I’ve always been pretty. As a baby, my parents told me I was super cute, chubby, just the right shade of brown, with a big smile. In elementary school and middle school, there were some awkward years, especially as a child of immigrant Indian parents. But once I could choose my own clothes and hairstyle, I was pretty. I spent time on makeup and just the right outfit. It was fun. Socially, I tried to be cool, I tried to be kind, but as an introvert who sometimes hides in the kitchen during large gatherings, I knew I could always fall back on being pretty.
Being pretty gets you places and gets you special treatment. I’ve been judged (and not found wanting) by prospective employers at job interviews, by policemen who were about to write a large ticket, even by disruptive students in my speech classroom. Sometimes a smile and how you present myself can get you out of difficult situations. I usually take it as a compliment – a reassurance that my efforts are paying off: naturally pleasant features + a little exercise and lots of time shopping and prepping = pretty.
But now I’m 40.
I know looks don’t change overnight, but the crease between my brows is deepening, the grays seems to be popping up with more regularity and my skin has lost that “youthful glow”. I’m literally facing the truth: my outward pretty is starting to fade. I’m considering wrinkle creams and what to wear to avoid looking like my tween aged daughter. I’m wondering will I still be pretty at 50? Sure I want to be one of those gorgeous mature ladies with silver hair and an amazing sense of style, but the older I get, the more time it takes. Is that really how I want to spend my time, money and energy?
I could spend $65 on wrinkle cream or $65 buying lunch for the month for the hungry kid who sits next to my son every day at lunchtime.
I could spend an hour on the Internet looking for fashion ideas to fit my shape or an hour in solitude listening to God telling me how he can clothe my soul with peace.
I could spend my morning run listening to NPR podcasts that make me smarter and more current, or I can listen to sermons that encourage me to be kinder and more loving.
I could spend my energy planning a ladies shopping weekend at the outlets (one of my favourite pastimes), or I can spend that energy planning a ladies weekend of encouragement and fervent prayer over our families.
It was easy to be pretty at 16. Some may say it’s a biological rite of womanhood — to get that glance of appreciation, to understand that your beauty equals some weird sense of power. But with each passing year I have less free time in my day and less time left on this earth. Pretty is no longer a top priority. At the same time, I’m still me. I’m not going to “let myself go”. I’ll probably keep trying to exercise, dress halfway decent, and curl my hair occasionally. You may see me at a coffee shop or at church, and I likely won’t have the latest Kate Spade purse or ombre hair color. This doesn’t mean that I’m not aware of the trends — I’ll likely still covet them now and again. This is a work in progress.
In ten years, no matter what creams or potions I use, I will look different. I’m ok with that. Today, I’ve decided to devote the next decade to being pretty on the inside. I’m hoping that when others see me, it won’t be my appearance that defines me. I want to be so much more than pretty.
Photo by (flickr cc): Asim Bharwani
