I finally stopped believing them.
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| Courtesy of Julia Sullivan |
By Julia Sullivan, SELF
I remember his face like it was yesterday—braced mouth smirking slightly, gaze drawn judgingly just above my eyes. I inherited my father’s seriously sparse eyebrows that taper off at the arch, but I never thought much of it until that very moment when a random boy in class brought it up. “You’re kind of scary-looking.”
[post_ads]That fraction of a moment—which I am absolutely positive the boy forgot a few minutes later—sparked a long, tumultuous relationship with my brows. Looking back at old school pictures and MySpace photos is a pretty painful experience, as I tried every stencil shape and color to make them more full (less "scary"). It wasn’t until a year ago, when an ex saw me without them penciled in—a rare occasion—and told me how beautiful I looked, that I began to realize I had spent more than a decade obsessing over a fallacy. A fallacy perpetuated by a 13-year-old boy with bleached tips, a puka shell necklace, and JNCO jeans.
You don't have to be a tween for society's idea of beauty to cut into you and leave a scar. And now that I'm immersed in it as a beauty writer, you'd think I'd be even more sensitive and insecure. But, actually, the opposite is true. If anything, the products I’ve tried, people I’ve met, and pictures I’ve posted of myself online for thousands of people to scrutinize have highlighted that these mantras I’ve repeated to myself since childhood about what beauty is—and how you become beautiful—are, well, complete and utter B.S.
From dressing for my body shape to things random strangers have told me on the street (and I actually believed), here are six of those lies.
Beauty Lie #1:
You're more beautiful when you smile.
As I carefully dissected episodes of The Bachelor (heck, even Rock of Love) growing up, there always seemed to be a pervasive personality trait that men on these shows found so attractive: constantly smiling happiness. And I get it. Who doesn’t want to be happy? But naturally, I took this to to mean that if I smiled real wide when I was talking to a crush in high school or college they'd think I was the happy pretty girl every guy (I thought) wants to date. It worked—I’ve been labeled as the “sweet” girl several times.
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Confession: I’m not actually sweet. I’m sort of narcissistic, actually, and really, really impatient. I’m happy and carefree sometimes—just not always. When I accepted this pretty recently, it was so liberating. It felt amazing when I could scowl (instead of sheepishly smile) when a random man on the street told me, “Smile, baby. You look better when you do.”
I’m living. Existing. Doing. I’m not, by definition, happy. When I am, I will smile. But it won’t be for you.
Beauty Lie #2:
You look a lot better when you wear less (or more) makeup.
I’ve always been deathly afraid of going out in public sans a fully done-up face. “You don’t need to wear that much makeup,” one well-intentioned guy I dated tried to convince me. “You look beautiful without.” I smiled in response, acknowledging the compliment but secretly wondering if he would become instantly less attracted to me if he saw me without it. With my lashes and glowing blush, I felt like my best self.
Then, an attitude change was set into motion. After moving to New York City from Arizona last year, I quickly realized that no one gave a damn about me. Nobody was going to do me any favors if I batted long eyelashes their direction, or treat me any differently from the guy wearing a trash bag and singing off-tune next to me on the subway if I didn’t wear makeup. People just didn’t give a crap (that New York charm, I guess).
For the first time, I felt empowered by choice without consequence—I could wear the most annoying red lipstick I could manage, or absolutely nothing at all.
Beauty Lie #3:
You need to dress for your body shape.
“Are you a pear, banana, hourglass, or apple?”
[post_ads]Although I desperately wished I were an hourglass (a.k.a. a woman with a substantial bust and wide, swinging hips), I was most definitely an apple (bigger in the mid-section). Even at 11 years old I had a sense that this was not the "ideal" body shape, and the things I read growing up made it clear that I should disguise this "flaw"—no horizontal stripes, tight dresses or bikinis.
Here’s the thing: If you’ve got a tummy, you’ve got a tummy—no amount of clever concealing can hide that fact. It wasn’t until crop tops and high-waist pants and skirts started to become popular these past few years that I began to not only be unafraid of my waist but began to accentuate it. It may not resemble a pin-up’s, but it’s capable of cranking out a bazillion sit-ups in boot-camp class, keeping my body upright on a long run, and aching from bouts of ridiculous laughter. And that’s something to show off.
I remember his face like it was yesterday—braced mouth smirking slightly, gaze drawn judgingly just above my eyes. I inherited my father’s seriously sparse eyebrows that taper off at the arch, but I never thought much of it until that very moment when a random boy in class brought it up. “You’re kind of scary-looking.”
[post_ads]That fraction of a moment—which I am absolutely positive the boy forgot a few minutes later—sparked a long, tumultuous relationship with my brows. Looking back at old school pictures and MySpace photos is a pretty painful experience, as I tried every stencil shape and color to make them more full (less "scary"). It wasn’t until a year ago, when an ex saw me without them penciled in—a rare occasion—and told me how beautiful I looked, that I began to realize I had spent more than a decade obsessing over a fallacy. A fallacy perpetuated by a 13-year-old boy with bleached tips, a puka shell necklace, and JNCO jeans.
You don't have to be a tween for society's idea of beauty to cut into you and leave a scar. And now that I'm immersed in it as a beauty writer, you'd think I'd be even more sensitive and insecure. But, actually, the opposite is true. If anything, the products I’ve tried, people I’ve met, and pictures I’ve posted of myself online for thousands of people to scrutinize have highlighted that these mantras I’ve repeated to myself since childhood about what beauty is—and how you become beautiful—are, well, complete and utter B.S.
From dressing for my body shape to things random strangers have told me on the street (and I actually believed), here are six of those lies.
Beauty Lie #1:
You're more beautiful when you smile.
