for the fourth

 day 4: what is a compliment that you struggle to accept about yourself?

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      Oh, riiiiight. I knew it would be something physical. Internal traits can be strengthened and learned and adapted for the free, but some big moolah is needed to alter one's appearance. I mean, there's exercise and waist trainers and push-up bras and fajas and false eyelashes and airbrushed foundation and hair extensions and and and unlimited products to give the illusion we are the most polished version of ourselves. I haven't even tapped into the rhinoplasty, liposuction, Brazilian butt lifts, fat grafting, lip fillers, abdominoplasty, augmentation mammoplasty, brow lifts segment of our broadcast day. Those are the more invasive procedures women (and some men) fantasize about. The last frontier to enhance their self-esteem and inevitably lead them down the path of superficial enlightenment and love and peace and harmony.

      And that's not facetious. Rest assure, considering I, too, am an American and fall into this category of delusional romantics who hopes to one day be able to afford at least three of these operations (you have to guess which ones). I think of them often and how catalytic it will be to reach the pinnacle of pulchritude.

      It's important to note the history of Western beauty standards as its effects are far-reaching. Up until the late 90s the epitome of attractiveness was porcelain-white skin with a narrow nose, flat stomach, and thin lips. Bonus points for blue/green eyes and blonde hair. When I was younger and lived in a city of 85,896 people, I fit in. Being mixed, my naturally tan skin and arrogant attitude blended well in the sea of blunt Mexican girls, outgoing Black kids, and the quirky whites. Diversity was all we knew.

      Moving to the town with a population of 231 initiated the self-consciousness I developed and nurtured all these years. When the school sample size is 75 students and you aren't desirable to anyone except the racist farm kid who wears Wrangler jeans every day, that'll humble your ass real quick. But watching the mesmerizing guy you adore ask your best friend (who fits the Western beauty standards) to school dances leads you to stare in the mirror late at night wondering what's not appealing about your eyes or skin or hips or hair. And then just repeat that for four years.

      Only after I transferred to a high school in the city of 6,000 people for my senior year did I start receiving the attention I once knew all those years before. By that time it was too late. The seed was planted. I'd sabotage relationships and wade in my pool of discomfort and slap down any remark that attempted to relay: you're beautiful.

      A part of me doesn't even appreciate this compliment. You know why? I didn't mold me. I have no control over my metabolism nor the amount of melanocytes in my epidermis nor the texture of my hair. I have huge issues with being commended for something that is innately out of my control. Similarly, this outer human suit degrades over time. The same young hottie my man fell in love with will one day be a wrinkly, creaky, vaguely familiar husk of a woman. I don't associate this with negativity; it's merely the facts. What will remain, however, is this boisterous, introspective, curious, eclectic, man-eating aura I carry with me everywhere I go.

      Last... I'm at the ripe age of 28 where I don't really even care what I look like unless it's a special occasion and I'm curating a deliberate look. I don't enjoy using my time to do hair and make-up or to wear uncomfortable clothes solely for the accolades. This is not how I express myself. It's not lost upon me how we judge others for the brand of their clothes, the symmetry of their eyebrows, the amount of facial piercings. Catch me in United Supermarket on any given day; I wouldn't blame you for thinking my messy bun, plain gray tee, and solid black short shorts make me look like an unkempt cartoon character. But once you have a conversation with me, my intellect and wit and obstinacy seep through to give a better picture of what I'm about more than my exterior could ever relay.