Pretty (Ugly Before)

a rant for monday evening

It was Thanksgiving—My hair was curled to a crisp, paired with a dress worth more than the meal, draped a body that I hadn’t had since middle school— and I never felt more ugly.

I would like to challenge anyone older than me who claims that my generation is “woke” or “accepting” to just spend a day with one of us. Even better, invite them to a nice dinner. Take some notes while you’re at it. What are they wearing? Did they ask for a picture? Which angle did you take the picture from? How many takes did it take to get that “perfect story shot?” Count how many times the word “fat” is said. You might also hear “big back” or “pig” depending on how “chronically online” your dinner date is. No matter what happens, I can guarantee you that you’ll leave the dinner with a different idea of what my generation is. We’re just as bad as you. In fact, we’re worse.

Last fall was a difficult time in my life. I was overwhelmed both academically and socially. If I wasn’t in class, then I was in the library doing homework. If I wasn’t doing homework, I was around my friends. I wouldn’t say we were hanging out necessarily, for I spent most of my time with them wondering what they truly thought of me. Either way, this mental schedule left little time for me to do what I needed to do—eat. I ended up losing fifteen pounds in a span of two to three months. I didn’t notice how apparent it had become until I returned home for Thanksgiving break.

I tried to let it slide at first. Random family members kept telling me how I looked more “healthy” and thin since the last time they saw me. At first I assumed that this was normal. After all, my family is who I spend most of my time with, so it would be normal for them to notice a change in my appearance. My friends eventually chimed in on the subject too. But unlike the adults in my life, they used the words “skinnier” and “prettier” interchangeably. It taught me that being skinny and being pretty are practically the same thing. I didn’t reach a breaking point until I got a message from a complete stranger.

I posted a picture of myself on my instagram story, wearing my new skims dress that fit me better than before. Before I even took the picture, I spent thirty minutes heating up hot-rollers, five minutes putting them in my hair, and an hour letting the curlers sit while I applied my makeup ever so carefully.

I put my contour on my cheekbones, jawline, and collarbones. Everyone always says that my bone structure is my best feature. It’s something that I grew very confident in throughout high school and college. At one point, it was the only thing I liked about myself. But I looked in the mirror with discontent. My bones went from defined to too defined. The one thing I liked about my appearance was gone. Yet I still kept fighting.

Looking at my camera roll now, I can see that I took 58 photos of myself that night, but only “favorited” one of them. My face is too dimly lit to see any imperfections, and my body is perfectly posed to highlight just how tiny it is. The picture got 22 likes. Someone even sent me a message too. About an hour after I put the image up, an old acquaintance from school messaged me saying that “my post highschool glow-up is what encourages them to keep going.” Most of you probably think I’m being over-sensitive, and just need to accept the compliment and move on. But I don’t think any of you understand what this comment implies: I’m pretty now, but was ugly before.

The idea of a “glow-up” has become a phenomenon for people my age. The phrase combines the word glow with growing up, essentially saying that something or someone has become more attractive than they were before. I hear the phrase at least ten times a day, on my phone and in conversation. As much as my generation hates to admit it, we are all obsessed with our looks. But it’s not in the typical selfish way one would expect. Sure, people care about what they look like, but what matters even more is what other people think about you. Not just your friends or family, but random people you pass on the street. Anyone that looks at you is a threat. There’s always something wrong with you, something you’re expected to fix.

“Glowing-up” is all about fixing yourself. It’s not about growing as a person, but adapting to the changing standards and desires of society. As much as people try to claim it as a positive thing, the effects of it couldn’t be further from that. To say someone has “glown-up,” inherently implies that they were ugly before. People say this phrase thinking it would make someone else feel better. For me, it had the opposite effect.

Coming to terms with my adolescence has been difficult. Lots of people would do anything to go back to their childhoods. I just can’t say the same. When I look back on my childhood and teenage years, I don’t think about the memories I made or the people I met. I just think about one thing: how I looked. I’ve always thought of myself as ugly. I remember holding my breath in fear of getting my school picture back in the mail, scared that there was going to be something wrong with it. I have no physical memories of vacations or dinners with my family, for I refused to have a picture taken. I didn’t want there to be evidence of such an ugly thing.

This issue only became worse once I reached high school, and dating boys became a standard to be pretty. Not a single boy had ever had a crush on me until I reached college, for I was not considered attractive at my school. In fact, I was considered “fat.” I remember sitting in photography class, watching one of my friends laugh as her boyfriend at the time called me a “fat-ass.” I can feel the embarrassment of going to the school dance, and being the only one in my friend group that didn’t dance with a guy. When I think of my younger self, my mind becomes so engulfed with self-hatred and anxiety that one would think that I haven’t matured at all.

When I got this message about how I had “glown-up” it just solidified my fears up to this point: I was ugly. The girl I used to be was ugly, and I should be proud of the girl I am now: a hungry anxious maniac who spends way too much time focusing on others to even develop her own personality. At least she has a thigh gap, right?

I’m grateful that my mental and physical health has improved since this. But I still get told about my supposed “glow-up” almost daily. Every time I open up my phone I get a new video telling me about a problem that I have (and urgently need to fix using this code for 10% off). If I eat too much, I’m “fat,” but if I don’t eat enough then I don’t “love myself.” I used to let things like these shape what I thought my value was as a person. Occasionally I still let it slip. But what is more important now is who I think I am, and reminding myself of who I used to be.

That little ugly girl isn’t just a memory. She’s a person. She’s who I am today, the reason why I have become the woman I am. I might be a bit taller, but when I look in the mirror I see her face. Her beautiful face, one that I’m lucky enough to share. To call her ugly is to call me ugly too. I’m proud to say I don’t think she’s ugly anymore. She’s the real me. And that might just be good enough.