Ladies and Gentlemen of the Class of ’16, Wear Your Face with Pride

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It has been a while since I wrote about this stuff. If I’m being entirely honest (which I try my best to be) as soon as I posted this blog on Facebook and actually had people enjoy it and respond to it, the insecure, terrified part of me freaked out under the pressure of actually having some readers, and it gave me writer’s block for weeks. Or not exactly block. I’ve had plenty of ideas, and plenty to say, but the words are sometimes hard to put together. So I’ve just decided to go for it. Put something out there, maybe it will help get me going again. Oh, the never ending doubt of a person who doubts themselves.

I started to write this blog in the hopes of starting a discussion about societal standards of beauty, and when I started I wasn’t really sure what form it would take, as is the case with how I do most things in life. Heart’s in the right place, but where to start?

Now I know, I want it to be accessible and relatable. I want to express feelings that I know many women feel. But for me the best way to do that is to get personal. It is the way that I communicate. Share your own experiences in an honest and open way and hope that it will speak to others. And so I hope I can do this without it just becoming a sad diary of my insecurities and fears. If it ever seems that way, bear with me, I will usually have a point to make at some stage. Because we all have insecurities, both physically and mentally, but I feel that we live in a culture which encourages us to only show our best side, our prettiest picture, our happiest memories. With the advent of social media and selfies, everyone can project an image of themselves to the world, and whether that image is accurate or representative is becoming increasingly irrelevant to many. You may wonder at the importance of this, and think that it is not a big deal, it’s not real life and everyone knows that. And rationally, consciously, most of us do. But I wonder what insidious damage is being done to our psyches, both collective and individual.

For this new blog, I had the idea of going home to my Mum’s house and digging out any photos I had of myself from my teenage years/early twenties, as it was only in my early twenties that I started to use make up. Now, I grew up just before/in the middle of the advent of mobile phones, computers and social media. It all began when I was a teenager but hadn’t really taken hold yet. These days I imagine a teenager probably has hundreds of photos of themselves, plastered everywhere in the hyper-reality, or even just hidden in secret selfies on their phones. We now live in a time where capturing our own image is a much more acceptable pursuit than it was ten, twenty years ago. This is possibly more to do with camera phones and the ease with which we can now photograph things than any more sinister reason, although as to the effects this narcissistic culture is having on our collective psyche, we can only wonder (well I can, because I’m not a psychologist). And wonder I will, but for now, back to talking about myself (see what I did there?). 

Not only did I grow up before camera phones, I was also rather camera shy given the fact that I thought I looked like an ugly monster, like so many teenagers the world over. I avoided cameras as much as possible, and when I was captured I often looked tortured, angry or just plain awkward, and I hated every single one as every photo of myself just proved to me what I already knew to be the sad truth, that I was ugly.

I went looking for the photos in my Mum’s house, assuming I would cringe and feel embarrassed to put them online (all in the name of journalism), but a very surprising thing happened, something which has shown me how far my self-esteem has come, but also how much damage was done to me by the power of the media telling me how I should look, and the isolation I felt from my peers. Looking at them again, over ten years on, I thought I looked fucking adorable in every single photo. Even the ones where I’m spotty and angry. Even though I’m uncomfortable. And it is not about looking pretty, or not pretty. It is because it is me. A little bit of my history. A time I never thought I would want to remember. I can see the happy(ish) individual I am today in that girl that I know was so full of sadness and doubt. And yes, I know it’s a typical thing for people to look back on old photos of themselves and realise they weren’t as fat as they imagined,

but this was different. It wasn’t just that I looked at the teenage me and saw how un-monster like I really was, and that it had been a figment of my low self-esteem and a reaction to being bullied. It was that I could see myself in that girl. See how far she’s come, and that the person that I am now was there all along, just crushed under low self-esteem and self-hatred. Now I’m not saying ‘society’ is to blame for all of this, but I know I would have had a much happier adolescence if I hadn’t spent most of my time thinking I wasn’t a ‘real girl’ because I didn’t conform to what the standard of beauty and femininity was. It horrifies me now to think about how much I cared. How much I longed to be ‘pretty’ while still refusing to try to fit the ideal. For longing to be accepted for who I was, longing to be who I was, while hating myself for being myself in the first place. It seems ridiculous to me now that I cared at all.

