Day 6: The Beholder
It’s after 10pm. My hair is disheveled, lips are ashy, eyes low, DND enabled. I wrapped my feet up in some chemical peel footies and had just gotten cozy with a book when unexpectedly, my person, FaceTimes. I answer without hesitation but immediately attempt to conceal my imperfections with illusionary tactics. Holding the phone at a more “flattering” angle, manipulating the lamp light to my left. All awhile moving to disrupt the visuals as I secretly hunt for my gloss. Tie my hair up. Edges are a little fluffy, oh well. Okay, I’m ready. Full frontal to the camera. I can’t keep from staring at my little box in the corner — but looking only makes me want to look away. While my head is turned I remind myself that my small screen is his large and that perhaps this angle isn’t the best either — I’ve gained some weight recently and am now concerned with my extra chin fat. I am running out of options. The conversation is carrying on but my mind is entangled in another. I just couldn’t get over within myself just how insecure I was. Within minutes I received confirmation. Unprompted he said, “You’re so beautiful”. Even though it was exactly what I needed to hear, I couldn’t look at him. With my head turned away, I shared my appreciation and was honest about how often I don’t feel it. This only lead to a watering of compliments. Upon consumption, each word was sweet on my palette, but upon digestion lost its potency in the acid, ever-present.
Each part of me is borrowed: shape from my Granny, waist from my Auntie, build like my Mama. The skin of my eyelids and under my eyes are darker than the rest of my face. This was passed down from my honorable Grandmother (not the same as Granny) and only becomes more noticeable as I grow older. And while I wouldn’t recognize her gorgeous face without her darkened eyes, its a share of the inheritance I struggle to relish in.
Now, in this moment, as I reflect upon my perceived imperfections, I have been insecure about almost every aspect of my body at some point in my development. I hated feet growing up, and although now I appreciate that I have “pretty feet”, the sentiment extended to my own. I avoided sandals for years until well into my teens. I have always been shapely. And only thickened with age. I have been disgusted by cellulite in my legs and butt — I wore short publicly for the first time since adolescence in 2020. I have hated on my arms for being a handful (without grabbing any bone). My thighs for being dimpled and lacking in muscular structure so that I appeared knee-less. The shape of my eyes for not being symmetrical. The entirety of my life I’ve held contempt for my teeth for being small and spaced. (I could go on but this is getting out of hand.)
Throughout my life I have made every attempt at dismantling my own fairness and yet.. I am still BEAUTIFUL. No matter which aspect of my physical being is under scrutiny by my own self, I am STILL BEAUTIFUL. Don’t get me wrong, the capitalization is not an attempt for me convince myself, because as I mentioned, I know.
I think we all struggle with a level of self-acceptance. And when it comes to the standards of beauty, to the beholder from without, it is reduced to a matter of fact. No matter what she felt on the inside the world would never sign off on calling someone with the features of, Beyonće, ugly. Even if she truly felt she was ugly there would be no way of convincing her she wasn’t. There are two beholders and the other is in the mirror.
So which is it. Is physical beauty in fact or feeling?