As I carefully dissected episodes of The Bachelor (heck, even Rock of Love) growing up, there always seemed to be a pervasive personality trait that men on these shows found so attractive: constantly smiling happiness. And I get it. Who doesn’t want to be happy? But naturally, I took this to to mean that if I smiled real wide when I was talking to a crush in high school or college they'd think I was the happy pretty girl every guy (I thought) wants to date. It worked—I’ve been labeled as the “sweet” girl several times.
[post_ads_2]
Confession: I’m not actually sweet. I’m sort of narcissistic, actually, and really, really impatient. I’m happy and carefree sometimes—just not always. When I accepted this pretty recently, it was so liberating. It felt amazing when I could scowl (instead of sheepishly smile) when a random man on the street told me, “Smile, baby. You look better when you do.”
I’m living. Existing. Doing. I’m not, by definition, happy. When I am, I will smile. But it won’t be for you.
Beauty Lie #2:
You look a lot better when you wear less (or more) makeup.
I’ve always been deathly afraid of going out in public sans a fully done-up face. “You don’t need to wear that much makeup,” one well-intentioned guy I dated tried to convince me. “You look beautiful without.” I smiled in response, acknowledging the compliment but secretly wondering if he would become instantly less attracted to me if he saw me without it. With my lashes and glowing blush, I felt like my best self.
Then, an attitude change was set into motion. After moving to New York City from Arizona last year, I quickly realized that no one gave a damn about me. Nobody was going to do me any favors if I batted long eyelashes their direction, or treat me any differently from the guy wearing a trash bag and singing off-tune next to me on the subway if I didn’t wear makeup. People just didn’t give a crap (that New York charm, I guess).
For the first time, I felt empowered by choice without consequence—I could wear the most annoying red lipstick I could manage, or absolutely nothing at all.
Beauty Lie #3:
You need to dress for your body shape.
“Are you a pear, banana, hourglass, or apple?”
[post_ads]Although I desperately wished I were an hourglass (a.k.a. a woman with a substantial bust and wide, swinging hips), I was most definitely an apple (bigger in the mid-section). Even at 11 years old I had a sense that this was not the "ideal" body shape, and the things I read growing up made it clear that I should disguise this "flaw"—no horizontal stripes, tight dresses or bikinis.
Here’s the thing: If you’ve got a tummy, you’ve got a tummy—no amount of clever concealing can hide that fact. It wasn’t until crop tops and high-waist pants and skirts started to become popular these past few years that I began to not only be unafraid of my waist but began to accentuate it. It may not resemble a pin-up’s, but it’s capable of cranking out a bazillion sit-ups in boot-camp class, keeping my body upright on a long run, and aching from bouts of ridiculous laughter. And that’s something to show off.
 |
| Courtesy of Julia Sullivan |
Beauty Lie #4:
“There’s no way you could pull off a middle part,” my hairdresser (who was particularly aggressive) once explained to me. “You’d have to have a model’s bone structure for that.” Accepting that she was the professional, I stuck to a deep side-part with bangs that covered half of my face for years. I have a round face (another one of those body type buckets), so anything to hide that circular shape was fine by me. It wasn’t until I switched stylists that I began to look at my face in another light.
“Girl, we’ve got to give you a middle part,” he told me, with equally opinionated emphasis but a more favorable attitude. “It would look amazing on you!” So I did it. And it does.
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Think pixie cuts are cute, but worried you’re not petite enough? DGAF. Want to get ridiculously long extensions? Do it. Want to dye your hair hot pink and shave the sides? Go right ahead. No matter what style you choose, someone is going to think favorably or unfavorably of it. So might as well do you.
Beauty Lie #5:
High-end makeup means a high-quality face.
My love for Sephora truly runs deep—you might even call it an addiction. But as I work toward weaning off my expensive makeup habit, I’m learning that just because something comes in a black-and-white striped bag, rather than a Rite Aid one, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better.
“You really don't have to spend a lot on makeup to look beautiful,” explains Mindy Green, owner of MG Beauty, a mobile beauty business offering makeup artistry, hair styling, and wardrobe consulting. “Some drugstore products work just as well as department store brands. In fact, some drugstore brands are owned by the same company as the department store brands!”
As Green explains, Lancôme is the parent company of drugstore favorite L'Oréal, with the brand's Voluminous mascara comparable to the Lancôme’s Hypnose. She also recommends Revlon eyeshadows for their staying power and the Milani brand for natural-looking blush. As for glosses, she says that any major drugstore brand works—Revlon, Milani, Cover Girl, L'Oréal, and NYX all have fantastic selections.
The best areas to splurge at Sephora, according to Green? “Primer, pencil liner, and concealer. If you have the right products as a base for applying your makeup, you’re going to get the staying power you need.”
Beauty Lie #6:
There is a particular type of beauty you should always be striving toward.
[post_ads]I’ll be the first to admit that shaking off the disapproving or oftentimes cruel opinion of a stranger, acquaintance, or even loved one is no easy feat. And I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t still meticulously shape my brows, have disdain for my tummy, or try to smile a bit more for a cute guy at the bar. But despite this, I’m continuously reassured by two truths. First, many of the things considered beautiful today definitely won’t be beautiful in 10 years, or even in two weeks. So maybe these beauty truths we hold to be self-evident…aren’t.
The second? Aging comes with a sense of pure and unadulterated DGAF-ness, which I love. And while I’m still haunted (like many of us) by the hurtful experiences I encountered as a teen and in young adulthood, it amazes me how much peoples’ opinions of me have dwindled in importance over the years.
Plus, it doesn’t hurt searching for JNCO jeans boy on Facebook and seeing what he looks like today. Just sayin’.
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