Will I ever be pretty?

I wanted to write about something meaningful. Something interesting and provocative. The reality is I rarely know what I'm going to write before I do it. So this is a conglomeration of everything running through my brain.

Recently there has been a lot of uproar over comments made by the President of Abercrombie & Fitch about why they don't provide plus sizes. For those out of the loop he said (and I quote):
"In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids. Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

One of the articles I read said that they were clinging to a "standard" of beauty.

The truth of the matter is, that it has only been in recent years that skinnier was seen as a "standard." In fact, it used to be that if you were smaller than a size ten something was wrong with you. That isn't to say that the "standard" hasn't fluctuated over time (it has, quite a bit). Because of this fluctuation it can't really be called a "standard." It is a variable.

Beauty is variable.


The persistent desire to be completely inside out and accepted, despite the secrets and sins, is overwhelming sometimes. Everyone wants to be seen as they are, completely exposed with nothing hidden, and be loved anyway. We all want to be beautiful, considered beautiful anyway.

As a little girl I wanted to be a man. I still wish I was, sometimes. I wanted to be a man because God would love me, even if I liked girls. I would be handsome. I could pee standing up. I wanted to be a man because men held all the power. They could be ugly, they could be fat, they could be anything they wanted and they would be catered to.

People like those who work for Abercrombie & Fitch helped with that. Men are dominant. They can be any size and still find things they want.

When I was a teenager I saw it this way:
Skinny girls - loved by fat guys and skinny guys.
Skinny guys - loved by fat girls and skinny girls.
Fat guys - loved by skinny girls and fat girls.
Fat girls - No one loves a fat girl, not even the fat girl.

I am not a standard. I am a variable. As a variable I am worthless, except in mathematics. It doesn't matter how well read I am, or how great conversations with me are. It doesn't matter if I am sweet or cute. I'm not loved because of those things. I am hated because this body is heavy.

That doesn't mean that I won't find sex. My grandmother Eileen once told my mother (and she shared it with me) that men will crawl on broken glass if they think they will get to have sex. Some men will have sex with heavier girls because we have low self-esteem. And how could we not? So we become a plaything. A toy to be used up and thrown away because we will never be the current definition of beautiful.

I walk into a store and all I feel is self-loathing.

I hate shopping. I hate it because fat women aren't supposed to look pretty. Everything you find is to guilt you into losing weight because you are ugly and a waste of space. I get tired of that. I try to lose weight, but it just doesn't come off. It is tiring, being told you aren't good enough and having people insist that you HAVE to be beautiful (skinny, perfect hair, big boobs, etc.) to be perfect. What about being perfectly IMPERFECT?

What about what lies at the core of us?

Beauty is only skin deep. There is truth in that saying.

All my dreams of being skinny, all my dreams of being beautiful. They all come down to a desire to be accepted. To be taken as I am. Inside out, exposed to the world and embraced in spite of the differences.

Even I am prejudiced against people with weight problems. I don't watch porn with heavy women. I am not attracted to women who are heavy. I look at a heavier woman and I feel pity for her. I feel pity for her because I feel pity for myself.

I look at women my size and I feel a modicum of hatred for them. A hatred for them because they mirror me. I hate myself. I hate the way I look. I hate who I am. I am smart. I am a decent conversationalist. I fancy myself to be a decent writer. But I am not beautiful.

I am not pretty. And even though I listen to Katie Makkai's "Pretty" I can't break out of this circle I've twisted myself in. I cry when I listen to her say "You will be PRETTY amazing, you will be PRETTY creative, You will never be merely pretty." I cry because I want to be more than merely pretty. I want to be more than a variable in a river of standards.

I want to be unafraid of being who I am. I want to believe that I could be loved by another man. I want to believe it when my husband tells me I am beautiful. I want to feel it. I want to KNOW it.

You look pretty up on Google and you get pictures of Megan Fox and Hayden Panettiere. You get women who seem impossibly skinny. Women with perfect breasts and they can count their ribs.

I will never be the definition of pretty. I'll always be a variable, even if I lost the weight. Even if I had the surgeries. Even if I made myself fit into the standard.

Something is lost in all that. The "pretty" I was is lost in the shuffle. The "me" I was is gone. And I'll never be pretty because of that.