(Far) Beyond Pretty

I read this fantastic article from the Huffington Post today, posted by a friend on Facebook, and titled How To Talk To Little Girls. I strongly encourage you to read the article. It's a quick and easy read but, more importantly, it carries a very important message, for everyone, regardless of the frequency of your interaction with little girls. But just in case you don't take the time to read it, the gist of the article is this: each and every one of us needs to examine the way we talk to little girls. Too often upon meeting a girl, we open the conversation with a comment on her appearance ("Aren't you a little doll?" "My goodness, you are pretty!" "I love your dress!" "You have the prettiest hair" etc., etc...). Believe me, I am as guilty of this as the rest of you; not only is the focus on female appearance strongly ingrained into our culture, the fact remains that, by and large, little girls are incredibly adorable little creatures! That said, by giving into this urge, we are doing our daughters no favor. Instead, we send the unspoken message that appearance takes precedence over other attributes. We send the message that being pretty is more important than being smart, funny, strong, clever, creative, unique. Is that really a message we want to send to our little girls? Don't they already have enough things telling them that "pretty" is the end-all-be-all in this media-saturated world of reality TV and celebrity obsession, in a world where, as the article states, "twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America's Next Top Model than the Nobel Peace Prize"?

In my family, I am the middle child of three girls. While I am sure that competition is natural among any and all combinations of siblings, it is my personal opinion that having multiple children of the same sex greatly magnifies this competitiveness. As three girls struggling for our parents' attention, my sisters and I each took on very specific roles: Jessica was the "smart" one (also the "smart-ass" one); Maggie was the "funny, lovable" one; I was the "pretty" one...

(Before I continue, I feel it necessary to state that this is NOT a personal pity party. Overall, I had a very good childhood and I am grateful for everything I have been given, everything I have received. There are many others far worse off than I, but one thing I have learned (and that I am still trying to accept) is that we all have problems, no matter how desolate, privileged, or somewhere-in-between our lives are.)

...This designation as the Pretty One proved to be incredibly damaging to me, for many reasons. Here, in numbered format, are some thoughts that frequently went through my pre-pubescent, pubescent, young adult, and (let's face it) current adult mind:

1. How can I be the "pretty one" when my sisters are so obviously, physically attractive? Apparently, they've got more going on than me...
2. If my looks are the most important thing I have to offer to the world, FUCK, I better be perfect.
3. I am so not perfect. I have acne. I sweat profusely. My eyebrows look like caterpillars. I have a mustache. My hair is too thin. I have hair on my toes. And my knuckles. My armpits are too "fleshy." I have a gut. My butt isn't perky enough. I wish my jawline was more defined. My eyelids are heavy. I have hangnails. I have weird little bumps on my upper arms...the list goes on and on....and on...and on....and on.
4. I feel like I have more to offer the world. I feel like I am smart. And creative. Like I have ideas that matter, and yet...
5. And yet...everyone focuses on "the pretty". So. That must be the best I've got to offer.

. . . . . .

The getting older is a funny thing. On the one hand, I am more leveled, more confident, more secure, than I ever have been before. On the other hand, my body is aging (obviously) and, as someone who has focused on her looks as the mainstay of her worth for much of her life, this is disheartening. I will turn 33  on Friday. I am the mother of two children. I now know, deep down, that I am more than pretty. But, my god, the scars remain. I still spend an inordinate amount of time dressing myself before meeting with friends. I still very, VERY rarely leave the house without at least a little makeup. I still post pictures of myself on Facebook or my blog and hope that people will tell me I'm pretty. 

This shit is damaging, mark my words.

And yet, I am now guilty of inflicting the same damage upon my own daughter! I try, believe me, do I try. But the words, "You're so pretty" still come out. (I cringe every time, but they do!)...

. . . . . .

My dear Elinor, please know that you are much, much more than your looks. This may be hard for you to accept; you were "blessed" with eyes as big as saucers and as blue as the Aegean Sea. People are taken aback by them and feel the need to comment on how beautiful they are. This will continue throughout your life, I am sure of it. You are more than your eyes, my love. You are the soul I see within your eyes. You are full of life, whip-smart, intensely creative, and so. fucking. funny. You, my love, are amazing. Please, don't ever sell yourself short of that.