But in another way it doesn’t, because I remember how shy, terrified and hopeful I was when I went to secondary school, naively remembering teen films I’d seen where everyone got along and you made life long friends (I was weird, and watched Grease a lot as a child). When I think of that timid little girl starting school with all those hopes and dreams, and I think of what happened to her, how cynical and angry she became because of ridiculous standards that were bigger than her or her bullies, my heart breaks a little for her, and for other girls going through the same thing right now, and for every girl that has gone through it. And as I have said, I can only speak from my own experience, but I would say that every girl will have their own stories of trying to fit these standards, even the girls who picked on me in school. Because why did they pick on me in the first place? Because of these ridiculous standards. Where did they learn these? The media? Their families?

In this way we are all victims of something much bigger than ourselves. Because you may read this and wonder if any of this really matters, when there are so many terrible things happening in the world, things arguably more pressing than this. But to that I say these are the things that shape our lives, and how we feel about ourselves and others. And isn’t that important? The tired phrase that you can’t love others until you can love yourself is tired for a reason, and in a world where perception and representation has taken on a heightened role, and vanity and power are very much interconnected; I think we must look back at ourselves, through no filters, no sepia haze, and not through the eyes of others. Just look, and like what we see. How many of us can say we can?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhNupae2RIE

When I Wake Up, In My Makeup…

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I felt that it was necessary to say, before I delve further in to the discussion surrounding beauty standards, that I am not criticising women for trying to look beautiful. We all fall prey to it, male and female, and I am not exempt from this. As you can see from the pictures above, I have been known to wear makeup,  not always in the most conventional of ways, and not always much, but it is makeup none the less. And don’t I look a helluva lot better when I’m wearing it? Of course I do. As I mentioned in my previous post, a lot of the reason that I don’t take good selfies is because I simply can’t. The same applies to wearing makeup. I was never very good at applying it, and so part of the reason that I often don’t or at least don’t wear much is because what on other girls looks hot, on me does not. Half the time I attempt something daring in the makeup department before a night out, I end up looking like a child has scrawled crayon on my face, and I have to wash it off and start again. My not wearing much makeup does however have more reasons behind it than this.

From an early age, I have been self-conscious about the way I look. What began as teasing in school over what I realise now was only slightly bad skin (at the time I convinced myself I was the Elephant Man reincarnate and that nobody would ever love me, thanks puberty!) turned into a very deep self-consciousness and hatred of my own face. Due to this paranoia, I didn’t wear any makeup throughout my school career, apart from the odd slash of black eyeliner (to show how alternative I was). I felt that wearing makeup would only highlight my desire to hide my flaws, and therefore draw more attention to them. I felt if I wore my flaws for all to see that I would trick people into thinking that I didn’t care about them, and that I in fact liked myself.

Yet another reason I did this was because even at a young age I was aware that it was unfair to criticise and judge someone for how they looked, and this kind of behaviour was rife at my school (and every school, I imagine). A pretty, popular girl who didn’t like me chastised me one day in first year for hanging out with another girl. I didn’t understand the issue and when I questioned her as to why I shouldn’t be friends with this girl the popular girl replied conspiratorially, ‘because she’s fat’. It shocked me that although this girl did not like me, she still felt that I was ‘too good’ to be friends with a fat girl because I was thin. So thin and ugly is still better than fat? Who made these rules? And so I was introduced to the hierarchy of beauty that I have been painfully aware of ever since.

It was in fact a small act of rebellion on my part to not wear makeup or conform to the beauty standards that my class-mates had somehow acquired through osmosis (or maybe I was off sick the day they covered ‘How to Demoralise Your Peers for Your Own Self-Elevation 101’). This silent rebellion continued to cause me trouble throughout my days at school, and led to me being called all sorts of things from frigid to freak, ugly to lesbian (to name a few). And if a boy dared to speak to me, he was mercilessly teased for liking ‘the freak’. It really annoyed people that I didn’t conform. I learned this from a very early age.  What began as naivety and self-consciousness on my part, became a battle against conformity.

