It was a typical day. I was sitting in Benson working on a paper. I like to study there sometimes, because there's just enough background noise to ensure that I'm not drowning in a sea of my own thoughts. Sometimes, friendly faces will pass by, which is a nice bonus.
On this particular afternoon, a guy from my freshman hall was one of those friendly faces. He stopped to chat and I was glad since I don't really see him as much now that we live on different ends of campus. We carried on your regular “how is your day going?" type of small talk.
We were talking about Spanish class, and mid-sentence, he cut himself off. He looked at me with squinted eyes, head tilted a little to the side, and said:
“I'm sorry—I just… Are you a little more dressed up today? Did you do your makeup differently? Or get a haircut or something? It's just that… You actually look pretty today."
I tried to chalk this up as his attempt at a compliment. Yes, I was a little more dressed up than usual as I had a presentation that morning. Yes, my roommate had curled my hair in a way I didn't usually wear it.
But I would be lying if I said I wasn't upset about what he said. The words “you actually look pretty today" stung.
Even though I quipped back jokingly, this incident bothered me for the next couple of days. I'm not proud to admit that I got up a little earlier in the days following to do my hair and pick out a dressy outfit. Well, if I “actually" looked “pretty" that day, what can I do to be pretty every day? I thought to myself.
I was caught up in the idea of what it means to be “pretty." Here, at Wake, it seems like every girl is thin, always rocking a chic outfit, Jack Rogers, and a full face of makeup-- all without a single hair out of place or a single nail unpainted.
It might not necessarily always be that exact image, but that is a kind of standard that college students everywhere hold themselves and their peers to. It's an odd brand of perfection. It can take a different shape or form depending on the culture of where you are.
Playing into and pursuing these idealized kinds of perfection is unhealthy and unfair.
Something I struggled to remember in this situation is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If I get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and am completely happy throwing my hair up in a ponytail and skipping the makeup or am happy straightening my hair and wearing red lipstick—that's my prerogative.
Chasing someone else's idea of “pretty" is an absolute waste of time. Being comfortable in your own skin, as your own person? That's real beauty.
From now on, I'm going to focus on a simple truth I've heard before but haven't necessarily taken to heart just yet:
It does not matter what anyone else thinks of me. It matters what I think of me.
