I have privilege.
Quite a lot. If we were to count up the ways in which I have it better than others, the numbers would be staggering. Don't think I don't feel guilty about that. I do. But this isn't a post about that.
This is a post about beauty.
I've always been conventionally attractive. I'm a natural size zero, with D-cup boobs. I have long, shiny hair and big eyes, and I've been told my freckles and crooked smile are cute. My voice is high-pitched and sweet, I giggle a lot, and I'm (usually) charming. So it's no surprise that people find me attractive. While I don't– I suffer from numerous issues, in fact– I can't deny the effect that my general appearance seems to have on people, inscrutable though it is to me.
This has its perks. People are, in general, more friendly to me. I can get free drinks just by asking. People jump up to help me or offer me things, everywhere I go. And it's nice. Even though I don't always want the attention, I would have to be incredibly foolish to deny that it's a privilege.
But there are times when I curse my appearance, and everything that comes with it. Times like now.
One of my dearest friends, one of the people I love most in this world, is mad at me because last time we went out, a man followed us around all night and flirted with me instead of her. She said she's tired of feeling like the token ugly friend, and she's upset that I led him on. Which is valid. I understand what it's like to be ignored. Not by straight men, no– I can count on one hand the number of times I've failed to be the center of attention among groups of potential admirers. But outside of that, in the realm where it matters, I know what it's like to be locked out, to feel cut off from everything. And it's not a nice feeling. It's awful. So I sympathize, I really do.
The thing is, though, I didn't realize what was happening. I thought he was flirting with both of us. I think my friend is one of the most beautiful people in this world, and I know many other people think so, too. So the thought of her being the "ugly friend" just fails to compute. I don't want to dismiss her feelings, because of course she knows her own experiences better than I do, and I'm quite socially awkward, really, so I don't notice things a lot of the time. And of course I will accept blame where blame is due. I did wrong, and I won't deny it. But, that being said, I don't understand. If I were to replay the night over again in my head (and believe me, I have been), I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment which I would change in order to make things right. She said she gave me an out, and I didn't take it. But I didn't realize what was happening, and I still don't. I was dissociating the whole night, on the brink of a depressive episode, trying to cope with a horrible midterm that I'd taken an hour before, and even the broadest social cue would have been lost on me, which, apparently, it was. I'm more than sorry, and I would do anything to make this better, but I don't understand how. I know I did wrong, but I don't know what.
It's easy to assign blame in these cases. "If I hadn't..." I say, and then you reply with "Well, but then if he had..." There are so many eventualities, and in the end, they really don't matter. That being said, though, I know that none of this would have happened if I didn't look like this. The man would still have come over to talk to us, because my friend is beautiful, and amazing, and I don't think there's a straight man on earth who wouldn't want to hit on her. But he would have ignored me, which is fine, because I don't want that kind of attention anyway, and she wouldn't have felt so bad. And I wouldn't be in danger now of losing one of the dearest people to my heart.
If I weren't so pretty.
If I didn't smile so much.
If I didn't talk like a Barbie doll.
It sounds petty to complain about these things. I know it does. And maybe, to some extent, it is. Some people would kill to have these problems, even for just a day.
Maybe just a day, though. Awful as it is to say, there are some things that people who aren't conventionally attractive just don't have to worry about.
I have few real friends, mostly because almost everyone either wants to date me, or have sex with me, and I don't want either. And even if I do find someone who likes me for me, inevitably, something like this happens. Everyone ends up jealous of me at some point, and I don't blame them, because it's awful to be in someone's shadow, but it means that I never get to keep anyone in my life, no matter how much I wish for them to stay. On the same token, I could have a date every weekend if I wanted to. Everyone wants to get with me. But it's rare that I find anyone who wants to stay. Once people get past my appearance, I'm just like anyone else, a complicated, broken girl who isn't right for everyone– and I understand, because of course I'm not everyone's cup of tea, and I wouldn't expect to be– but the rate of people loving-and-leaving me is so much higher than normal, and it's demoralizing, sometimes. And I can never go unnoticed. Sometimes, I just want to slink about, not have people stare at me, either like they want to bed me immediately, or they want to fight me for supremacy, but I turn heads everywhere I go, and I can never hide. I can wear my ugliest, rattiest clothes, go out with no makeup and my hair unbrushed, and people will still stop me to ask me out, or stare at me as I walk around, or try to talk to me, and I know I shouldn't complain, but sometimes I don't want attention. When I'm trying to stave off a panic attack, or when I'm struggling not to cry in public, and all I see are eyes, eyes, eyes, it feels like the most unfortunate thing in the world.
I didn't ask to be born this way, nor did I do anything to model myself in any particular likeness. My genes were fortunate, that's all. And it sucks. It's unfair. I know so many people who want so badly to be petite and curvy and feminine like me, and who, through whatever unhappy accident of fate, are not. I feel for them. Even I have wished that I was taller, more muscular, had a less babyish face, a different smile, anything. But in the end, it just comes down to happenstance.
I'm not complaining, not really. I don't deserve to. I'm just grieving the loss of yet another loved one in my life, turned away by my face.
Beauty is a blessing, I know. It's true. But it's a curse, too.