How Life Treats You When You Aren’t One Of The Pretty Girls
A lot of people mistake me for a lesbian. Maybe it’s because I like to draw girls ―girls with big pouty lips, big wide eyes, hooded seductive lids, thin pixie-like faces, glass-sharp cheekbones, slender necks, and thin but curvy bodies. My drawing all look the same ― like Barbie after Barbie fresh out of the mold.
On the other hand, no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to fit to the proportions of that mold. Instead of big pouty lips, what I have is an uneven top and bottom lip ― not to mention Asian mono-lidded eyes, a big flat face, a wide neck, nonexistent cheekbones, and a lumpy body. No, I’m not a lesbian. I just want to be a pretty girl, but sadly, drawing beautiful girls isn’t going to fix that.
Life isn’t easy when you’re stuck in a body that doesn’t fit the standards of beauty that people seem to think today. No matter what you do ― no matter how hard you try to make yourself look pretty by scouring store after store for that perfect dress that’s going to fill in the weirdly protruding parts of your body and make them recede into beautiful angles and curves or that perfect product that would give you the illusion of a pretty face, no one will notice you. No one would look back in awe as you pass by. No one would single you out from a sea of faces. You are invisible.
Perhaps this is why psychology class makes me feel so depressed. Apparently, the most important factor for a male choosing his female mate is fitness. This means that she must have a gene pool superior enough to pass on to their future offspring. In other words, men, visual creatures as they are, go for girls with pretty faces and hot bodies.
I guess my gene pool is dead. Life just doesn’t go your way when everything fits weird and hangs and clings to the wrong places. Life does not treat you well when you’re a girl whose face looks peculiar and manly.
Sometimes, I actually do feel pretty damn good at myself. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection, I think “oh, that’s not so bad,” but people say so otherwise and my confidence level goes back to zero. I guess I’ll forever be the person behind the lens capturing moments full of beauty or the master artist that shapes and mold beauty out of nothing. If I can’t be pretty, then I will make perfection out of these fat fingers and thick wrists of mine.