Hot Girl Bummer

It started when I was 22, dancing the night away under the strobe lights of a club packed sardine-can-style. I attempted to dance the alcohol I’d consumed off and sway my body in some sort of “come-hither” way but ended up laughing more at myself than achieving anything until… she came up to me and asked if I wanted to dance and I said, “no” — only because I clearly could not dance and didn’t want to embarrass myself any further.

She tilted her head back, laughed, and said, “Of course not. Not a surprise.” and winked at me. I looked at her with confusion riddled on my face and she leaned in and exclaimed, “Of course you could have anyone you want in here.” I remained puzzled still feeling like I was missing the joke but then she seemed to finally catch on and she grabbed me by the shoulders while looking me up and down and settled on intense eye contact to inform me of the secret I had never realized:

“You can have anyone you want in here. You’re incredibly hot.”

I laughed her off and thanked her endlessly for her kindness and we parted ways with me thinking I would forget about the nice comment but I didn’t. Later that night I found myself glancing in the mirror and thinking: had something changed that I missed? The standard of beauty at that time seemed to be tall, incredibly-thin, blonde, and blue-eyed models that walked the Victoria’s Secret runway every year — and I certainly was not that.

I examined myself intensely in the mirror. I was tall so I had that on my side. I was curvy with a small waist, wide hips, and large breasts. I had brown hair and what I had always called, boring brown eyes. I felt out of proportion. I took a good look at myself and decided that: 1. The girl was probably drunk, and 2. She had it all wrong.

However, over the next few years, I would realize that I was the one that was wrong and that subtle change from girl to woman, from so-called “ugly duckling” to beautiful swan, would become a defining part of my description and perspective of myself.

What had started out as a rare occurrence became a regular subject — so obvious that I could not ignore it. From discussions at parties turning to me and my attractiveness, a guy trying to get me to pull over on the freeway so he could get my number, a fashion blog with an inbox flooded with admiration, and compliments from strangers became so ordinary that I began to say, “Oh, thank you so much” before they could even finish their sentence. Those that spent enough time with me began to ask the same question, “Is this a normal thing for you?” I would laugh and brush it off, offering rambling explanations that never seemed to satisfy them and left them shaking their heads at me, leaving me feeling like I was the only one who didn’t get the joke.

Last year, I was at a party — and if you were there — you could find me in the corner clinging to a red cup like it was my purse and desperately hoping no one would be able to tell that I had never been to one of these gatherings before. It wasn’t really my scene but the person I was dating seemed to really enjoy them and liked to drink heavily just for the fun of it. Opposites attract I guess. So, there I am, pretending I was really enjoying the mix of liquor in my cup when a girl came up to me and said, “I know you! you’re _______ ‘s girlfriend!”

Now I had never seen nor interacted with this person before and had to quickly force my introverted self to stop acting like a scared poodle and actually connect with other humans. I broke out in a smile thinking about my current partner and said, “Yeah I am, did he tell you about us?”

She laughed a little and her eyes gleamed at me a little while saying, “Yeah, he sent me your Instagram! He’s right, you are soooooo pretty!”

I instantly felt like she had hit me in the chest. I couldn’t escape it. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the comment, it was that I had never heard of this person before. This was a work acquaintance whose only information about me was that I was attractive. Had my partner really sent my Instagram link out like I was a show pony or was this the norm for today’s modern dating? I told myself the remainder of that night and the following weeks that I was being dumb and that it shouldn’t upset me. I love fashion and he’s just showing me off and that’s a big part of me, right? My mind had been trained for the last few years that this was the most important feature about myself, so why did this bother me?

I convinced myself this news didn’t hurt me. I convinced myself that I deserved it because I was “so hot”, right? I convinced myself that even though he made no effort to make me feel good about myself and he used my good looks to his advantage, that I was the lucky one.

I always thought I didn’t have an addictive personality but in reality, I was just steadily being supplied my drug so I never noticed the junkie I had become. I had been fed constantly for so long that I needed the feeling, the comment, the rush to feel fulfilled for just a moment. Oh, what a dangerous slope.

