The Cost of Being "Pretty"

“At some point you decided it was safer to be pretty. You sit on men’s laps and listen to their idiotic jokes and giggle. You let them give you back rubs, let them buy your drugs and your drinks, let them make you special meals in the kitchen. Don’t you see when you do that, all the while you’re...choking.” — Jake, Sweetbitter

Never have I read a paragraph that resounded with me so strongly or hit me so hard. Reading it over and over and thinking of my 21-year-old self, I wanted to cry. I still want to.

At some point, girls decide they can either be pretty, smart, funny or sporty. Basically, you get to choose from the Spice Girls. I don’t know when we realize these are our supposed options, it seems to be almost ingrained in us.

I chose to be “pretty,” I would even dumb myself down in conversations, not only with guys, but my girl friends too. My dad once called me out on it after dropping us off somewhere and I felt so deeply ashamed of myself, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t think that I would be as attractive if I also showed that I had brains. 

Fast forward to college and I knew how to use my looks. In the restaurant business, that works out well for your tips, generally. It also means you’ll likely have random strangers say absolutely uncalled for things. Yes, uncalled for. Just because I smiled prettily, did my hair that day and was wearing shorts (because it was summer in Arkansas...) doesn’t mean you can comment on my legs and ask if I was a gymnast, etc., etc. But even with my coworkers, I would laugh at their stupid jokes, let them touch me and, inside, I was cringing and feeling worse with every hand graze. I was a target for them. See who can get with her next. Get her drunk. It’ll be easy. There was a list made once. I die a little inside every time I think of it.

It wasn’t until I graduated and moved to New Jersey that I began to adjust my mindset. I was working three jobs and traveling to NYU twice a week so I could get my editing certificate. I was a hard worker and I was smart and I finally realized, why should I have to hide that? Why should I pretend I’m floating along easily? I had to work for what I had and I was proud of my discipline. So I finally started taking myself seriously. But it was a little late. 

I know I damaged my self-esteem and confidence by thinking my worth was based off my looks for all those years. Even now, when I’m bloated or my hair is being particularly difficult, I start to feel really shitty about myself. It doesn’t matter that I’ve realized my dreams by working in media in New York City, something I wasn’t even sure I could manage to achieve. I won’t feel good enough. I won’t feel proud.

I’ve recently been obsessively stressing over the lines in my forehead, watching girls on Instagram raise their eyebrows in videos and not have a single crinkle appear. I know there’s Botox and fillers and filters and retinol, but I still worry incessantly that this is a problem that only I’m dealing with. I wonder if I should get Botox as a birthday present for myself. Never mind I’m only in my mid-twenties. If I start now, I’m helping my future face, right?

When I am out in public, on the subway, for instance, if I catch a guy looking at me, I instantly get anxious. Why is he looking at me? What does he want?? This is not me believing every guy wants me, this is me believing every guy wants something from me. Because that was my experience in the past. All my guy friends eventually drunkenly came on to me, and often I gave in because, otherwise, what if they wouldn’t want to hang out anymore? I could never just have a platonic relationship because guys didn’t seem to want that from me so I believed I couldn’t have that.  Because it had to be me, not the immature asshats I was hanging out with. Not the alcohol making them brazen. It had to be me.

When I graduated, I was determined to make a change. When I started at a new restaurant, I resolved to never have a physical relationship with anyone there. I only wanted to make friends in this new home. I wanted to focus on my future career, not romantics. And, generally, it worked. I’m a flirtatious person by nature, so there was flirting and sometimes guys touched me and I didn’t know how to say no without making it weird. But it was so much better than before and there were no relationships, until there was one. And he’s still my partner. Over the years, he’s talked about how proud he is of me for working so hard or for how smart I am or how much I read and it’s helped. It’s helped remind me that I’m more than just “hot,” or “sexy” or a “gorgeous girl,” the only other terms I’d heard used to continuously describe me, until they were all I was.

But, in the end, I’m the only one who can change this tableau of myself. I’m the only one who can tell myself over and over that I can be more than just one thing. I can be a complex, mysterious, conflicted individual. And I won’t stop reminding myself even after I finally believe it.