Pretty Hurts

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pretty_Hurts_(song)

 

Conform. Sit still and look pretty. You must be pretty if you want to be loved. If you're not pretty, you can't even love yourself.

 

Well, you know what? Pretty hurts. I'm not talking about being beautiful. I'm talking about being forced into a box of how to feel and be. Of resenting people who are free, because of course we would all like to be like that, but you can't be free if you're trying to be pretty all the time.

Women (and men) are literally broken down into checklists and numbers. 5.0 or 9.5. Graded on our worthiness based on being pretty. Yes, a lot of it is looks. Industrialized looks. But a lot of it is deeper. What if thin lips could be beautiful? What if uneven skin could be beautiful? "No!" they say. It's all science. We aren't intelligent beings, we're animals. We can't help what we like. If you don't conform to what homo sapiens like, you will be unacceptable, unlovable and alone.

 

It comes almost true.

 

You fall for someone. You think they're great. But do you know what they think of you? They think your hair is the wrong color. So it doesn't work out.

 

It's heartbreaking.
You don't know yet that it will go deeper.

 

You fall for someone. You think they're great. This time, your hair is the right color. But do you know what they think of you? They think you're not entertaining enough. So it doesn't work out.

 

You start googling what you're doing wrong. There are plenty of people happy to tell you.

 

You fall for someone. You think they're great. This time, your hair is right. You work hard to be fun and spontaneous for them. You know they like this. But you didn't know that they like you to tell them that they are always right. So it doesn't work out.

 

You stop falling for people.

 

You start falling for the lies.

 

You study and shape yourself. You say it's self-improvement. It works.

 

But it makes you cry that it works.

 

You hear a song from years back every once in a while, or run into an old friend. It makes you nostalgic for yourself, before you knew what people liked.

 

It's hard to reconcile the likeable person you can be if you try and the unlikeable person you can be if you don't. We should try. We should be kind. We should have courage. We should be pretty.

 

You meet someone, but you don't fall.

 

You study. You feel something, so you calculate. You think.

 

You don't say too much or too little. You look good but hide the appearance of maintenance. You laugh but hide the frowns. You're pretty.

 

It works.

 

You keep them at arms distance but get terrified when they move farther away than your arm can reach. You are cool and unreachable, then you're desperate and irrational. You don't know why.

 

They stick around though. After a while, your arm gets tired of holding them at a distance. They're pretty cute, too, you want to be a little closer.

 

But what if they see? What if they start seeing the frowns? Or the pores? Or the moodiness? What if they see, Heaven Forbid, the dance moves???

 

Then one day it happens. They see something. Maybe it's a frown, or a rude remark. Maybe it's eyelashes with no mascara or a stretch mark. You freak out. Because you know what that will mean. That it won't work out.

 

Your knowledge comes from experience. It's not book knowledge, it's wisdom. It's truth. It's reality. We can't control what we like.

 

But then they don't go. It's confusing.
It's scary.
Because you know they will just see more. Then they will go, and you don't want them to. You never wanted them to.

 

They'll start saying things. Like that they don't care that you're not pretty. You never realized that that was what you wanted to hear all along.

 

Not that, "You are pretty."

That they don't care that you're not.

 

They think you're beautiful. They think your smiles and your frowns are beautiful. They think you're beautiful when you've shaved and when you are paying homage to your cold climate ancestors. They think your cuteness and your independence are beautiful.

 

You'll remember how it felt before you judged yourself. Before you decided only certain qualities could stay. Before something like the color of your hair could make you cry. You'll remember fearlessness. You'll remember confidence. You'll remember yourself like an old friend. You'll remember strength, not prettiness.

 

You'll still cry sometimes. You'll still get scared and crawl into your "pretty" box for protection. It's hard to believe, but you will see it with your own eyes. Your knowledge will come from experience. It won't be book knowledge, it will be wisdom. It will be truth. It will be reality. We can choose what we love.

 

Pretty girls make me cry. Because pretty hurts. Deeply. It doesn't hurt to put on mascara. But "pretty" girls put on mascara to cover up the pain of when someone said their eyelashes were short and it didn't work out. It doesn't hurt to exercise. But "pretty" girls run to run away from the pain of when someone said they were too fat and it didn't work out. Plastic surgery hurts. But not as much as the pain of someone not loving you because you're not "pretty."

 

Pretty is a mask that hides deep wounds of not being loved. But if we can be brave enough to put down the mask, someday we will discover that we're worth more than pretty. We're actually beautiful.

