A few Saturdays ago I had the pleasure to go to a used bookstore in Manchester-by-the-Sea with some of the lovely ladies from staff. As we were checking out my creepy antennaes went up on the clerk. I told myself to stop and that maybe I was being judgmental. Some of the ladies had picked up books on farming, the clerk asked us if we wanted to start a commune. We all chirped up that we thought it would be fun. He then went on to say that most of the time communes didn't work because the guys would start to vie for the attention of the attractive girls in the commune.
Yep, he was creepy. A man more interested in sitting in the dark and reading books about life rather than living it.
When we were outside I told the girls that I had thought he was creepy and then told myself not to, and then he went and said THAT, and I thought he was creepy again. I made a comment about four attractive young girls in his store and how he had go and say something gross. They were silent.
I don't think they were silent because I said that he was creepy. I think they were silent because they don't get how pretty they are.
The other day I looked at Scott and said,
"You don't understand why I can be so neurotic about my appearance, do you?"
"Yep," he responded. Then did that bobbing of the head with pursed lips thing and widened eyes that he does when he can't believe something.
Whenever I picture a beautiful woman in my head I immediately think of a green-eyed women, with lustrous dark hair and olive skin. The complete opposite of my fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. I don't even give myself a chance. I remember telling Scott that during a discussion of blonde hair and blue eyes as a high standard of beauty and he told me,
"I think you're alone in that."
I like my hair and eyes, but of course they come coupled with skin that fries like bacon in a microwave, so I have thrown out the trio because I just want skin that tans without so much pain.
You see we always lose. For whatever reason women mentally stack the deck so that we don't win. There is always someone who is more attractive than we are and we know that, so we always lose. Media bombards us with impossibly beautiful people (come to think of it I don't actually KNOW anyone who is as beautiful as any actress), so there are always those women even if we feel pretty good about ourselves.
I was having a discussion with my mother in law about the way women feel about themselves and was realising that her generation struggled with this just as poignantly as mine. I said I thought it was the media and she said,
"I think it's because we are women and men look at us," and then there's that. We are the peacocks of our species, we spread our fancy tails to attract a mate. Once we've attracted that mate it gets better, but it doesn't stop. We always compare ourselves to others without realising how beautiful we are.