The perspective of the paper was, "Shame on the media for making non-white non-blonde non-blue-eyed people feel bad, and shame on those people for not loving themselves as they are!" I got an A. My professor was, as I later found out, a total bigot. Feminist, yes, but also bigoted. A student walked out of one class I had with her two years later, after a fierce debate about whether students should be forced to say "under God" during the pledge of allegiance. Point is, I was a fair-haired, light-skinned, blue-eyed moron and got rewarded for it. Anyhow, back on topic.
At that time I lived down the hall from a very pretty girl who did "prom hair" every freaking morning. Even I rarely left my dorm without at least mascara. I colored my hair frequently over the next 3 years or so, until my scalp became so damaged I had to stop. In high school I had bleached my hair to be a lighter blonde than it really was, which my mom loved. In college, I went carrot red and fire-engine red and fuchsia and almost purple. What a rebellion. I was still burning my head with chemicals once a month.
Who was I then versus who I am now? I married a man who hates the look of lipstick, which is convenient because it dries out my lips. I prefer regular Chapstick or Burt's Bees. I didn't color my hair often for several years after my marriage, but recently I started using a demi-permanent ammonia-free color, partly due to boredom with my darkening mousy brown hair, partly because I started to see gray hairs in front. That's actually my barometer for when I ought to do it again: when I can see gray. (Let's not talk about ageism and double standards for women, at least not today, OK?) I rarely blow-dry and have never flat ironed my hair, and I very rarely curl it. Brushed out and parted or pulled back in a pony-tail or bun is pretty much my repertoire. Maybe I'll use a barrette on occasion. As for makeup, I've stopped using "base" altogether, though that's mostly just because I tend to sweat it all off anyway (and the sweat proof kind ruins my skin). I recently have been buying eye makeup with the intent to use it, but I basically never do. I think the last time was Halloween, and it's now late November. The frazzled mom look has sort of taken over my life, and I'm starting to feel a bit bad about it, and then a bit bad that I feel bad about it.
Where is the line between looking neat and presentable, i.e. caring for oneself, and attempting to conform to unrealistic standards of beauty? I don't have long dark eyelashes. My hair is thinning and starting to go gray. I get stress acne. I'm obese. Should that stop me from taking any pictures of myself, or should I try to hide these things in pictures? This blog post suggests I should record myself as I am, which is how my son will remember me. Every time I try, though, I hate the way I look. I don't hate the way I look in my mirror, just the way I look in pictures without makeup and where you can see my scalp. Like this:
Photo credit: Butch Gerde on Facebook
Totally cute picture of Sam. But my hair is a mess, you can see my chins, my acne is showing since I'm all sweaty, bleagh. I may actually be wearing mascara there, though. I'm not wearing a bit of makeup in this next shot, though.
Photo credit: Jill Book on Facebook
I actually like this one. Someone needs to hand me a newborn baby every time I need to have my picture taken. I think that's part of it. In the second picture, I'm relaxed, I'm excited, and I'm feeling this joy over holding Emma for the first time. Of course, Jill has a very fancy camera and the lighting was better. Also, in the first picture I was completely worn out and overheated after chasing Sam around the community center almost half the time we were there. (The other more than half was graciously done by Dan and some of my cousins.)
To me, though, that's what beauty should be. Capturing a moment of utter glee. You're not going to catch it on film every day, but if you don't try, you won't get anything at all. Digital cameras have saved us a lot of money on film and developing fees, but they've also allowed us to hit delete, delete, delete, until there is no proof of our existence at all. So I'm not perfect. No one is, unless you count absurd amounts of retouching. But I can be beautiful, and I don't have to work as hard at it as I think. I just have to feel joy, and be in the presence of a friend with an amazing camera. :P
And here is me, late Sunday night, just as I am, sick as a dog, staring at the computer screen. Crummy webcam and all. I took this right before I got ambitious and started taking crummy webcam pictures of myself in scarves. But that'll be another post.
No comments:
Post a Comment