Perception
It's all perception and rosy colored glasses and those stupid, stupid mirrors that stretch things out and make you things you're not, fish-eye lenses or whatever you call them.
All those nit picky things stack up, it feels like. Hairy arms and too many freckles and a not so great complexion, but everybody has those, and I really do look fine. If I really looked badly, maybe I wouldn't care so much about appearances.
Maybe if my hair was the ugliest thing you had ever seen your cat drag in dead in the middle of the night to toy with and then eventually throw away, having decided it was too ugly... maybe then, I'd be happier.
Maybe all I can handle is my privileged bubble of tall-and-slim me. Honestly the really outwardly ugly thing about me is my teeth, which are quite honestly unattractive by societal standards. Except for a few nitpicky things that are rude to point out, I have nothing to worry about, really. When people first meet me they'll think, oh yes, that's the White, Brown-Eyes-and-Curly-Haired-Tall-and-Slim-Girl-Who-Looks-to-be-About-Thirteen. Average, bordering on boring, perhaps, blends into the crowd. I could be, Fatso-Who-Is-to-Lazy-to-Diet or Too-Skinny or some other nasty interpretation of my appearance, but society as a whole as deemed me as a whole as decent. Oh, they don't approve my not-so-smooth face or bumpy, hairy legs but I'm not outrageously unattractive and I'm not a celebrity so I'll live.
And yet I worry over my hair; it's a greasy mess today, isn't it, or oh, I wonder if I should shave my arms or something. Will those new sunglasses or cute hat or snuggly new jeans really make other people stop judging me? Do people judge me? Does it matter, should it matter- if my hair is tangled and ugly and looks like the rattiest bit of dried out seaweed some poor deep sea diver happened upon? Does it matter if I've got the least appealing or most appealing eyes or the smallest, cutest nose or the biggest Snape-esque hook protruding from my sallow, also Snape-esque face?
I wish we had a world in which I was judged first on who I was, inside, inside what I looked like, if I'm tall or short or "ugly" or "pretty" do I wear makeup or no? Bam, spoiled Cali white girl, bam, over fangirly nerd, bam, boring with a side of annoying. Judgement before I open my mouth, judgement based on the clothes I wear, judgement that I do not deserve, that I have not confirmed or denied, judgements that stay. First impressions, worth so much more than second or third or fourth.
It bothers me, you know, and I bother myself, because I'm the one who's torturing myself.
I'm the girl cynically judging the other people based on who they hang out with, what clothes they wear, and the like. I'm my own enemy, nit picking, oh, so many freckles, surprised at how ugly you look today, Indigo, and I'm yours too. By I'm also your hero, and my own, because I think I look fine, and soon enough your appearance isn't "ugly" or "pretty" it's just you, and I don't even really care how you look because I'm too busy worrying that I look terrible and everyone is staring. My selfishness, and the general selfish nature of people's thoughts mean we really have so little to worry about. We're all worrying about ourselves, so much we hardly bother to check your face for a new freckle.
It's all just perception, but it drives me up the wall.
All those nit picky things stack up, it feels like. Hairy arms and too many freckles and a not so great complexion, but everybody has those, and I really do look fine. If I really looked badly, maybe I wouldn't care so much about appearances.
Maybe if my hair was the ugliest thing you had ever seen your cat drag in dead in the middle of the night to toy with and then eventually throw away, having decided it was too ugly... maybe then, I'd be happier.
Maybe all I can handle is my privileged bubble of tall-and-slim me. Honestly the really outwardly ugly thing about me is my teeth, which are quite honestly unattractive by societal standards. Except for a few nitpicky things that are rude to point out, I have nothing to worry about, really. When people first meet me they'll think, oh yes, that's the White, Brown-Eyes-and-Curly-Haired-Tall-and-Slim-Girl-Who-Looks-to-be-About-Thirteen. Average, bordering on boring, perhaps, blends into the crowd. I could be, Fatso-Who-Is-to-Lazy-to-Diet or Too-Skinny or some other nasty interpretation of my appearance, but society as a whole as deemed me as a whole as decent. Oh, they don't approve my not-so-smooth face or bumpy, hairy legs but I'm not outrageously unattractive and I'm not a celebrity so I'll live.
And yet I worry over my hair; it's a greasy mess today, isn't it, or oh, I wonder if I should shave my arms or something. Will those new sunglasses or cute hat or snuggly new jeans really make other people stop judging me? Do people judge me? Does it matter, should it matter- if my hair is tangled and ugly and looks like the rattiest bit of dried out seaweed some poor deep sea diver happened upon? Does it matter if I've got the least appealing or most appealing eyes or the smallest, cutest nose or the biggest Snape-esque hook protruding from my sallow, also Snape-esque face?
I wish we had a world in which I was judged first on who I was, inside, inside what I looked like, if I'm tall or short or "ugly" or "pretty" do I wear makeup or no? Bam, spoiled Cali white girl, bam, over fangirly nerd, bam, boring with a side of annoying. Judgement before I open my mouth, judgement based on the clothes I wear, judgement that I do not deserve, that I have not confirmed or denied, judgements that stay. First impressions, worth so much more than second or third or fourth.
It bothers me, you know, and I bother myself, because I'm the one who's torturing myself.
I'm the girl cynically judging the other people based on who they hang out with, what clothes they wear, and the like. I'm my own enemy, nit picking, oh, so many freckles, surprised at how ugly you look today, Indigo, and I'm yours too. By I'm also your hero, and my own, because I think I look fine, and soon enough your appearance isn't "ugly" or "pretty" it's just you, and I don't even really care how you look because I'm too busy worrying that I look terrible and everyone is staring. My selfishness, and the general selfish nature of people's thoughts mean we really have so little to worry about. We're all worrying about ourselves, so much we hardly bother to check your face for a new freckle.
It's all just perception, but it drives me up the wall.
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