Beauty in a Bottle

Ever since middle school I've heard the same advice: Think positively while you look in the mirror, and you will be gorgeous. And there used to be a time when that crap actually worked. You know, back when I was young and stupid.

But it's different now. Now, when I’m alone in my bedroom, away from public view and vulgar catcalls, I find it so hard to feel beautiful. It’s a constant battle I’m fighting to feel gorgeous 24/7, to smile at my reflection and focus only on the good stuff.

And I don’t always win the battle. In fact, lately I’ve been losing more and more frequently. I look in the mirror and my hair is too short, my eyebrows are too bushy, my lashes are too thin, my eyes crinkle too much when I laugh, my arms are too flabby, my abs are about as flat as a balloon, my thighs are too fat, my feet are too long, my fingers are too stubby, my chin has become a permanent host to three particular zits that will not go away, my legs aren't long enough or lean enough…

Isn’t it ridiculous, how many things can be wrong with a person?

Luckily, I have a solution: beauty products. I own beauty, I really do, in the form of deep conditioner, straightening balm, astringent, color-changing face mask, exfoliating scrubs, oil-free facial moisturizer, extra-sensitive shave gel, acne spot treatment, and even some strong chamomile tea I keep in a spray bottle and apply abundantly to my hair whenever I know I’ll be spending a lot of time in the sun. Yay for natural highlights.

The person who probably complains the most about this obsession with my looks is my mother. She doesn’t understand why I spend so much time shaping my fingernails a certain way so they’ll make my fingers look longer. She can’t quite grasp that urge I get to conquer a pimple as soon as it pops up. She doesn’t even get the difference between shampoo and conditioner, let alone deep conditioner, straightening balm, and anti-frizz serum.

But these are all basic products to me. They’re important! They help me fight everything about me that is ugly. They make me beautiful. I have beauty right at my fingertips, in an assortment of bottles and jars, right there on my dressing table and bathroom counter.

Okay, yeah, I know that’s all a load of bull. Because, quite frankly, my eyelashes were fine until I saw the bodacious spirals mascara, my belly was fine until I started wearing bikinis, and my fingers were fine until I started getting my nails done. But the fact remains that I’ve discovered my flaws, I’ve eaten from the apple of the tree of knowledge, and now these products make me feel hopeful that the flaws will go away or at least be covered up effectively.

I’m desperately searching for beauty and self-acceptance inside a bottle.

And the funny thing is that when I look in the mirror and take all of me in, imperfections and all, I think I look pretty damned good, and there are people who would consider my body simply breathtakingly beautiful.

But the most important person – me – isn’t satisfied. It just isn’t enough.

Because I know I can do better. Because I know I’m capable of fitting the model stereotype of beauty. I know that if I work hard enough I'll be able to flaunt a sixpack and lean arms and legs. I know I can have a trim waist. I know I have every chance of looking supermodel-perfect.

But wait.

Why the hell would I want to be supermodel-perfect? Why would I want to morph into a creature that only looks good when she’s wearing ten pounds of makeup? Why would I want to turn myself into that? I mean, people are always talking about how there’s nothing more beautiful than a well-fed, healthy, curvaceous woman, right?

Please. Who are we kidding? They can encourage us to be as healthy and as curvy as they wish, but in the end the bone-thin runway models are the ones who set the standard for beauty. A woman can look in the mirror, focus only on her assets, tell herself she’s gorgeous, and walk away feeling like a goddess. But, the second she sets foot outside, society will bombard her self-esteem until it’s completely destroyed. It will tell her that she’s ugly, that her hair is too short or too long or not the right color, that her skin isn’t tan enough, that her neck isn’t long enough, her breasts are too small, her waist is too wide, her tummy is not flat enough, her hips are too large, and her legs aren’t long enough. Because curvy doesn’t mean curvy anymore; it means big boobs, shapely hips, and tiny everything else. And the truth is that only a handful of women out there are genetically capable of having that sort of body.

There is only a very small number of women who are genetically capable of being beautiful.

Doesn’t this seem a bit ridiculous? How is it that, in a world where we shun anything that doesn’t fit the majority, we’ve let this small percentage of impossibly tall, skinny women, lead by some of the ugliest people you will ever meet (a lot of the leaders of the fashion and beauty industry are hideous, both inside and out) dictate the definition of beauty? Isn’t it completely and utterly stupid?

Of course it is. Which is why we so desperately want to be part of that minority. Society throws this impossible stereotype at us, and what do we do about it? Do we push it aside? Do we ignore it? Do we expose it as the crazy, unattainable goal that it is? No! We embrace it! We cling desperately to it. We’ve let it become the rampant monster it is today. We whine and complain about the stereotype, we blame it for everything, from the fact that we’re not happy with our dress size to anorexia and bulimia. Some of us even go as far as to talk about how ugly those runway models really are, and how we would rather die than look like them. But at the end of the day, there’s always a small part of us that knows that deep down, we yearn to be that girl, we want more than anything to be thin and gorgeous. We won't settle for anything else.

And it doesn’t matter how hard a woman works to achieve this type of body, she never will. She could spend her entire lifetime dieting, exercising, and even getting plastic surgery, anything to fit the mold, and she’ll never acquire the body she longs for. And we all know this. Yet we keep chasing after this impossible dream, like a dog running in circles after its tail. It might catch it a couple of times, but it always ends up evading him. Several times we might capture the beauty we’re searching for, when we discover some amazing product that makes our hair shiny and gorgeous, or a lotion that makes our skin shimmer like that of a goddess’s. But the effect is always temporary. We always end up back in square one, feeling more defeated than the last time.

Why don’t we stop this? We have the power. We can stand up for ourselves and say, “No more.” We can look the beauty and fashion industry in the face and say, “I refuse to follow your stereotype. You have no right to decide whether or not I’m beautiful.” The only reason this bully of an industry is such a booming success is because everyone accepts what it dictates, no matter how absurd or unreasonable its demands are. All the public has to do is turn its back on it, and this hellish business would collapse.

So will we do this? Will we turn away from this monster that’s slowly destroying us?

No, of course not, are you crazy? We’re too far gone for that. We all talk about how strong women are, but the truth is that too few women possess the strength to stand tall and proud and feel gorgeous, even when surrounded by billboards and magazines and T.V. ads depicting sexy, size -2 models.

Besides, if I wasn’t so busy deep conditioning my hair, filing my nails, or working my abs until they feel like they’re on fire, what else am I supposed to do on a Sunday night when I’m home alone? I might actually have to find something worthwhile to do with my life. And that just won’t do, will it?