 

<3<3<3 

M&Ms for Breakfast

Breakfast of champions.

It was one of those mornings.  I was lumbering like a rushed zombie out the door to work. I looked around and managed one of the few words zombies can manage,

I staggered back to the counter and grabbed some of my roommate's pretzel M&Ms and put them in the pocket of my sweater.  For a split second I thought, "I'm a grown, 23-year-old woman for crying out loud!  I'm too old to be eating M&Ms for breakfast! I should be over this!"
Then I realized, there will probably never be a time in my life that I don't occasionally have M&Ms for breakfast.  That's just how life is.  YO to the LO. You sleep when you're dead. Not like I sacrifice healthy choices for kicks... I'm just embracing the imperfection of life!

Your Gaze Hits the Side of My Face

It's been on my mind lately.  A feminist theory called the "male gaze."  I don't like that saying it that way, because I'm not a feminist, and it's a completely inappropriate name.  One cannot assign the act of objectifying to an entire sex.  Isn't assigning bad qualities to a whole sex what feminism is so against?

"Your gaze hits the side of my face" by Barbara Kruger

So, let's just call it an objectifying gaze.  I love the piece above.  It so accurately portrays the feeling of receiving an objectifying gaze.  The "woman" here, is in fact, an object made of stone.  Not a real human.  Her cheeks are very shadowy, as if she's blushing, obviously uncomfortable.  Her chin is pulling inward, another universal sign of discomfort.  Her eyes are looking up, but her head is pointing down, showing discomfort; turning inward and trying to protect the vulnerable parts (neck, heart) of herself.  The words on the side are black and white, square, typed, evenly spaced, totally non-dynamic.  To read it, it should sound monotone and robotic; non-punctuated and void of emotion.  And the word "hits." It implies abuse, force.  It's not something interactive.  It's controlling and taking agency.  I like that the woman's eyes are still up.  She hasn't given up.  It's just she cannot endure the force of the gaze without some manifestations of how it affects her.  

There are a lot of arguments against the "male gaze" theory, but no one can deny that objectifying gazes exist.  One part of the theory I find particularly interesting is that people can "male gaze" at themselves; that is, view themselves not from their own perspective, but the perspective of a critical, objectifying person.  In this way, women give up their unique perspective and further buy into the idea that women are objects.

The movie Penelope, is a wonderful film exploring a lot of social theories, stigmas and interactions (it even passes the Bechdel test).  It's a story of personal growth and coming to full health.  It's about a young woman who has been told she is unacceptable because of the way she looks.  This idea has been reinforced over and over.  Eventually, she discovers against all odds that this idea is a lie.  She becomes accepted and starts building a life for herself.  The way she looks changes, and some people try again to tell her subtly and not-so-subtly that the way she looks makes her unacceptable or of lesser value.  This time she does not believe the lie for a minute and echo's one of the film's themes, "I'm still me."

Two parts in this film perfectly illustrate the objectifying gaze. To clarify, it's primarily her own learned self-objectifying gaze that she feels.  The things her Mom and her suitors have told her color her perception of herself.  This is made evident when it shows Penelope thinking over and over of the suitors that ran from her because they thought she was unacceptable. (35:54)  Penelope however, is not unacceptable.  She's smart, funny, polite, caring, and unique.  When she's being herself, she's adorable.  When she becomes a victim though, she gets paralyzed.

At 22:45, Penelope and Max are gazing at each other through a 2-way mirror.  Penelope meets his gaze momentarily, but then becomes self-conscious, or self-objectifying.  She can't meet his gaze anymore, gets ashamed and tries to hide her face.  The thing is, he can't even see her.  So it's not Max's gaze, it's her own self-objectifying gaze that she can't tolerate.  This is not her genuine gaze.  It's not how she inherently views herself.  It's how she views herself through the eyes of critical and objectifying people. 

It's true that it's not Max's fault.  That's a common argument from people who do objectify.  It's not their fault how their gaze is being perceived.  In this example, it's true that regardless of what Max's gaze meant, Penelope's reaction is not his fault.  But is that true of Penelope's mom and suitors?  No.  They are at fault to some degree.  They either made her feel inadequate by explicitly saying so or implicitly giving her social cues.  People who think you can't tell when someone looks at you critically usually don't understand social cues, and therefore do not think they exist.  In reality, social cues are given and interpreted, and they teach you how to think and feel.  If you don't want to internalize a message someone is sending, it takes a lot of cognitive power and external support.

