1.5 – The Pretty People

Standing in the dressing room yesterday, small talk ran back and forth between my co-star and I. (I’m not on a show, I’m currently acting in a local theatre production). I watched her get ready, not in a pervy way, and made a remark about how envious I was. The girl is a beauty. Twenty-three, slim and fit, beautiful hair and eyes. She has a child, just like me, and yet, I envy her style. Such confidence, pose, swagger.
I avoid my own reflection, though you wouldn’t know that by my compulsive desire to post every picture I take of myself on the social networking sites. I look at this girl and wonder why she isn’t marketing herself more. Visually, she’s a stunner. She’s in college, and she does choreography: definitely a triple threat.
She asked me why I was envious. I replied, “well, you’re beautiful.” She smiled coyly and said she was her own worst critic. I told her pretty people always think that. She responded, “pretty people think that? Aren’t you one of those pretty people.” I looked in the mirror and saw all of the things I don’t like, consciously and subconsciously comparing myself to this ideal sitting just a few feet from me and without missing a beat, I replied, “oh, god no.”
On the ride home, after rehearsal finished, I couldn’t help dissect that entire conversation, as I tend to do with just about every piece of dialogue I share with people. Am I one of those pretty people who is oblivious to it or am I being realistic, seeing myself for what I am: average.
Inspired to self evaluate, I curled my hair and looked at myself from every angle for far too long into the night. Am I? Could I? Maybe. Maybe not. Pretty is such an odd word. An odd feeling. Based on my perspective, I wouldn’t meet standards. Based on the worlds…probably not. But maybe my standard has been molded by the world. And this is where I get confused so I just say forget it, throw my hair in a bun and move on to the next thing.
Until tomorrow…

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