Here’s to Looking to You

 I have my own opinions on aestheticism, the late 20th-century art movement that placed heavy emphasis on beauty. The artists would have said, “art for art’s sake,” while I generally like substance with my style. I’ve always had an interest in looking “cool.” I have always loved colorful things, putting glitter on all my possessions and playing dress-up. Perhaps it’s a gender thing, I wouldn’t put it past me. Girls are taught to be pretty. I’m sure I’ve got loads of ingrained gendered dogma in me. Nevertheless, by eighth grade, I had committed myself to be the “cool” one. I wore the same three thrift shop floral dresses and Converse sneakers virtually every day and thought I invented fashion. 

I’ve had my fair share of different looks since then. I don’t think there was a single day during my sophomore year of high school where I didn’t wear bright red lipstick and have soft curls in my hair. 

Sometimes I look back enviously at my old Instagram feed. Like most people, I of course have a complicated relationship with my body. When I see my younger self, when I see my younger body, I see someone who is much smaller than the self I have now. And I think,  “why did I spend so much time being insecure? This was when I was the thinnest. This was when I was the prettiest.” But really, did I not think my body was going to change between the ages of 15 and nearly 22? 

I still have days where I recoil in the mirror. And I’m far from any true or pure form of self-acceptance. But there are a plethora of things I love about my look. Things that didn’t exist when I was a teenager. 

While I’m not remotely close to the standard definition of androgynous, I use to preform high feminity to the max. Fearing a t-shirt and jeans would mark me as lazy, or uninterested in my appearance, I didn’t own a pair of denim between ages 11 and 19. While they are not my favorite bottom of choice, especially during a pandemic when I don’t leave the home often, I feel pretty comfortable in jeans now. I used to be so anxious. I felt I had to prove I was “a pretty girl” every time I left my house.

I feel a similar way about my hair. Though I miss my long auburn locks, I’m so glad I did a big chop. After nearly four years off craving an above-the-shoulder bob, I finally caved in this year. The girl from my high school past, who was always so desperate to please, would have freaked.  

I like that I have a nose ring. I love that I have a tattoo. I laugh at the thought of me at 14, making a silent promise to myself that I wouldn’t get any ink done before I was married.  

“A bride with a tattoo was just too distasteful.” What was I thinking?  

But I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I was a kid. In a kid’s body with a kid’s mind. I’m glad I’ve grown and changed. Maybe in 10 years, I’ll make fun of my appearance now. Maybe I’ll have long hair and my tattoo will be lasered off. Whatever the case is, I think I’ll be okay with it.