Thursday, November 12, 1998
True beauty lies within, but not when you live in L.A.
WOMAN: Big breasts, pecs not insight into true worth of
individual, personality
As a child, I spent most of my time in frilly pink dresses that
inhibited just about every normal body movement. The huge petticoat
took up about a foot on either side of me so that I could barely
see my feet. The scratchy taffeta layers made me feel as if I had a
perpetual case of the chicken pox, and my pristine patent- leather
shoes made my main form of transportation skidding. The final touch
of pink bows and auburn ringlets made me look like a Latina Shirley
Temple.
I was cute. I was pretty. I was mom’s little angel. I was also
more of a doll than a person. The question now is: why  as an
adult  do I still put myself on display and hold myself to
such rigorous standards of beauty?
I have spent the past 16 years of my life in school cultivating
intellect. I love to read  in fact, I spent many recesses
with books in grade school. The importance of education was always
stressed in my home, and I was continually encouraged in my
academic endeavors. And yet, intelligence always seemed to take a
backseat to physical beauty  not just at home, but
everywhere. And not only was intelligence ignored in the wake of
beauty, so was personality (and for that matter,
individuality).
The irony is this: knowledge is something that you work hard to
amass. It accumulates over time, through much effort. It stays with
you for the duration of your life, regardless of age or plight.
Physical beauty, on the other hand, is something that either you
are born with or pay a lot of money to attain. Aside from that, it
fades, and when it’s gone, you need something to fall back on. The
(economically) average person has no control over the size of his
nose or the width of her hips. Yet still we are often judged by
such arbitrary and superficial measures.
It is also ironic that beauty is a subjective, individual thing
judged by rigid, societal standards. Each individual has his or her
own perception of beauty, one that is often culturally based. Yet
still we are given staunch ideals, based in the larger mainstream
culture, of what is right and wrong in terms of physical
attractiveness.
These ideals do not take cultural variation into account. Often
we are taught that what we do possess is not quite adequate. If you
are Asian you are told that wide eyes are beautiful. If you are
African American you are told that straight hair is beautiful. It’s
never, "You are beautiful, as you are." It’s always, "That which
you don’t have, is beautiful. So get it."
This has become even more evident to me since moving to Los
Angeles. I was relatively secure with my physical self-image when
living in San Francisco. In general, I found that city to be more
accepting of different types of beauty. Moreover, there was not as
much of an emphasis on physical appearances.
Los Angeles, however, is the mecca of unattainable images. The
"ideals" of beauty are everywhere in this city, even on the news.
Yet these ideals are beyond reach for about 95 percent of us.
A great deal of these "ideal" images make a statement about body
weight. The L.A. mentality is perfectly captured in a bumper
sticker I saw in Santa Monica. It said "No FC (fat chicks)
allowed." To paraphrase, in Los Angeles if you weigh more than 95
pounds (and you’re female), you’re fat.
That’s unacceptable.
As a result of being surrounded by messages such as these,
towards the end of my first year in Los Angeles I felt overweight.
I had maintained a weight of about 120 pounds throughout high
school and never really struggled with weight issues.
When I came to college, lack of home cooking coupled with my
distaste for dorm food led me to lose the Freshman 15. I weighed
less than I’d weighed in years and felt overweight at 105 pounds.
Logic told me that I was being ridiculous but there was a certain
pang of inadequacy when I looked in the mirror. It wasn’t that I
thought I was overweight as a whole, it was just that my thighs
were a little too big, my hips were too wide or my stomach wasn’t
flat enough. It wasn’t that I looked bad, it was that I didn’t look
perfect.
It didn’t help when I went home and everyone went on and on
about how great I looked. It made me wonder if there had been
something wrong with me before. And what if I put the weight back
on at home? Would the compliments cease?
In this society we all too often determine our worth through the
wrong things. As students we measure intelligence with a grading
scale. As women we judge beauty by weight and breast size; as men
by pectoral and bicep size. As professionals our value is measured
by income and the accumulation of material things.
We often ignore those things that are not visually apparent. In
the process we overlook that which is invisible to the eye and at
the core of a human being  compassion, wisdom, passion and
drive.
A Chinese proverb states that it is the beautiful bird who is
caged. Physical beauty has a duplicitous nature; it is lovely to
possess and lovely to admire. It generates praise and admiration.
Yet it can also lead to skewed perceptions when pursued too
vehemently. Consequently, before long in this cycle, we are
captured by society’s ideals and our wings are clipped.
I have come to the conclusion that I will never fully live up to
the standards of physical beauty our society holds dear. I will
never be six feet tall and 100 pounds. Nor will I ever fit Los
Angeles’ particular brand of beauty  blonde hair and blue
eyes. But over the years I’ve been slowly tearing away the layers
of taffeta that bind me and I have come to a realization: I am not
a lesser person for falling short of society’s rigid expectations,
and neither is anyone else. I am beautiful in my own,
non-traditional way. Most importantly, my beauty lays far beneath
the surface level. If you look, you’ll find that yours does
also.
Alicia Roca
Roca is a second-year communication studies student. E-mail her
at [email protected].
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