so absolutely convinced that I was fat and unattractive and realize that I was gorgeous. Maybe, or maybe not, by conventional standards, but definitely by mine now. Being able to see that about myself has certainly been aided by having kids and seeing how much they look like me. I'd never had that experience before. Both my siblings were adopted and my folks were older parents, so when I was young I never felt like they looked like me. Having my kids and just being gobsmacked by how beautiful they were to me, and then having other people repeatedly mention how much they looked like me really transformed my view of myself.
I tell them they are gorgeous all the time. Not because their looks are the most important part of them. I'm super clear with them on that part. But because I hope they will never waste the years I did devaluing themselves because they don't understand how beautiful they are.
Well . . . what can I say, Val? Now I worship you.
Well, damn, I got myself a perm in my senior year in college and guess what? That's my senior photo! People will forever remember me as the Chinese female student who had permed hair, and though I hardly think they were/are intentionally wondering if I was denying my culture and my straight hair, I do wonder about that for myself now. So many other Chinese American young people around me (male and female) were perming their hair and I got on that bandwagon. I mean, really, what was that all about? I can't not think that denial of our culture (due to racism and racist beauty standards) informed our decisions collectively. Otherwise, why would we sit in a beauty shop with curlers in our hair and chemicals burning into our scalps to turn our straight thick locks into dry curls?
Interesting, from a distance, that distance being New Jersey. I showed this post to my girlfriend whose reaction was, "These women are all narcissists," then went back to coloring with her son. A little background. She's pretty, a mix of Greek and Scandinavian with light brown hair and green eyes. She's 5'4" and 135 pounds of lean muscle—yes we met at the gym. She's also a single mom with two kids, 1.5 jobs, working on an advanced degree and could not care less about her hair and makeup. She's never been in a Sephora and has no inclination to go. She doesn't wear lipstick. "I can't be bothered." She's never slumped in her mirror, fretting the day she's too chunky to try on that knock-off YSL Mondrain from Redbubble. She considers herself average; I have a higher opinion, but she's not at all bothered by her self-assessment. Perhaps it's because we live on the corrupt, industrial, eastern edge of flyover country, where the oppressive beauty musings of midtown straphangers don't matter. Or perhaps she's just so grounded that she's able to recognize they really don't. I'm certainly NOT attempting to minimize the real feelings of the very real women who suffer with feelings of inadequacy. I'm simply saying I bet there are many more women like my friend than NYrs imagine.
Thanks for this post! It is a good reminder to be kind to ourselves
I remember this from O! I always tried to give good sincere compliments anyway, but this stuck with me.
This is such an important post. We are spending a lot of time these days talking about how critically important it is to stop judging others for attributes they cannot change—skin color being chief among them—and we women loathe ourselves for nearly the same thing: noses, eyes, lips that we were born with.
Let kindness begin with me and may I spread it everywhere, all the time. Y’all are all beautiful and you can do good things in this world.