I Know Nothing About Being Pretty, And You Shouldn’t Either
Pictured above is me in 7th grade: the messy haired buckteeth frumpy girl in ill-fitting clothing, awkwardly posing between her “cute,pretty,attractive” best friends. Everybody has some sort of awkward phase, mine just happened to last all of middle school and most of high school.
The issue was not that I wasn’t the cutest, or lacked the capabilities of being attractive, it was that I had no self-autonomy. I didn’t recognize my arms as my arms or my legs as my legs. My body meant nothing to me.
As a middle schooler, my “worth” came from how many books I had read, the new music I was versed in, and the short stories I would write. I was so dissociated from my physical-self because I was too preoccupied with my mental-self. Looking back, the lack of validation from my peers on my appearance has served me later in life on my journey to regaining ~inner self-worth~, because I rarely expect it.
However, things became… *interesting* when a few short years later, quite a surprise to myself and others, I got a body. I wore it, embraced it, and was quickly exposed to a new side of life.
I capitalized on this newfound “pretty privilege.”
I used my body to get corner store discounts, flirt with airport security- just because I could, and overall embrace…
