(no subject)
I'm tired of the word "pretty." i prefer "beautiful." less masogynostic. less shallow. "Pretty" seems to set a universal expectation for women, a superficial expectation that should've been outdated years ago. it coincides with women's classic sophisticated sexually adhering to men clean-cut child-bearing slipper-fetching status of the 1950's. spotless. perfect. victimized and bound. eating disorders are a mockery of this standard. People starve and puke themselves into a state of restrictive versus uncontained frenzy. its an internal wall, like the yellow wallpaper. only this war is self-induced. society is far from keeping women contained as is visible on the myriad block-long billboards in times square. are women protesting this? are we containing ourselves for fear that we would otherwise be exploited? are we afraid that the opposite of containment is chaos and dispersion? The catalyst to the internal battle is a societal promotion of a modernized version of housewife and brothel whore. Women, in the glory of their victorious independence, are taking it upon themselves to move backward on the social feminist chain. Brothels are imitated in R&B music videos, like a trend circulating, like the 80's off-the-shoulder sweatshirts that are coming back, H&M-ified of course. "Pretty" puts women back years, in a period of standards and pleasing and gratifying others' temptations. we are "pretty" for others. we are "beautiful" for ourselves. "Beautiful" implies rawness, sustenance, contribution, pride, growth, imperfection, awareness, acceptance. It implies a face without make up, breasts not constricted by wire, legs void of the ocassional razor mark in a slightly less than perfect attempt at making oneself pretty. beautiful IS the so-called failed attempt, the flaw. Pretty is virtually unreachable, as it should be. Pretty is harsh. It doesn't allow us to recognize and value our imperfections. No amount of plastic surgery can beautify anyone. And what's the point of being pretty enough anyway? "When my nose is small/eyelids lifted/boobs are perky/tummy is tucked, I will have a RIGHT to have a great career/meet a great guy/walk down the street with my head high and a sense of ownership and entitlement. Life will be grand!" But when spotting our flaws becomes the focal point of our existence, and when fixing them becomes the perpetual cyclic cure, we are apt to live our lives in a never-ending feat of editing and re-editing our bodies, one fixated flaw prompting another, and yet another. When the focus is taken off of fixing ourselves, we can get let down our guard and note our beauty, not our superimposed attractiveness and charm. The face that we wake up with in the morning will suffice, will not make us better or worse than the way we looked last night. will not be the determinant of whether its going to be a good day or a bad day. The body, before it is primped and prodded, will do just fine, and will not be the determinant of our worth, sexual or otherwise.
She feels this way because of a boy. The Maria that others know is "polite and refined." But feeling pretty renders her insane. "maybe its fleas" she says. perhaps.
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any girl who isn't me tonight.
I feel charming,
Oh, so charming
It's alarming how charming I feel!
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I'm real.
See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!
I feel stunning
And entrancing,
Feel like running and dancing for joy,
For I'm loved
By a pretty wonderful boy!
Have you met my good friend Maria,
The craziest girl on the block?
You'll know her the minute you see her,
She's the one who is in an advanced state of shock.
She thinks she's in love.
She thinks she's in Spain.
She isn't in love,
She's merely insane.
It must be the heat
Or some rare disease,
Or too much to eat
Or maybe it's fleas.
Keep away from her,
Send for Chino!
This is not the
Maria we know!
Modest and pure,
Polite and refined,
Well-bred and mature
And out of her mind!
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty
That the city should give me its key.
A committee
Should be organized to honor me.
I feel dizzy,
I feel sunny,
I feel fizzy and funny and fine,
And so pretty,
Miss America can just resign!
Funny, I didn't know a boy could have this kind of power. I wonder if I'D revert to my natural state of modesty and refinement upon falling out of love.