At 32:10 Max sees Penelope for the first time.  He reacts, but his gaze is not objectifying.  Penelope, is again feeling the pressure of her self-objectifying gaze.  She displays a lot of the same body language as the woman in the piece by Kruger.  She is obviously uncomfortable, breathing rapidly head down chin pulled in, face tilted and expression very asymmetrical (symptomatic of a forced expression.  Natural expressions are symmetrical, which is why we like symmetrical faces, it shows proper socio-emotional adjustment.)  Max starts to move toward Penelope.  He doesn't want to objectify her, he wants to understand and know her for who she is.  The important part is that as he moves closer and starts to reach out to touch her, she does not panic.  Rather, she starts to relax.  Why?  He has a different kind of gaze.  Not judgmental, critical or objectifying.  It's a curious gaze, ready to learn and even accept and appreciate.  It's her gaze, the way she thinks she's worthy of being seen.  She starts to have a little trust in him that he won't objectify her.  Because as soon as he objectifies her, she's powerless before him.  As soon as she objectifies herself, she's powerless before herself.  It takes away her agency, her ability to choose how to act.  She becomes paralyzed.  The gaze "hits" the side of her face.  She becomes a helpless victim.  

Penelope eventually frees herself.  She frees herself from toxic people in her life until she has freed herself of their objectifying gaze that she has so internalized.  When she no longer has a self-objectifying gaze, it's much harder for people's opinions to affect her. What's the take home message?  I don't know. Maybe just to consider how you think about yourself and others.  And what if we lived in a world where we all looked the same, would your thoughts change?  NOT a world where we were all the same. A world where we still had different qualities and quirks, intelligence and humor.  Just a world where our appearances weren't the part of us most susceptible to judgement.  Kind of like how Penelope covers her face with a scarf.  She takes away her viewers' ability to judge her appearance.  And she starts to learn that she is very worthy of acceptance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9WfoJ5yQFc

(Hopefully the link is still available, if not, just go watch the movie, the whole thing's great!)

What If We Chose How We Look?

I was ready to leave for work this morning.  I had gotten all packed up for Thanksgiving break so I could head straight for home right after closing time.  I was standing in the living room, eating my cereal mentally scanning for anything I forgot to pack.  The sun was coming up and soft morning light was coming through the windows, and I could see the frost on my car outside.

I have a big, rectangular mirror hanging on the wall in my living room.  As I was finishing my cereal I absent-mindedly started gazing at myself. I was having those rolling, dreamlike thoughts, the kind you're barely aware you're having.  I had my hair pulled back in a bun with no make up on except a little red lipstick.
I was thinking to myself, "Yeah, I look pretty good:)  I like the way I look.  I mean, if I were choosing, I'd probably have tweaked a couple things a little differently...." Then I chuckled at the thought of my spirit in Heaven before I was born getting toddler-excited and picking out a bunch of crazy features:)

But then I stopped and thought, "Well, why not?"  I'm pretty dang sure this is false doctrine, so most def don't quote me in general conference when you become a general authority, but I thought, What if we did?  What if, in Heaven, we got to choose how we would look?  And everyone picked out what their tastes truly dictated was the most beautiful to them?  And we didn't think otherwise until we came to Earth and society imposed false standards on us and we lost our ability to see all beauty?  What if we are all the most beautiful?  And some of us just forgot? What if we picked everything about ourselves?

Food for thought:)

However, we are all created in the image of God by a loving Father in Heaven.  Isn't that kinda enough to make you accept the beautiful gift of your body?

I'd Like a Little....Perspective.

"I'd like a little...perspective.  Fresh out, I take it?"

Today's post made me think of one of my favorite movies, Ratatouille. I could write an entire blog about my love for and belief in cooking... but for now I just want to nod to a quote from the movie because yesterday I was blessed with a little perspective.

Before we get started though, one of my favorite quotes from Anton Ego the angry food critic, that I quote all the time.  In response to Linguini's jab that Anton is thin for someone who likes food:

"I don't like food!! I loooooove it! And...

"

Anyway, Anton comes back ready to destroy the restaurant Gusto's reputation.  When he arrives, the waiter asks him what he wants.  

