on beauty

she was what you might call good looking
she was used to being looked at

the lines rung out in chorus of his voice and hers. i suppose they could have come across as a compliment but mostly they stung

her looks were something that sometimes confused her . she knew she was attractive, she’d been told often enough by that those that did and didn’t have an agenda. comparatively within the ordinary conventions of beauty she could say she was attractive, striking...enough. but she was well aware she was not in the echelon of breathtaking. she had enough friends who chased after breathtaking to know she was not of that club.

her strong point was her sense of style, of knowing her attributes and highlighting them, or carrying herself with a certain boldness, grace. but she didn’t easily photograph for example. Made static from her energy she knew she wasn’t so striking at all. Then there was the critique she took from others. the one who said he’d wished she was less skinny, the other that suggested she wasn’t skinny enough, the nineteen year old who lay beside her tracing the arc of her back saying he’d slept with other *older* woman before and she was lucky her body wasn’t like that yet. the nervousness his words created in her.

those who had looked her over and called her hot. “ objectively” two had said. and her involvement with women had taught her that feeling as sexy as your lover found you made you sexier still. you had to claim it. how you adorn myself, what you wear is a statement, a claiming of self. i am beautiful, i am different, notice me, notice me as the boldness of my walk covers up that as much as i crave your glance it makes me shy, uncomfortable. there’s a fine line between the right and wrong kind of attention, and she’s dancing on it all the time.
But why did his words effect her?

in high school she dressed suggestively. genuinely because she liked the way it looked. was confused and upset by the attention it drew, confused if she wanted the attention at all. her body did not belong to her if it was dressed in that way. the tight fabrics and sheer fabrics, the heels, the mini skirts, were all license for anyone who wanted, to make comment.

or maybe it wasn’t about being suggestive. sometimes it was a matter of style. later the piercings, the tattoos, the sharp bob shaved at the back, bone straight hair that framed her face with stark highlights, coloured green coloured purple, bleached white blond.

this means i want you to stare at me it says. this means i want to stand out. and it is unfathomable to those that stare that maybe she coloured her hair purple because all the natural shades seemed to plain, too dull. or simpler still maybe she just liked purple?

so step away from standing out she thinks. better to look in a way that doesn’t draw attention. assimilate into another kind of tribe, maybe undo all that is feminine.

trade dresses for carpenter jeans, trade heels for trainers, trade contact lenses for glasses, give up make up, be attractive in a new way to some women, become completely ignored by men.

become androgynous, so much so that other women willl stop her in the ladies rooms anxiously telling her it wasn’t the gents, until they looked at her just long enough and apologised, and she said it was ok, but felt anything but.

after a while it was clear this wasn’t her, so gradually she became feminine again, paid more and more attention to fashion, and years later employed in her first real job something with responsibility and decent pay and the dubious honour of being regarded as “ a client’ the beauty question reared its head again.

here in england where raising the question of sexual harassment made you square or repressed or worse yet “ american” . comments on her appearance, welcome or not, came with the territory. she didn’t mind the compliments, what bothered her was a sense that making an effort to look pretty meant she didn’t take her work seriously..

and yes she is used to being looked at. but that doesn’t always make her feel good looking. one might be surprised how often it doesn’t. she has no desire to be any more or less attractive than she is, only to be accepted and appreciate for the way she is. as that is the only way she knows how to be.