But nobody ever said anything about feeling beautiful...and if a boy could transform you so magically into feeling pretty, much like the way alcohol has the power to make one feel sexy, when the high is over, what's left? Beauty on the other hand, is not a cop-out, a casual remark, a temporary buzz. It is not materialistic or superficial or marked by the desire or attention received others. It is ongoing, and should be valued as such. Every woman reading this should tell herself today that she is beautiful, no matter what the circumstances in her life, no matter what on her face or her body she deems flawed. Your so-called imperfections do not define you, but they do contribute to your wholeness and keep the fact that you are a fantastically driven biological life force in tact. that is to say, we have a purpose on this planet. and the last time i checked, it wasn't to fit the mold of every billboard, it wasn't to appease the opposite sex, it wasn't an ability to manipulate employers into hiring us over the next woman because we're thinner and wearing a darker shade of red. I am going to strongly consider my purpose as a woman in this world, for the sake of feeling beautiful, for the sake of feeling honored, for the sake of generating a sense of self-love throughout my bones and blood and curves and flesh. I hope, for the sake of women, that we regard ourselves as an amazing, driven, liberated collective, honor the collective and the individuality it takes to create such a charismatic voice, fuck the prettiness standards that we have been conditioned to adhere to, and feel the beauty that resides in the stagnant, soulful roots of womanhood. not a lady, not a body, not a small voice of a trophy wife standing beside her man, but as incredible, immaculate, beautiful.
She feels this way because of a boy. The Maria that others know is "polite and refined." But feeling pretty renders her insane. "maybe its fleas" she says. perhaps.
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any girl who isn't me tonight.
I feel charming,
Oh, so charming
It's alarming how charming I feel!
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I'm real.
See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!
I feel stunning
And entrancing,
Feel like running and dancing for joy,
For I'm loved
By a pretty wonderful boy!
Have you met my good friend Maria,
The craziest girl on the block?
You'll know her the minute you see her,
She's the one who is in an advanced state of shock.
She thinks she's in love.
She thinks she's in Spain.
She isn't in love,
She's merely insane.
It must be the heat
Or some rare disease,
Or too much to eat
Or maybe it's fleas.
Keep away from her,
Send for Chino!
This is not the
Maria we know!
Modest and pure,
Polite and refined,
Well-bred and mature
And out of her mind!
I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty
That the city should give me its key.
A committee
Should be organized to honor me.
I feel dizzy,
I feel sunny,
I feel fizzy and funny and fine,
And so pretty,
Miss America can just resign!
Funny, I didn't know a boy could have this kind of power. I wonder if I'D revert to my natural state of modesty and refinement upon falling out of love.
But nobody ever said anything about feeling beautiful...and if a boy could transform you so magically into feeling pretty, much like the way alcohol has the power to make one feel sexy, when the high is over, what's left? Beauty on the other hand, is not a cop-out, a casual remark, a temporary buzz. It is not materialistic or superficial or marked by the desire or attention received others. It is ongoing, and should be valued as such. Every woman reading this should tell herself today that she is beautiful, no matter what the circumstances in her life, no matter what on her face or her body she deems flawed. Your so-called imperfections do not define you, but they do contribute to your wholeness and keep the fact that you are a fantastically driven biological life force in tact. that is to say, we have a purpose on this planet. and the last time i checked, it wasn't to fit the mold of every billboard, it wasn't to appease the opposite sex, it wasn't an ability to manipulate employers into hiring us over the next woman because we're thinner and wearing a darker shade of red. I am going to strongly consider my purpose as a woman in this world, for the sake of feeling beautiful, for the sake of feeling honored, for the sake of generating a sense of self-love throughout my bones and blood and curves and flesh. I hope, for the sake of women, that we regard ourselves as an amazing, driven, liberated collective, honor the collective and the individuality it takes to create such a charismatic voice, fuck the prettiness standards that we have been conditioned to adhere to, and feel the beauty that resides in the stagnant, soulful roots of womanhood. not a lady, not a body, not a small voice of a trophy wife standing beside her man, but as incredible, immaculate, beautiful.