There are times when I just want an honest assessment of how attractive I am. Beauty may be subjective, but it’s clear that our subjective opinions on it tend to follow the same basic principles. After all, generational sex symbols very much exist and their widespread appeal suggests that our tastes are not as unique to us as we might think.
The mass availability of information in the modern world shrouds our understanding of beauty in even more confusion. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what the upper echelon of beauty looked like, but spending any amount of time on social media makes that impossible. I don’t even play around with beauty filters that smooth out skin and slim faces because the idea of liking what I see too much messes with my head. If I grow attached to a perfected version of myself, then I’ll never be satisfied by reality again. Unless, of course, I return to Korea for a little surgical assistance.
Beauty is rather easy to perceive in others, but in ourselves, it’s much more difficult. We’re so used to the forward-facing, head-on view we see in the mirror that any slight deviation we see in pictures looks incredibly wrong. Most mornings, I wash up and look in the mirror happy with what I see. Then I’ll look at a candid photo of me taken by a friend or my mother— who might be the worst culprit of unflattering photos — and I am unable to recognize the alien creature that seems to have taken my place. I’m left to wonder which view is more accurate to how other people see me, and whether they think as poorly of my side profile as I do.
Appearance is a rare case where knowing the so-called “truth” usually isn’t beneficial; even if we want an objective understanding of how attractive we are, it really does us no good in the long run. Hearing that we’re not very attractive is an obvious blow to our self-esteem, but even a positive assessment links our happiness too closely to our beauty: If all of our self-confidence comes from being beautiful, then aging, health complications and even something as mundane as a bad hair day can be mentally crippling.
Physical attractiveness has always been a touchy subject of conversation for me. Part of me thinks that if I speak freely and unabashedly about it, others will glean from my openness that I’m confident in my own appearance. The opposite approach of completely refraining from such topics might help make the conversation more comfortable, but it could signal that my appearance is an insecurity, which I also don’t want others to think. Especially when talking about attractive celebrities, there’s a tension that arises from the fact that even a celebrity who doesn’t fit my preferences is probably more attractive than everyone involved in the conversation. If a friend thinks negatively about a celebrity’s appearance, who knows what they would have to say about mine?
I seem to be constantly fighting the urge to ask my friends what they really think of me, even if I know it’s not a productive question. My closest friends certainly have opinions about my appearance, even if, like the good friends they are, they’d never share some of them. There is no upside to knowing where you truly lie on the spectrum of beauty — you should compliment your friends and tell them they look good, not because their appearance in and of itself deserves praise, but because you want them to be confident and happy. You may not like how you look in an unflattering picture, but if it’s capturing a happy memory, then you should consider it a good photo. Besides, if physical attractiveness is measured by how much happiness someone’s appearance brings you, then even my wonkiest looking friends are beautiful in my eyes.
Despite the tone of this column thus far, I’ve more or less reached a healthy relationship with my appearance. I certainly have my flair-ups of insecurities, but I’m at a point where I trust that my closest friends aren’t spending time with me because of my appearance, nor in spite of it. When I’m around the people I love, I make them smile and they make me smile, so what more could I really ask for?
Noah Do is a fourth year student in the College of Arts & Sciences. His fortnightly column Noah’s Arc documents his journey through the flood that is college. He can be reached at [email protected]
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