Mustafa: [taking Ego's order] Do you know what you'd like this evening, sir? 
Anton Ego: Yes, I think I do. After reading a lot of overheated puffery about your new cook, you know what I'm craving? A little perspective. That's it. I'd like some fresh, clear, well seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that? 
Mustafa: With what, sir? 
Anton Ego: Perspective. Fresh out, I take it? 
Mustafa: I am, uh... 
Anton Ego: Very well. Since you're all out of perspective and no one else seems to have it in this BLOODY TOWN, I'll make you a deal. You provide the food, I'll provide the perspective, which would go nicely with a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947. 
Mustafa: I'm afraid... your dinner selection? 
Anton Ego: [stands up angrily] Tell your chef Linguini that I want whatever he dares to serve me. Tell him to hit me with his best SHOT. 

Then, of course, the song starts playing in your head.

Over the last few months, I've been on a journey and I feel like it materialized into a spiritual awakening yesterday.  It was my 23rd birthday:)  I was chatting with some friends and we started talking about something  I've been thinking about for months.  Particularly well articulated by President Uchtdorf in his talks Of Regrets and Resolutions and Forget Me Not: "Forget not to be happy now."

I've been trying to make a lot of life decisions lately.  I graduated college.  Now what?  I never before realized that my life plan culminated with that accomplishment.  I just figured my life would pretty much be set by now:) There are a lot of paths ahead, big choices.  Marriage, grad school, masters and doctorate programs, career choices, debt.....

A lot of things.  I've been a little scared trying to look at the fact that I don't know where I will be in 5, 10, 15, 20 years.  And that I can't know.  I can't know.  Sure, I can plan.  I need to plan.  But there will always be uncertainty until it's over.

Anyway, our conversation.  We were talking about relishing what we have and allowing ourselves to be happy in uncertainty.  Not just to "live in the moment," but to choose to enjoy things as though the outcome doesn't matter.  Because, really, the outcome doesn't determine present happiness.  Even if it all ends badly, is that any reason to be unhappy now? If you have to deal with dissapointment later, wouldn't you rather have times of hope and happiness to look back on rather than only dread, doubt, and going half way? If it ends well, won't you feel silly for wasting all that time you could have been happy?

Example 1: My friend broke up with a girl a few weeks back.  It was really hard on him, but one of the things he really regrets is not enjoying what he had when he had it.  He only dated her for a few weeks, and he would come home from seeing her every night and be stressed and worried and freaked out about where it was going and what he wanted and what she wanted.  He wishes he had just enjoyed and cherished those few weeks while he had them.  Maybe it wouldn't be so hard for him to let go now if he had.  Point: he was putting his happiness on hold over worries that didn't end up mattering.

Example 2: For about a year, my friend has been stressed out over this guy who kinda wants to date her, but won't commit and won't meet her emotional needs.  He's a great guy.  But I know she would have been happier if she could move on.  I felt a little hypocritical as I was later talking to my roommie about a guy I used to date.  I sometimes still struggle with dating other people because he left such an impression on me of how great a guy can be.  My roommate told me that she wanted me to be able to let him go, because what we had wasn't that amazing.  Sure, he was an amazing guy, but I never fully had him and I certainly didn't have him now. Being able to fully let go and not worry helps me be happy dating amazing guys who do want to be in my life. Point: I was putting my happiness on hold because of something that isn't really pertinent.

I have spent a lot of time lately thinking through scenarios, worrying about what path to take.  I spend  a lot of time worrying about things that will never happen.  I worry about getting another degree, the possibility of marriage and a family, career... I want the attitude of, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."  I don't have to worry about planning the best year of a grad program to get married; or when I should have my first kid. Those things are not relevant in my life and to my happiness right now.  Of course, I should take things into consideration and be flexible, but I tend to take it to the extreme and worry about choices I will probably never have to make.  

I just want to be filled with love for the people around me and enjoyment of my life today.  To snatch little pieces of happiness as they come to me, rather than waiting for the big, perfect, happy life situation.  Because that will never come.  So what if I'm a new mom as I'm working on my grad program? I'll figure it out.  So what if I'm not top of my class?  It will work out.  I just want to enjoy the imperfect, small victories of every day.  Enjoy what brings me happiness now without worrying where it will take me in the future.  Without grieving over things that haven't happened and don't matter.  

Anton's face as he is offered perspective.  I had the same face as I sat in my bed writing in my journal, realizing that I just want to appreciate and enjoy what I have, while I have it and not worry about the past or future.

Then he happily devours his meal.  

And turns into a turtle-neck/beret-wearing weirdo.  But we still love him and his new-found happiness.