On Being Pretty

I have spent a lot of my life working really hard to be "pretty".

I have tried to buy clothes that are "flattering".  I have thought about how the "style" might "work for me".  I have tried to make my hair make sense in a world where wavy hair with fifty thousand cow-licks doesn't really make any sense.

I have struggled over favorite colors, perfumes, deodorants, shaving or not shaving, tattoo placement, lip gloss, make-up or lack thereof, and how to take the perfect selfie.

And last night I stood at a technical rehearsal for the experimental theatre ensemble I'm a part of with three of the most beautiful women I know, and we all stared in the full length mirrors of the dressing room and talked about the things that bother us about our bodies.

You know what?

I'm kinda done with that.

I've said this before, but now I think... I really might mean it.

I've come to a place where I actually like myself.

Not the person I think I should be, but the person I actually am.

I like purple.  My second favorite color is green.  I like sweaters and boots and scarves.  I like nail polish in weird colors.  I am bad at clipping my nails and remembering to groom certain parts of my body.  This morning I decided to shave my pubic hair into a weird shape.  I want at least four more tattoos.  I don't care if anybody else thinks they're cool or pretty, because they're for me.  Not them.  My eyes are just brown.  My hair is brown with streaks of blonde and grey and it is unruly and my husband cuts it for me at home.

I have ceased to be interested in pretty.  I am interested now in just being me.

I don't want to stand in front of the mirror with my three gorgeous friends talking about how much we hate our bodies.  They are beautiful.  I am beautiful.  And so are all of our flaws.  All the fat in the wrong places and the weird eyebrows and the armpit hair and the broad shoulders and the bubble butt.  Flaws are neat.  They make us who we freaking are.

I like to make weird faces.

I like to play character parts and dress in suspenders and newsboy hats and Doc Martens.  I like ripped up jeans.  I like vests.  I like swing dancing and little black dresses and silver eye shadow and painting random shapes on my face.

I don't know...  I feel like...  now that I get that just being yourself and living that out is one of the major points of being alive, I just want to get to it.  I'm so tired of hiding behind the things everybody else thinks I should be.

I've probably blogged about this subject here a hundred times, but I felt the need to blog again today because I think I've turned some kind of magic corner.  The other day I got an Instagram, and I posted a bunch of selfies today of me.  Just me.  Really tired me.  I was up til 2AM.  And I made a weird face.  And it wasn't pretty.  But it was great.  It was me.