Thursday, March 31, 2011

Beauty: maybe it's time for me to work out what it is for me?

I've been thinking about beauty today. And I've been realising that, while I know that I vacillate around wanting it, I'm not sure I know any more what it is.

I know beauty's subjective. What's pleasing to one person's eye does absolutely nothing for someone else. And that's not only true of build, complexion, muscle tone, bone structure, or hair or eye colour. It's just as valid for manner, attitude, confidence, grace... any of the below-the-surface attributes that are sometimes held up as aspects of "real beauty" when people want to believe it's a virtue that lies wholly beneath the skin. But what strikes one person as tactful, considerate and gentle can strike another as being a disingenuous, passive-aggressive, self-sacrificing doormat.  And what one person sees as having confidence in themselves and their unique strengths can strike another as arrogant self-delusion and wilful ignorance of their faults.

I know the more I learn about beauty, the less I know what it is for me. Beauty, after all, is all in the eye of the beholder.  And when something's that subjective, that open to individual variation, how can we possibly have any kind of collective agreement about what constitutes it?  Without a collective agreement, we each have to decide what beauty really is to us. But how exactly are we supposed to figure that out when we're constantly bombarded with messages about what we should consider to be beautiful?  I know that super-slender, super-made-up, super-airbrushed fashion magazine models don't register as beautiful to me (well, most of them don't, anyway - occasional exceptions occur).  Nor, I feel very awkward in saying, because I want to believe I'm more open and tolerant than this, do obese people - at least not physically, although I've met some with definite inner beauty that awes me. In fact, I realise as I write this that physical extremes of any kind don't register as "beautiful" to me. Nor do androgynous men (although, oddly, sometimes androgynous women do... I have no idea what's up with that).  But these are all examples of what I don't find beautiful.  It doesn't help to answer what, exactly, I do.

I know I'm... conflicted... about my own physical "beauty".  Some days, I truly, truly  feel beautiful. I see myself in the mirror, and my eyes seem big, dark and sparkling, my skin seems clear, my hair behaves itself as it falls sleekly down my back, and my clothes seem to flatter my shape (larger than socially desirable though it may be) and fall in nice lines that flaunt the curves I enjoy having, and hide the ones I don't.  I'm at peace with myself and even I can see it in the reflection looking back at me.

Other days, though, I just can't feel it.  My hair is a wirebrush rat's nest that refuses to co-operate with anything I try to do it - my skin seems to create enough oil to solve the world's energy crisis - the circles under my eyes pulse like black holes - and nothing I wear hides the rolls of extra flesh that have come with growing older.  And don't get me started on the not-just-skin-deep stuff. On those kinds of days?  I snap and I snarl and I snipe at the people who love me. I'm irritable and self-absorbed. I act like an inconsiderate toddler throwing a kindergarten tantrum - and even as I'm doing it, I wonder how anyone could possible see *this* and think it's attractive.

Sometimes, people I care about - people I trust - tell me I'm beautiful.  When I'm feeling that way to start with, the recognition - the acknowledgement and affirmation that I'm not deluding myself - is a precious gift, and the smile that lights up my face as I thank whoever said it is 100% genuine.  When I'm not, I try to smile and say thank you anyway - but I wonder if the person who complimented me can tell that it hasn't sunk in. I wonder if they can see that my inner saboteur has taken their well-meant words, and is in the process of tearing each one into bleeding shreds like a rabid wolf with its prey.

Sometimes I can pretend I don't give a damn about beauty.  I tell myself I'm deeper than that. That my mind is occupied with far more important things.  That caring about being beautiful is allowing the outwardly-focussed, materialistic culture I live in to dictate what does or doesn't have worth in my life - to impose its standards on me. On days like that, I try to reject those standards, and simply be who I am, in the body I've been given, in clothes that feel comfortable, and with the minimum amount of fuss and bother I can possibly manage.   Other times I realise that actually, feeling beautiful feels good... and I want that feeling as often as possible. So I find myself searching for clothes and makeup that will flatter me, doing exercise that will shape me, playing with skin care that will fix my complexion issues, and attempting inner work that will transform me.  All with the goal and hope and dream of being a generally beautiful person - inside and out.

Like I said, I'm thoroughly conflicted.  And I think it's time to openly acknowledge it.

I'm not sure where to go with this realisation. I think I've known it for a long time, but I'm not sure if I've verbalised it before.  I'm fairly certain it's a big part of why I'm often so conflicted about my weight loss, and why I've done far, far better with the practical goal of losing weight for Trailwalker than I ever did when I just aimed for a number on the scale, a specific dress size, or the ability to squeeze back into those damn leather pants.

I think there's probably a lot more beauty-related musings inside me still to be explored.  But I wanted to get these thoughts down into writing now, in the hope they'll prompt some kind of epiphany somewhere off down the track. Maybe one day I'll be able to figure out what beauty actually is to me. And when that happens? Maybe I'll finally know whether it's something worth the constant struggle to achieve.

3 comments:

theamazingcatherine said...

(From Cat): It took painting myself green and standing almost naked in front of a camera before I could bring myself to like what I saw in the mirror. Odd, but true.

You have lovely eyebrows, and nothing can ever take that away from you. And you move all graceful-like, which is, for me, a very beautiful thing.

Starfire said...

@Cat - it's weird - like I said above, sometimes I absolutely do like what I see in the mirror. Other times, really not so much.

Today's a better day than some, so I can hear your compliment and thank you for it.

Hugs

orannia said...

Yes. Sorry, I struggle with the question a lot so have no words of insight, which isn't all that unusual :)

I hope you find the balance that is right for you.