In a "Letter to Men" Christina Hendricks pens, "We remember forever what you say about the bodies of other women. When you mention in passing that a certain woman is attractive — could be someone in the office, a woman on the street, a celebrity, any woman in the world, really — your comment goes into a steel box and it stays there forever. We will file the comment under “Women He Finds Attractive." And this is true.
I have said before, I struggle deeply with my own insecurities; for example, my entire life I've wanted short hair, and it took a hair disaster for me to finally take the plunge. That's simply because I know so many people that loved me with my long hair (even though I hated it), including every guy I've ever dated. Even my current beau. In the nearly four years that I've been with my bodybuilder, as in any other relationship, pressure comes from both sides to be a certain way. (In the early days, when he was more of a prick, he once told me I resembled Chucky's bride when I wore an oversized lace dress with a leather motorcycle jacket. This was true, but still hurtful) When he began to show an interest in tennis and the only music he would play in the car was Jason Mraz, I called foul; where was my manly man with his shaved head and gangster music? After my hair was clipped, he pressured me to grow it back, and I decided to, because I was feeling even more pressure from outside sources (media, work) to have long, pretty locks, even though this whole awkward growing out phase was KILLING me. I am a woman of extremes; it's long, or short. It's all, or nothing. Fuck bobs, fuck shoulder length. Fuck fuck fuck it. SN: My boyfriend says I look like a supermodel with my new pixie cut. ;) Funny because when I REALLY came out and asked him if I should cut it, he encouraged me to. What a sweetie.
Even though I love my (even shorter) hair now, I still feel the pressure. I always feel the pressure; to be thinner, to have long hair, to wear lots of makeup, to show more cleavage. I am always asking myself, what is beautiful? What will make me pretty? Am I even pretty? All my talk of fabulousness and silly rituals is just a booster seat to chase my demons away. It can be a bad thing; I am often tempted to starve myself again, which is surprisingly easy for me to do, as much as I love food. When that treacherous voice purrs into my ear, "You don't need to eat today" I buy a pumpkin muffie from work that's smothered in powdered sugar, and tell that voice to shut the fuck up. Anything to keep self starvation from coming back onto the scene and morphing into some sort of messed up state of normalcy.
I recently found out my heritage; this probably seems random, but trust me, it has relevance. My mother is adopted, but when she visited last month she told me about how when she'd had a DNA test when she was pregnant with my brother (SEVEN years ago) what she is made of, so to speak (besides coffee and snuggles.) In regards to that information, here are my stats;
.25 Cherokee
.25 African American
.25 German
.125 Irish
.125 Chinese
What the fuck. 1/8 Chinese. Are you serious...
Anyway. Being a relative mutt has always been a problem for me. Hispanic guys have approached me, tittering away in Spanish, and while (for the most part) I understand and can respond... I am not Hispanic. Thus, they slink away. Rednecks run away from me screaming; most redneck guys seem to find me attractive, but are almost ashamed of it. I kid you not. In lots of relationships, a beau's parents will disapprove of me instantly; not only am I not white, but I'm mixed? I've got diluted blood? Geez, why couldn't my parents stay in their own race? >Sigh.< Then they'll order their sons to dump me-again, I kid you not. It's happened. Once I got in a heated argument with my bodybuilder's father because he was using the word "nigger" like it was going out of style. (He told me he forgot I wasn't Caucasian. Aww, how sweet, I guess I should be... flattered? Maybe?) It's interesting. It's like if you're dark skinned, or you're a whole bunch of things, you're not pretty, and you shouldn't be accepted. I've been swamped by the Big Green Envy Monster many a time, because I see evidence that a boyfriend of mine is fawning over something that is CLEARLY nothing like me (my bodybuilder is fixated on black chicks with annoying voices, weave, and huge booties... None of which I have, thank God), and I wonder inwardly of course, are they prettier than me? Do they turn him on better than I can? Should I strive to have a big ass and long hair? Is that appealing? I remember guys along the way (that I never, ever dated) saying that if one thing, ohhh just one little thing, was different about me, they'd jump my bones; "Oh if your ass was bigger..." "Oh, if your clothes matched..." "Oh, if you didn't laugh so much..." It's funny, I even feel the pressure nowadays to be black, or white, or Puerto Rican... to be anything really, but what I am, (even though I find great pride in my mocha skin and mixed blood. I feel it makes me more worldly; I am a chameleon and was raised to be able to fit in anywhere.) and I know other women feel it too.... Like darker skin is uglier than light with black people. I see that a lot. A loser guy turning down a gorgeous, intelligent girl because she was "too thin and dark". It's funny because going down to those African roots, ebony skin was savored; darker skin meant strength and fertility. It meant beauty, while this whole thing with "redbones" and "yellowbones" would've been disdained.
So here's my ending note, as always on a chord of being fabulous... Embrace the skin, and who you are. If you've always dreamed of cutting your hair, cut that shit off; I wish I'd done it years ago. Confidence is sexy. Being comfortable and secure is sexy; if you're uncomfortable with yourself, even if you're following every rule that society measures beauty by, then you're not going to BE beautiful-because you don't feel it. Practice self love like it's a religion.
