How do I look?
And other bear traps
“How does this look?” “Does this make me look fat?” “Does my hair look okay like this?” These are things that women ask their partners. Sometimes a lot.
I don’t ask these questions anymore. Ever.
My husband likes to call this kind of question a bear trap. Meaning that there is no way he can win. When I used to ask a question about my appearance, he would get a frightened look on his face and pantomime the claws of a giant trap opening, and him unsuspecting about to walk in.
It’s kind of funny, and I did laugh and take his point, but I don’t think it’s quite fair. He’s right — the conversations that result from these questions seldom ended well, but I don’t think it was because I’m too sensitive or because I was deliberately setting a trap.
I’m not totally certain what all women are looking for in response to these kinds of questions. For me, it was usually just reassurance. I wasn’t in the habit of asking questions like that a lot — just on occasion when I was feeling particularly insecure about my appearance.
Unfortunately what I got were responses that made me doubt my attractiveness, and worse, my husband’s feelings towards me. And yet I don’t think my husband intended for that to happen. He was just careless with his words.
There are things that he could have said in those moments that would have not only made me feel better, but strengthened our relationship, and eliminated the need for the bear trap analogy altogether.
It may not be my best look, but does it matter?
We were on our way out one night. My hair wasn’t cooperating. I don’t know if it was the humidity, or if I needed a trim or what, but it looked like crap. I put it in a ponytail, just to get it out of the way.
I know a pony tail is not my greatest look. I have a small head with a long neck, and can look like a pinhead with a ponytail. My hair isn’t thick, so when gathered tightly it looks anemic, and I don’t have the skill to have artfully arranged stray wisps and the like.
I thought it looked okay but was feeling self-conscious about it, so I asked, “Does my hair look okay up?” He looked a wide-eyed, and said “I think it looks better down.” I said, “Okay I know, but does it look really bad up? My hair just looks really bad today.” “It looks better down,” he repeated, and left the room.
I was upset. Not because I wanted him to tell me that it looked fabulous in a ponytail, but because I wanted him to tell me it looked fine, that it didn’t matter, and that while he might prefer it down, wearing it up was totally okay.
Ponytails are very handy for running, yoga, housecleaning, and hanging out. My takeaway from the conversation was not only that my hair looks really, really bad in a ponytail, but that my appearance was more important than my convenience. I actually avoided wearing my hair in a ponytail for years until a guy friend told me that it looked great and showed that what I was doing was more important to me than my hair.
Is it really true?
Once, while driving to my husband’s family reunion to meet his entire family for the first time, I was feeling insecure. I’d gained quite a few pounds because I’d been spending too much time drinking beer and not exercising (ironically because I was spending time with him).
I weighed at most 140 pounds and I’m five foot six, so I was still in the healthy weight zone for my height, but I was definitely heavier than my usual 120 pounds. “Am I fat?” I asked. I probably shouldn’t have asked the question — I was fishing for the opposite. My husband tried to avoid answering for several minutes, and I’m sure I badgered him.
He could have said so many things, like “not at all” or “you look great” or even “you look a bit curvier, but I love that.” Instead, he finally said, “you’re not thin.”
What? I was stung by the words. Yes, I was a bit heavier than I was when we met, but so was he. Five minutes later we arrived at our destination and I had to get out and be friendly with over thirty people I’d never met. People who I wanted to make a good impression on, and who were scrutinizing me with great interest.
It was a bad choice of words. I’m sure he was just trying to get out of the conversation, and yes, I was being annoying. But he could have been kinder or more constructive.
It isn’t about you.
I decided to let my hair go mostly grey a few years ago. I started greying really young, and my hair grows fast and doesn’t hold the dye very well. I was having to go to the salon every four weeks, and after week two it usually didn’t look very good. It was a difficult decision, but I think it was the right one.
I nevertheless felt uncertain about it as I was in my early forties, and I made the decision largely on my own without consulting with anyone, partly because I was afraid of their answers.
One day I finally mustered up the courage to ask my husband, “Does my hair look okay grey?” Instead of answering he gestured to his own silver hair. “Does mine? I was thinking I should start dying it.” “Don’t be silly,” I countered, “Men look ridiculous with dyed hair and your hair looks great.”
It was only afterwards I realized how neatly he’d evaded saying anything, and how I had let him. Maybe I didn’t really want to know the answer. Maybe the bear trap was alive and well and protected both of us. Because maybe how I look is not about him — it’s about me.
I don’t ask how I look anymore.
Although I am sure it wasn’t his intended outcome, I’ve stopped looking to my husband as a means of bolstering my self-esteem with regard to my looks. In some ways, I no longer even really care how I look to others.
I’ve wondered what it would be like to have a husband who offered lavish compliments. Maybe it would be great. But maybe it wouldn’t.
Waiting for others to compliment you transfers power to them. It allows them to define what is beautiful or strong. It forces you to reshape your perspective to their aesthetic, and everyone’s aesthetic differs.
Instead, I’ve learned to compliment myself, which allows me to focus on the things that are important to me — practicality, strength, experience, whimsy. There’s power in that. And the bonus is that those compliments don’t come with a bear trap attached.
