I've often thought that being average looking has been an advantage for me. It sucked the most when I was in my early teens, gawky, freckled, dishwater blonde, and before I had become proficient with makeup.
But now, I think my unremarkable looks have served me well. I have never once relied on my looks for anything: to manipulate men, to land a job, or anything. Being somewhat plain, I never felt that I had an advantage in that sense.
I know I am good at applying makeup because of the different reactions I elicit when au natural or made-up. I can leave my apartment most days and not even receive a glance from anyone. When I slather on the makeup, I get approached by many weirdos. I'm not surprised by these different reactions, as I've been receiving them for years.
The first time I bleached my hair in high school and started wearing self-tanner and black eyeliner, I suddenly got a lot of attention from guys. I didn't take it as a compliment to my looks, but rather as a testament to the generic appeal of the combination of tan and blonde. Instead of making me feel good about myself, it just made me aware of how different it felt to be approached based on "looks" alone. This had never happened to me before.
Because I didn't grow up pretty, I developed other things to help me succeed, like (hello) a personality. I realized the value of kindness, politeness and intelligence in helping me get through life. I didn't have to deal with being ostracized by girls or objectified by guys. I feel that I was lucky in this sense. I never expected people to cater to me the way life-long beautiful people tend to get accustomed to. This is perhaps a generalization, and just an observation: being beautiful usually means being catered to.
One summer I worked as an assistant to my aunt, who was an image consultant. We spent half our workshops telling people the importance of personal appearance for the advancement of one's career. We gave the participants a pile of laminated photographs of people in various states of attire, asking them to sort the people by job rank in a company. The pearly-teethed and power-suited ones were almost always placed at the top. Anyone who has ever seen TLC's
What Not to Wear have heard the hosts go on and on about the importance of dressing the part, and how looking one's best is the first step to success.
Do beautiful people really have a long leg up over the rest of us?
Gonzalo Otolora, an Argentine author thinks they do. In
this interview with Ode Magazine (link posted by
Jolie Nadine), he presents his polemic that the beautiful, who he says have an "unfair advantage," should be taxed.
According to Otolora, the tax would benefit the less-than-beautiful because:
"We, the unattractive, won't squander that money because we're not compulsive consumers. We're not worried about failure because we've learned from all the rejections we've suffered. As a result, we're well- suited to think strategically and reach our objectives quickly. Our relationships with people are more honest and durable."
I feel that beautiful people have certain advantages over me, for sure. They've certainly got an edge when it comes to the realms of looking good in bathing suits or landing jobs as Coors Light promo. But lots of people have advantages over me, like engineers when it comes to bridge designing, or athletes when it comes to, say, any kind of physical coordination. I don't let it get me down.
Because I have found — and this is not going to be a popular opinion — that a lot of natural beauties are very socially awkward people. Their beauty is taken for granted by them. But it, unlike things such as a brilliant mathematic brain or a great golf swing, has a looming expiry date. The can only be youthfully beautiful for so long. While they have it, they tend to rely on it, often neglecting other things such as courteousness or a genuine interest in other people.
What happens to these people when youthful beauty starts to fade?
Cosmetic surgery.
I'm exaggerating, and of course there are exceptions to my generalizations. There are plenty of beauties who I am privileged to have as good friends, who are incredibly intelligent, caring and talented people. I would bet that almost all of these people have an awkward stage to thank, a period in their life where they developed some other aspects of their character. The ugly duckling-turned swan is often the most well-rounded beauty.
For me, there will always be makeup.
We didn't meet to commiserate, to wallow in the sting of both being rejected on reality tv. Rather, we met today to talk about where that rejection had led us.
Recent events, such as exciting news for my domestic partner, have accelerated the speed at which my anxiety has been rising. Any news, no matter how exciting, that forces me closer to making BIG choices, is scary news. The voice in my head that has previously been whispering "you might have to make some choices soon," has raised to a shout: "decision time is imminent, biatch!"
Thanks in large part to Peter, mine and Brian's addiction to The Wire has been steadily growing to the point of dependency. Just like the show's many drug dealers, we now arrange covert meetings to surreptitiously swap discs of the show. Taking this photo, I felt like one of the detectives snapping shots as evidence of the drug deals. Oh television, and how you bring excitement into the most mundane aspects of my life.
I've often thought that being average looking has been an advantage for me. It sucked the most when I was in my early teens, gawky, freckled, dishwater blonde, and before I had become proficient with makeup.
I first discovered this pungent, ghastly-tasting oil in the dressing room of a theatre. One of the other actors had come down with a bad cold and was carefully squeezing drops of oil under her tongue, and then washing the taste down with a bottle of water. When I asked what the strong smelling mystery oil was, she told me that it was "the singer's secret weapon."
