All about the look

I suppose you all know that I'm not actually a giant green lizard (it's supposed to be Nessie). The icon is there not only to protect my identity (and, thus, those about whom I write), but it's ... ok, let's face it ... cuter than I am.

It has a jawline and a neck and a naked woman in its mouth, and I have none of those things. (The absence of the naked woman is perhaps the most acutely felt absence, but it's also the one that can change most easily.)

In fact, like just about everyone I know, I do not fit the current socially popular definition of "beautiful." It's probably too harsh to call me homely -- some would say I'm more attractive than I realize -- but I've never been someone who catches the attention of the eye, you might say. I'm the kind of girl who has to rely upon my personality.

There are a lot of reasons for this, but perhaps the most powerful one is that the images of "beauty" in our culture are impossible for most of us to attain.

Last week in my stats class, we were talking about the normal curve, and in an attempt to explain it, I offered an observation: If the curve were measuring attractiveness, the extreme ends would measure those humans who are, essentially, freaks -- either supermodels or people who are extraordinarily ugly -- and everyone else would be in the middle.

Most of the class started laughing when I said the word "freaks." And the professor said that, while she'd never heard it explained that way before, yes, the far ends of the curve could be considered freaks.

Now, before you chew me up over the fact that a normal curve would be most useful in measuring something that has definable parameters -- because "attractive" is not a concept that can be effectively operationalized, thanks to the simple and gracious reality that beauty is, in fact, in the eye of its beholder -- I would like to make my point. And it is thus:

Not only do many of us, myself included, constantly shower ourselves with distorted thoughts about our physical attractiveness, we are bombarded day and night, from every imaginable source, with images of beauty that most of us will never be able to attain.

In fact, I saw a really stunning commercial on TV today, produced by Dove, that show just how impossible it is for us to achieve the type of beauty that has been to elevated in our society. Because of my experience with photography and graphic design, I've long known that what we see in ads and on television aren't reflections of reality, but this video puts it all together in a way that was jarring even to me.

If self-esteem is a measurement of the gap between our actual self and our ideal self, most of us who regard these images -- even when we don't take them seriously -- will suffer bouts of poor self-esteem with regard to our personal beauty.

What's most annoying about this issue is that I can't see the way to a simple solution. What does it mean, for example, to use "real" women in advertising?

One of my friends wears extra-small clothing without struggling to stay in it. Another is a size 14 or 16, fights tooth and nail to stay that way and has developed a really adversarial, unhealthy relationship with food as a consequence. There is someone I know to fit all the stages in between these two. Some have an easy-going beauty while others achieve the look they want with a fair amount of makeup.

So which one gets to be in the ad? Which ones get to call themselves "real" -- the ones who maintain their weight without a struggle, the ones who diet persistently, the ones who wear no makeup or those who do?

There's no easy way about it. For its part, Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty is advocating that women start a dialogue with young girls about being confident and loving of themselves. Well, this is a guess, really, because Dove says, "Start a conversation," but I couldn't find any suggestions about what might be useful or effective.

I do have a few thoughts, however. We adults can stop beating up on ourselves, especially in front of young girls and teens. What's more, we can be more appreciative of the beauty we see in the women around us.

Why not pick one physical feature in ourselves each week that we consciously admire? Each week, choose a new one.

Shamelessly admire it. Then, perhaps, when enough body parts have been admired, the result will be that we admire ourselves, rather than striving to emulate a fraudulent, distorted image of beauty that falls so far outside of the normal curve that it really, genuinely *is* freaky.

I'll go first. I really like my lips. They are soft, supple, well figured, nicely colored and pleasantly full without looking falsely plump.