And so began my  battle with beauty standards and what they meant to me. Because as much as I wanted to be myself and love myself for who I was, I didn’t. I may have been aware that the attitudes of my peers were shallow and cruel, and I did not agree with them one bit, but another part of me secretly longed to be beautiful, or at least pretty. Because who wouldn’t, in a world where so much importance is placed upon it, especially for women? Again, from an early age I learned that if you don’t conform, and if you are not deemed ‘pretty’, you will most likely get a hard time, or get ignored altogether. Other qualities just don’t hold the same power. I was one of the smartest girls in my year, which should have been a good thing, and was in ways, but socially it only caused me more problems. It angered people that I was smart and that I refused to be pretty. Because often people do not want to hear from ugly, smart women. Sorry, but it’s true. Women can be smart, but they are expected to fit into the other social norms.

I’m reminded of an article I read about Hilary Clinton a few years ago, where she gave a speech somewhere and appeared to not be wearing any makeup. This damn near broke the internet. And since then there have been many articles surrounding this very issue, with every possible opinion being expressed, from people berating her as a hag to headlines congratulating her on her brave and bold move. Now don’t get me wrong, I am no fan of Hilary Clinton’s politics. And as a person, well, I don’t know her, she’s a politician. But the internet sensation surrounding the fact that she wore no makeup was frankly shocking. Whether she was being berated or celebrated, I found it all ridiculous. It should be a non-issue in the political arena, and yet it is focused on again and again. And it was just another example in many of what I already knew to be true, that a woman cannot just be smart, that is not enough. And if she is, and she refuses to conform to typical beauty standards, she must be prepared for an onslaught of abuse.

You could say that the internet is the schoolyard of the world, where every single thing you do can and will be held against you, re-tweeted, trolled. I rather grimly saw my school experience as a microcosm of the wider world, with its hierarchies, rules and regulations that I often could not, or would not, follow or understand. Now, over ten years on, I don’t think I was wrong in thinking that. And I feel that the internet is another example of a microcosm. Like the world, the internet has many beautiful things, and one way in which it has helped me immensely is when I read other peoples experiences in their blogs, and feel inspired. And it has given me this outlet, which hitherto I did not have.

However, as with the world, there is a nasty side. And the danger with the internet, and with the media in general, is that not only can it be nasty, but it is also not real. It is a representation of reality. And this is where it can be very damaging, especially to young, susceptible girls. I can not express how thankful I am that social media and selfies were not established as the norm when I was in school. What I went through on a day-to-day basis was enough, if I had spent hours every night staring at perfect celebrities, class-mates perfect selfies (I’d be stalking them because they wouldn’t have friended me) and pictures of them all having a social life which I was not privy to, I think my issues would be a lot worse.

And this is why I feel that although we all have a right to want to feel beautiful, we must be careful with how much emphasis and meaning we place on physical beauty, and by what criteria we judge ourselves and others. I worry that we are increasingly living in a kind of hyperreality where distinctions are being lost and expectations are too high. Something’s gotta give. And while addressing this massive issue in a blog originally about makeup is not going to change the world, for me, it’s a start.

Selfies Suck

Selfies Suck

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This photo is one of my many attempts at a selfie. My inability to take them has become a joke between myself and some of my friends. I just can’t take myself seriously enough to do it. I never think about the lighting, I don’t know how to hold the phone right, I feel stupid posing. And please, don’t get me wrong, I am not criticising those who are good at it. I’m jealous of those people! I would love to be able to take a super hot photo of myself, who wouldn’t? But I must question this need to appear beautiful, especially unrealistically so, and why it does matter so much.

I read recently that selfies are empowering to women as they take the power away from the male gaze and allow women control over how they are perceived. While theoretically I agree and champion this idea, I feel that if we (women) in our selfies, or self-portraits (that sounds fancier and I therefore prefer it) are still pandering to the male gaze, or to a preconceived notion of beauty, then is it really any better than a man having control of the picture? I’m actually asking, I don’t know.

Now this photo is not a very good example of beauty with no filters, as I think we can all agree that I look like crap in it. But then, maybe someone out there finds the look of fear and confusion on my pasty sleep-deprived face a total turn-on. WHO KNOWS?

My point is, although I do not fit into typical beauty standards in this picture, who is to say that I am not beautiful? You could say that my face in this picture very beautifully captures how much I hate selfies, and how awkward I am at taking photos of myself.

Or you could say that the very fact that I am expressing and have captured a human experience that most of us know intimately, that of trying to express ourselves, make our mark, record our very existence, is beautiful in itself.

Or you could say I’m full of crap and that I look like shit.

That is your prerogative.  For after all it is all subjective, and there are no right answers, no ‘right’ way to look, think or feel.

And that, to me, is beautiful.