For millions of women across the globe, one of the most defining moments of their lives is usually when they accept that they actually are beautiful or when they choose to not allow themselves be defined on the beauty to ugly spectra. Looks are important to women, it is the easiest way the world categorizes us, it can be a visa to a better life or the condemnation to a mediocre one. The arrangement of her nose, lips and eyes are a better expression of her worth than the product of the grey matter imprisoned between her ears.
I’ve had an uneasy relationship with beauty for most of my life, I was a beautiful child born to spectacular looking parents and the gene pool had all the hues of beauty represented. Beauty meant nothing to me as I grew up, I loved books and they loved me right back, they were all I wanted in the world.
Things changed slightly when I got into the university, I became more aware of my looks, maybe it was my living in the hostel and the nearly obsessive competitiveness on beauty seeping into my pores from the oestrogen laden air. The cause doesn’t even matter, the effect was the problem. I felt awkward and gauche and inadequate, while I had always been unconventional and felt out of step with the world, it had always been a good thing – a point of pride actually.