Beauty Queen: a re-post

My friend Lindsay gave me the honour of guest blogging on her site a few times in 2014 and I thought I'd share some of the love here.

Maybe, once upon a time, we all wanted to be That Girl. The one with the mile-long legs, the infectious smile, the eyes that sparkle like two freaking sapphires or rubies or whatever. The Popular One.

The girl with the wardrobe of a magazine model and the hair of a Greek goddess.

The girl with the flawless skin, the perky personality. The perky well, everything.

All the boys chased her in high school and all the jobs chased her after university.

People love her just for being her. She doesn’t have to try-she just naturally is. All that.

We mumble.

We grumble.

And we say it’s all a bunch of bull.

Crap.

We declare it’s what on the inside that counts, the heart that matters, the character that rises to the

tip

top.

But as we watch the masses fawn over our Ms. Popular-Has-it-All-Together, it’s hard not to wonder if that’s how this life really works.

Because I have to say- sometimes it just sucks being The Nice Girl, the one whose personalitymakes her cute, the one that all the boys only notice to talk to about their girl Problems. I know because I was That Girl. This second one.

When I was little my mum told me I was “healthy, not skinny.” So I lived for years thinking I was a fatty. And then I really was a fatty, but that’s a story for another time.

When I was in high school, my best guy mate told me that guys only looked at me because of my hair and my boobs-my legs were merely “okay” and nothing else, including my face, was worth noting. The thing is, he wasn’t even trying to be mean.

So there I was, this personality-rich, nice curls, chubby girl going around town in overalls for years on end, waiting for somebody to tell me my worth or some boy to tell me I was pretty.

It was a long road going nowhere. And it took me a long time to realize I could write my own version of this story.

All this ranting is going somewhere, I promise, and here it is. I dare say it-as a culture, we are obsessed with appearance.

We want to see photos of pretty people, watch beauty on our flat screens, read through others’pristine lives on their blogs.

Even last night, as I snuggled into the depths of my man, warmed by his scent, the blanket and the night, I watched the actress giggle onscreen and I rolled my eyes. She’s gotten so pudgy in her older years and look at those wrinkles ‘neath her eyes.

My

word.

Who do I think I am?

Ascribing to one creed and wholly living in another.

It’s funny because the local newspaper just did a feature story on me.

Little

‘ole

me!

And in it I talk about my personal photography-all the stuff I do behind the scenes.

Just because I can.

It turns out that most of that just-for-fun stuff is just girls playing dress up. Girls laughing and being them, me simply capturing the essence of them.

Because I look into the eyes of all these girls around me and maybe I don’t see them wanting to be That Girl in high school anymore, but I do see girls everywhere, with lingering questions in their eyes.

Will he like me for being me.

Am I good enough.

Am I skinny enough.

Am I pretty enough.

Am I enough.

AmIenoughAmIenoughAmIenough.

And I am here to declare an emphatic, resounding YES.

If I-with more acne at 30 than at 20, stretch marks galore and saggy, well, almost

everything-am enough, then you are too.

I embrace the essence of me-ness and fight to not compare my beauty or my flaws to anything or anyone else’s.

Yes, my sweet husband tells me I’m beautiful one-or four-times a week.

But even when he doesn’t, I will keep my chin up and know who I am, what I possess. He doesn’t define me. No other soul does.

I am more than what anyone says.

I am worth more than others’ opinions. You are too.

Because yeah, we aren’t in high school anymore and thank goodness for that.

Because we “everyday girls”-we are beautiful too.

Because this mucky, wonderful mess of a life of mine has gotten better with every decade, even with the added smile lines.

Because beauty, the kind that’s on the inside, really does shine out, out, OUT for all to see.

One of my favorite responses ever, came from a boudoir client and went something like this:“holy $#!+…I had NO idea I could look like that! THANK YOU! My husband’s jaw will need lifting….”

On the inside; on the outside. Sometimes we all just need a mirror or a roll of 35mm to show someone else what we’ve seen all along.