The wounds of growing up being treated as unattractive and being black in a predominantly white space are not easy to recover from. I truly did not understand that I was pretty until well past my formative years and now I find myself obsessed with my appearance. The only word that comes to mind to describe how I feel is vain but that does not feel like the right word to use. Maybe saying I am obsessed is overkill but I find myself having negative feelings about being seen when I do not feel attractive physically. I called a friend vain once in an attempt to be cruel. I think I meant it in a way that I thought she was beautiful and she seemed secure in herself, whereas I was not. So to be mean I called her vain, not understanding the that you could look good and feel good about it too. I feel guilty for it every day because I think my words hurt her, I was also like 15 so I forgive myself. I do not believe most 15 year olds are truly kind or secure but I can't help but feel guilty that my comments may be lasting in the same way I remember where all my insecurities stem from.
One of my earliest memories of something about my appearance being pointed out in a negative way was in fourth grade. I was maybe nine at this point I think and I had a crush on this boy who did not reciprocate it and in turn pointed out an insecurity I did not think to have yet. Crushes in elementary school were never serious, not that they should have been but in comparison to why and who I develop crushes on at 20 it makes me giggle. It was about who was the fastest, who had the coolest shoes, and who had dimples ( I have only one dimple so maybe this is why nobody had a crush on me). All things based on surface level things that are outwardly apparent. I rarely care how cool people's shoes are now or how fast they are when considering if I genuinely like them now. My ex would wear socks and teva sandals in great frequency and I never said anything even though if you made him stand behind a curtain next to my grandpa with only their feet visible they would have been indistinguishable. These things that mattered so much in adolescence matter so little now so why am I still so conscious of comments made over a decade ago. He pointed out the peach fuzz above my lip, I am not a particularly hairy individual and even if I had been it is something everybody has so why am I so bothered by hair on my body and face still to this day. I still find myself focused on it but maybe not as concerned that someone will see me and think wow that girl has hair how gross!!! I mean that I still buy those silly little pink facial razors they market to women but when I notice this feature on other people it is never something I look at and think it has any impact on their beauty. I think this incident with the boy from fourth grade opened my eyes to the issue of being conscious of body hair as a woman a lot earlier than society tells us to. It prepared me greatly though for this issue during middle school and the stress of shaving my legs for the first time.
Another memory of my appearance being pointed out in a negative way is my sophomore year of high school, my high school in Iowa. I look back at pictures and you can tell this was a time when my concern with appearance became more prevalent. I started wearing mascara regularly and always had my hair done. I was not necessarily secure in my looks yet but I had finally caught onto the fact that your appearance changes how people treat you. This specific incident involved a boy who I would have considered my friend at the time. It occurred during first period I think, it was my English class and I sat across from him. I had just gotten my hair done in braids, shoulder length box braids. I really liked them and was happy to have my hair done. He took a picture of me sitting across from him and captioned it “this bitch looks like chief keef . He sent it to some group chat with other boys in my grade. I was not particularly popular but my school was small enough that everyone knew each other, so one of the boys in the group chat sent it to me. I am not really sure why he sent it to me and I do not think it was out of the goodness of his heart. I just remember feeling so upset I called my mom and made her pick me up from school and told her I felt unwell. I just went home and cried, my mom knew I wasn't sick but still let me come home early. My mom eventually got it out of me why I was so upset and told his mom (small town again everyone knows each other). His mom made him apologize to me, I refused to see him, so a text message sufficed. It was incredibly uncomfortable to return to class every day after that and I am constantly reminded by myself anytime I get my hair done that my appearance is constantly being scrutinized. At the time I was more upset about the dig at my looks and being considered masculine and attractive. Today though I think I'm a little more mad he referred to me as bitch, maybe tomorrow I will be mad again about the exhausting existence of being a black woman. I'll be mad at the standard we are held to and how people who don't understand intersectionality do not stop to consider their equation of whiteness to femininity and blackness to masculinity and despite many black women being hyper feminine they will never escape the views of people like Kyle Jeffrey.
It's taken a lot for me to learn to appreciate how I look and know my self worth and value are not based on appearance. So you would think I worked the same way to be secure when it comes to things not regarding my appearance but I still feel myself feeling like a reflection of how people treat me. What's the word for this, insecure, no low self esteem, whatever translates to loving myself physically most of the time but feeling bad about who I am as a person due to my need for others' validation. So after thinking, maybe vain is the correct word for me. Until I learn to appreciate myself as a whole person and stop engaging with people who make me feel lesser than and treat me as lesser than, I am vain. I will learn to not be vain as I practice appreciation for who I am despite allowing myself to be in repeated situations due to low self esteem, the same way I learned with my appearance.
