Infinite Beauty

Thoughts on beauty culture & what we tell our kids

Photo by Shamblen Studios on Unsplash

I have hair on my big toe. Yes, that is the most unsexy thing I have ever written in my life — but alas, it’s true. And when I was old enough to realize that such a thing was deemed unattractive (a la, in middle school), I started shaving my big toe.

One summer, when we were at the beach, my best friend looked down at my toe, and marveled in horror - Oh my god, do you shave your toes?

I don’t remember what I said, as it was over twenty years ago. But even writing this memory, I remember feeling utterly embarrassed. I wanted to run away into the ocean, or somehow sink into the sand, or both. I felt ugly. I felt othered. I felt confused as to why my friend, whom I adored, would exclaim such a thing that she could’ve kept to herself.

Recently, one of my friends told me that her daughter doesn’t like her thighs. She says they’re too big. She says she wants pants that hide them. She’s ten years old and probably ninety pounds soaking wet. Another friend told me that her daughter came home and declared that she no longer liked her brown, curly hair. That, in order to be pretty, she should have straight, blonde hair. She’s eight. Eight.

When I heard these stories, I thought of my hair toe. I thought of how I was embarrassed about my bigger breasts when I was in middle school, so I would use a wired bra with a sports bra layered on top to make my chest seem smaller like my friends. (Insane, I know.) I thought about how I also wanted blonde hair when I was younger, and at one point, I tried Sun-In. But then my mother saved me from a head of orange hair and said, “Absolutely not.” She told me my hair is stunning and that one day, I’d appreciate it. She told me that I was blessed, and that one day, I’d appreciate my boobs, too.

And, yes, she was right.

But that doesn’t mean comments from others stopped when I was an adult. It just means you get better at filtering them out. But has anyone stopped to think about why that is a skill that we have to perfect? Why can’t we, especially as women, get better at cheering one another on? Why must we try to illuminate one another’s imperfections?

I wish I had a neat and tidy answer for you, I really do. All I know is that even though we’ve gotten better about being less horrible to one another, we still have a long way to go.

It makes my head spin knowing that I have nieces in my life who are already criticizing their appearance. Their thighs. Their hair texture. Color. The size of their jeans.

And they’re some of the lucky ones, as they have families and friends and people in their lives who champion their brilliance. Their humor. Their wit. And yes, they are also told they’re beautiful, just the way they are.

But even still, I think we need to be better to one another. I think we need to champion our friends in their successes, and be an ear to listen when they’re having a rough time. I think we should stop caring how other people mother, or what they do in their downtime, or how their marriage works, and spend more time worrying about what’s going on under our own roofs. I think that we need to mention our friends in a name full of opportunity, even when they’re not standing in it. I think we need to remind our daughters and our sons that what matters is their heart. That they should lead with their love. With their compassion. With their empathy. With their hope.

I think we need to teach our children that a person’s character is never based on how they look, but rather on how they make others feel — and I hope we strive to raise a generation that makes others feel seen, heard, and loved.

To leave a person a little bit brighter after they have left your presence? There’s just infinite beauty in that.

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