Guy's Perspective: Beautiful

{By Anonymous}

Taylor Swift. Carrie Underwood. Kate Upton. Kim Kardashian. Colbie Callait. Pop culture produces almost as many airbrushed female celebrities (and apparently a fascination with country stars) as it does terms to describe their physique. Chick. Hot. Doll. Sexy. Nothing short of perfection portrayed or admired. Flaws minimized or surgically addressed. Hundreds of thousands of dollars every year for one person’s outer appearance. Body has become god.

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ This antique cliché rears its head time and again, in every genre of life. But it almost universally accompanies some variable. ‘You really failed that last test at school.’ I need to study harder for the next one. ‘That outfit looks horrendous.’ Note to self: plaid shorts and striped tops do not go together. ‘Holy crap you shoot worse than my grandma.” I can practice kicking with the inside of my good instead of the toe.

‘You’re ugly.’ Suddenly, the variable skipped town. 

I cannot change my body absent unnatural intervention. How am I supposed to change how I look? Do I layer makeup? Do I hide behind designer clothing? How can I solve a problem I was born with? The words that could never hurt me just broke my heart. 

Regardless of the origin, self-inflicted or external, words that cut to the unchangeable core of existence hurt. They scar. They stare blankly, constant reminders of what I wish I could attain, but never will. I don’t live on a bird’s diet. I don’t have a full staff of dressing assistants. I don’t have curves like a Kardashian or hair like Rihanna (though she’s GOT to be close to exhausting the realms of the color palette). I don’t attract guys like flies to honey. I’m not on the cover of People Magazine. I’m me; plain, ordinary me. Unlovely and unloved. What did I do to get stuck with myself in the first place?

Denying the reality of this internal conflict – and of its external results that quickly become far too obvious – would be shallow and inappropriate. The pain, the hurt, the self-deprivation is far too real. I do not write to say the struggle does not exist, I write to say it shouldn’t.

‘Congratulations, writer!’, you say. ‘You have wasted nearly an entire page and five minutes of my time to tell me something that I already know. I know I shouldn’t worship my body. I know I shouldn’t be obsessed with reality. But ‘should’ is not reality. I can’t do it.

To borrow a weakly humorous phrase, ‘nothing is impossible. The word itself includes ‘possible.'' Escape presents a difficult road, but one that promises freedom from bondage to the deity of Body. Accepting who I am and living content in that fact is not a method tried and found wanting, but a lifestyle found publicly difficult and left untried. Do I honestly fool myself enough to believe those airbrushed figurines on magazine covers are happy? Do I honestly believe they have it made? Celebrity marriages do not last an average of three weeks for no reason. After three weeks, the thrill is gone; the emotional high; the searching for meaning. Even in their mansions with ‘friends,’ money and a perfect body, they still feel insecure. Because they wonder what would happen if they ever became less than perfect.

Body is a demanding god. It is also a treacherous one. It demands your entire focus, devotion and life, then abandons. Attachment to such a deity is not service. It is slavery. At the point where we submit to Body, our desires become insatiable. Nothing fulfills us. Perfection remains just one tuck, nip or trim away. Perfection means skipping one more meal, wearing one size smaller waist, weighing one less pound. Perfection never arrives.

You are beautiful for who you are. The bodies of airbrushed stars are just that, airbrushed. Unreal. Contrived. Those celebrities will never maintain their appearance; you shouldn’t try to reach it.

Those entities (the inhuman term used purposely) who call you ugly, who criticize your appearance, who condemn your being, are not worth your time. Don’t maintain friendships with entities who see your physique and nothing more. Their shallowness, their insincerity makes their ‘friendship’ status a liability to you. Lose it.

True friends go deeper than the skin, than the makeup or the designer brands. They see you for who you really are. They see your soul. They see your compassion, your dedication, your love, your being. Individuals truly worthy of your friendship will affirm your beauty, not because of how you look, but because of who you are. Looks change. Being rarely does. Surround yourself with people who love you, with people think you look pretty without your makeup on.         

To those of you who are surrounded by true friends, but refuse to accept yourself for who you are, know that what you think never changes the truth. Culture worships Body. Remind me the last time culture got some life issue right? Oh. Yeah. Never. I urge you to rise above the storm, see yourself in new eyes. See yourself deeper than your skin. Realize all the ones who love you. Believe that you are beautiful. You are.

Ultimately, every single one of us goes to the same place: assisted living wearing diapers (again) rocking open back gowns as top fashion (ICU) and eating all meals in mush form (also a repeat from 70-some years ago). In the final analysis, Body cannot deliver on its promise. It claims to make you beautiful; it only subjects you to unbearable loads. It offers societal acceptance; the ‘society’ that accepts you on the condition of Body is no society worth participation.

You are beautiful for who you are. You are beautiful because you are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are beautiful because your being goes beyond the paltry two millimeters of skin covering your body. You are beautiful for what you feel and how you love. True friends recognize this in you. Best friends affirm it and stand as constant reminders so you never lose sight of who you truly are.