In my unofficial polling of 100 women in my life, the fist question I
I asked was “do you think you’re beautiful?”
Most women were uncomfortable with a yes or no reply to this question. It seems that we all all have felt beautiful at least in one or two moments of our adult lives and there were a few who could answer simply with yes. Just yes. With comfort, ease and honesty. Not vanity. That’s what I’m after.
So what makes us feel beautiful? Was it in the hair and makeup of it all? Being more of a tomboy kind of girl, I wondered if in fact that is what I was missing? A beauty regimen? A ritual? What does that even mean?
Other than general daily hygiene, showering ect. What do YOU do or not do everyday to beautify yourself? Where did you learn this?
I examined my own life and realized that I had been welcome to be as girly as I wanted to be. I can remember spending weekends at my Gram’s house and her allowing me to play dress up with her long flowing night gowns. She had drawers and drawers of them. Lacey and elegant. Some longer, some shorter. Nothing trashy or anything, just silky, soft and beautiful. They made me feel glamorous and I used to prance around like I was a movie star in a Rogers and Hammerstein musical.
Later, before I went into high school, my stepmom arranged for me to have a sit down session with her and a MaryKay makeup lady who step by step talked to me about face wash and how to put on makeup. I thought I was so cool. It was like an official coming of age event. I had my own makeup and felt pro. But being the fat girl left me always having to rely on my personality and making people laugh to survive socially. The makeup and hair never really became such a priority to me because I acted like I didn’t care about all that… I was cool and funny and made fun of myself (and others if I’m being honest) and it made me feel like people would then overlook my appearance and get on board with the “Mandi” I was offering. The faux confident Mandi that didn’t care about “such things”.
Well here I am at 30 years old and that old plan has run out of steam…crashed and burned.
The reality is that I do care. Not in the name of vanity, but in the name of loving myself an accepting myself.
In the name of wanting to be the best example. In the name of reclaiming that feeling I had when twirling around in my Grandma’s nightgowns.