I once had a problem of picking at my looks until they become pockmarked with scars of unhealthy self criticism. To my lopsided eyes (they really are lopsided), everyone’s appearance is a work of art at first glance. Some are kindergarten craft projects adorned with uneven patches of glitter and balls of dried glue, others painted with confident, clean strokes of an experienced, steady brush. Meanwhile, I am the remnants of a foiled piece sulking in the recycling bin. Eventually, I learned to notice and appreciate the unique and beautiful details in my own appearance, though self esteem issues occasionally resurface. However, a certain mechanism of my brain remained, the power to warp faces and nudge them into molds that match the impression I have of them based on the personality they represent.
Internal beauty is not a foreign concept, and yet we tune out at its mention because after all the fuss, statistics still show that better looking people are better paid and get away with more nonsense than the less aesthetically blessed. Numbers do not lie. Plastic surgery prevails and thrives, blades break skin and shovel into flesh in search of the gold this lucrative industry offers. The reflections in society’s mirrors scream of beauty that is external, or lack thereof.
I learnt in descriptive writing that ‘perfectly arched brows frame doe-like eyes with luscious lashes’ could just as easily have been ‘brows painstakingly plucked to perfection arch snobbishly above unnaturally large eyes with pretentious eyelash extentions’ depending on the author’s portrayal of a character. These descriptions dance around in the shadows in our minds, undetected by consciousness and all comes tumbling out when summoned by ink on paper. Beauty is internal because the human mind is able to assign meaning to visual receptions based on conclusions we have made about the subject.
Our brains still trust body language and first impressions because internal and external sync up to a certain extent. While my right eye may not earn a double eyelid from being kind, both eyes can gain dark saggy bags from exhaustion. Some may argue that the external could be faked, and yet the simple action of smiling makes us happier against our will. A sloppy person maybe learn and become more meticulous as one develops the habit of applying makeup, which requires patience and precision. While the external may be changed, the internal cannot help but evolve to match the surface. Beauty is internal because the external is a projection of what’s within.
I look into the depths of my soul and we are back at square one. My soul is a foiled piece sulking in the recycling bin. My flaws glow luminous between the dark clouds of this depressing reminder that I am a human being, not Jesus Christ and thus my internal does not glitter gold nor explode with immaculate light.
Just my personal opinion 🙂 Hopefully the ending effectively conveys my message that even though beauty is internal, everyone has their own flaws and both internal and external beauty deserve to be shielded from judgemental scrutiny. I am hypocritical and fail to refrain from judgement myself but oh wells. Explored the topic as writing practice out of fear of losing the ability to write. Sorry for the brief hiatus, I was literally at a loss for words in response to the events in my life. Feel free to critique, add on to what I wrote or point out and opposing argument 🙂