Beauty

"She's a beautiful woman who has probably always gotten her way because of her beauty". He must have realized how that might have sounded and tried to make it better somehow. "You must know what I mean."

He's a highly intelligent man which means he doesn't always have the common sense that would allow him the social graces to know how to really approach certain topics. Since I like him and understand him, I nodded that I do indeed know what he means by his statement, but I decided best to let the subject go then to debate it. I took the exchange as a back door compliment and bid him a good night.

However, it got me thinking about a subject I haven't thought of in quite some time. I never dared to bring it up other than in my own head because I figured that the general opinion would be much like the sarcastic phrase "poor little rich girl, wish I had those kinds of problems". Here's another common notion "beauty is only skin deep". Now really, what does that say about a person who has the (mis)fortune of genetics giving them a pretty face?

My parents always told me that I was beautiful. Of course they were supposed to think that. I didn't think they were just saying so to boost my morale. All parents think their children are beautiful. As a parent myself now, I have an even deeper understanding of the beauty we see in the people and things we love. What I find attractive and heart thumping, may make others scratch their heads and go "huh?" My parents, however, didn't pamper me or let me get away with anything, no matter the beauty they saw in me. They couldn't afford to pamper me, and they most certainly believed that the only way to get what you wanted from life was to earn it.

Genetics had other things lurking in the shadows for me. By the time I was 8 I was wearing glasses. I remember my first pair because I was quite proud of them. Like getting a new hair cut, I couldn't wait to show my new accessory off to my schoolmates. I didn't anticipate the ridicule and name calling that would ensue. The fact that I was shy and quiet didn't help my situation. I went through most of my school years with the oh-so-unique name of "four eyes". It wasn't until my senior year in high school when a classmate wrote in my yearbook "to the prettiest girl in our class" that I ever thought anyone (aside from my boyfriend) saw me as pretty.

My life was by no means easy. Circumstances beyond my control further weakened my view of myself. By the time I got to high school, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. I had low self-esteem and suffered depression, mostly founded on an overwhelming anger that I had to stuff deep down inside. I had a few friends in school, but often was the subject of cruel comments and jokes as well. My parents tried to tell me that it was just jealousy that made my peers (other girls in particular) behave so badly towards me, but I had no idea what it was about me that would raise such jealousy. I had nothing and certainly didn't see myself as beautiful or any kind of threat to these girls.

Things changed by the time I got to college. I started wearing contact lenses and styling my hair. My mother never wore make up other then a little lipstick, and having seen friends in high school who, not really knowing how to wear makeup, looked like clowns when they put it on, I never indulged. Lucky for me, I never felt I needed to either. The change in atmosphere and in my look helped boost my self image. When my girlfriends and I would go out to a party or clubbing, I was always the first one approached by the men. It was flattering, but I often found myself wishing my friends would be asked first. I hated standing out like that. I hated that my friends might feel some jealousy towards me for getting most of the attention. I found myself more and more, down dressing myself, hoping that I would be less noticeable. There were times I wished I were more "plain Jane" so the playing field would be more equal.

I was quick to learn from the experiences in the club setting, that having a pretty face meant most of the attention I was attracting was not of the desirable type. Men who had the courage to approach me were either highly intoxicated or extremely arrogant and bold. It didn't take me long to learn that my looks intimidated most men ("She'd never give me the time of day") and once the highly intoxicated, arrogant jerk approached me, all hope was lost of another perhaps more desirable man approaching me, especially if the arrogant jerk who dared approach me was a friend of his. If I accepted an invitation to dance, the jerk wouldn't leave my side all night. If I declined, well, I obviously viewed myself as too good for him, and it was thought that I certainly wouldn't accept an invite from a "lessor" fellow. Sure I could accept a dance or drink, then tell the jerk to pound sand, but that usually only made matters worse. I once outright told a man that he was crowding my space and to back off, he raised his hands in submission, said a rather sarcastic "excuse me" and moved over about 2 inches, still refusing to leave my side. More often than not leaving the club or party was the only way to shake these fellows, and even then I found myself having to give out false phone numbers in order to just get to my car unencumbered. My friends, or other women, may have been seething over the attention I was receiving, but I started to see myself as saving them from the leeches and not liking the role very much. I wanted to meet a nice man.

Granted, clubs are never the place to meet Mr. Right, but the same kind of situations arouse where ever we went. There was a young man I harbored a secret crush throughout my high school years. How I adored him! I never admitted to anyone. It wasn't so much that I felt he was beyond my grasp since we were neighbors and somewhat friends. I just didn't want to admit that I liked someone well known as a "pothead", and I certainly didn't want to get mixed up in that lifestyle. In college, one of my friends met him. I fully understood her attraction to him. She set out to pursue him. What happened should have been predictable. He wanted nothing to do with her and most of the time we spent with him involved me fending off his advances, something I found quite difficult to do given my own feelings towards him. It was a situation I found completely distasteful. It created a turmoil in my heart I had never had to deal with before and put a strain on my friendship. I was smart enough to let friendship win that battle. But I was beginning to understand the kinds of problems my pretty face could create.

The toughest problems were the older men, sometimes men old enough to be my father. They were smoother and sometimes had the means to offer more to entice. I've had offers of getting set up in an apartment, a new car, trips and jewelry. All I had to do was say "yes", sell my soul. Maybe these men really thought they loved me, but I had the fortitude to know it truly was selling my soul. Instead, I fell into other traps, finally accepting the advances of an obvious jerk because I began to understand it was all that I would ever be offered.

I imagine it is much the same way with the wealthy or the famous. You have to be careful of intentions. Are they interested in you or your money? Do these people want to be around because they enjoy your company or because they want to be in the spotlight with you? Having a pretty face is similar. Perhaps not as dramatic, but it has the same basic dilemma. Is it your sparkling personality or your beautiful face that got you that job or enthralled your love interest?  Or, even harder to determine, does that person dislike you because you have a prettier face, or because you are demonstrating some character flaw you need to work out?

"Beauty is only skin deep" after all. Meaning what? If you have a pretty face you're automatically shallow and ugly? Sure there are people who might fit into that category, just as there are plenty of "plain Jane's" that would as well. Those mean-spirited girls in high school may not have been beautiful, but they certainly didn't hide their beauty beneath the surface either. Having a pretty face doesn't mean everything meaningful is just handed to you. In some ways, it becomes harder to find, a hindrance as much as any deformity might.

I prefer the saying "beauty is in the eye of the beholder". Beauty can be found in the most mundane and sometimes unexpected places, we just have to be willing to search beyond the obvious.