I was like a dog. I learned exactly what would earn me a reward and I would do it whenever I needed a hit — whether I actually wanted to do it or not. If it earned me a compliment, a genuine one, especially from the one who I felt I wasn’t really getting anything from, I would do it in an instant. I was an evil villain with an insecurity problem with a manipulative partner and a never-ending appetite for my fabricated power.

I had always thought I was being boosted all those years. Lifted up, high into the sky by all of the praise until I felt as though my “legs for days” were walking on clouds, above the average population. You would think it would have filled me, fulfilled me, made my head abnormally sized.

But it didn’t.

I found myself physically unable to be “unattractive” to the outside world. I would glance at myself any chance I got to make sure everything was perfect and mentally go a few rounds with myself if it wasn’t. I didn’t wear my hair up in case my head looked strange. Whenever I shopped, I found it almost impossible to purchase a sweater that didn’t have an ounce of sex appeal to it. The number of items I’ve put back telling myself that it would have only been for me is more than I can count. I always knew when I was really feeling rundown when I allowed myself to wear an outfit that I wouldn’t have posted on Instagram that day. I forced myself to wear makeup even on the days I really wanted to let my skin breathe because I looked tired and my skin never looked like all those Instagram models did. Comments on my body shape had me proudly smiling on the outside but on the inside wondering if they would notice when I gained weight.

It bled into every aspect of my life and I felt like I was in a contest for the best garden, with myself of course. Look, I loved filters just as much as the next person but why did I feel like I was unable to go filterless? Sometimes I would mentally beat myself up because I had spent so much time choosing just the right filter: my lips look bigger, check; my face looks flawless, check; and my collar bone’s just highlighted enough to create the illusion of thinness. I had wasted all that time mentally photoshopping my flaws until I was satisfied only to post my grandiose photo and see it immediately disappear underneath a fresh stream of content. Thus beginning the struggle again and the thoughts of “why wasn’t I enough?” began to flood the field.

If I dressed up and “tried” for all that attention and I didn’t get noticed, complimented on, hit on, I would consider it a failure and wonder what was wrong with me. I had become so used to putting my hand out and getting a reward that when I came back empty-handed, it blew my self-esteem. Had I gained weight? Could they tell I wasn’t feeling it tonight? Maybe I wasn’t as pretty as I thought.

Now it wasn’t that I was deeply insecure, most of the time I felt as secure as TSA. This shit, (my self-confidence), was on lock and no one was coming at me without getting checked first. Except when that line of people was no longer there waiting, my crumbling understanding of my self-worth went to code orange.

When I felt really low, I would do anything to earn my most coveted gold star, the one that made my high last, made my eyes shimmer and made my partner stick around a little longer; “You’re so fucking hot”.

I held onto those moments and replayed the memories in my head whenever I started to dip. Instead of addressing my obvious self-esteem, relationship, and mental health issues, I could memorialize another dirty moment until it gleamed.

So how could I escape this maze I had become trapped in after all these years? How could I make myself see everything wonderful about me, beyond what I saw in the mirror?

In a world so focused on filters, who was I with #nofilter?

It started out by retraining my brain, forcing myself to sit down and write not only the things I loved about myself but the things I actually wanted people to notice. It was frustrating, I felt like a child being forced to write an apology note when I wasn’t really sorry. Hours later, after hiding my phone from myself and getting through the task, I had a long list of all the things I genuinely appreciated about myself and not a single one was appearance-based.

I love how kind I am to animals.

I love how deeply I love those close to me.

I love my emotional intelligence.

At first, I thought I was selfish and conceited for even having so many things about myself that I so clearly loved. I felt like I was just boosting my own ego instead of healing anything. But I looked at it every day and before I fell asleep at night. I not only reviewed my list but I relished in how incredibly grateful I am for all of those qualities.

Authentic gratitude had turned me from a beautiful but decaying young woman, into a humbled, loving one with a beautifully, gratified soul. I realized that imitation was no longer enough for me in admiration, friendship, and most of all, love. It took me a long time and a lot of pain to find out that I wanted more from everyone around me but most of all, from myself.

Yes, I still felt good when I got all ready and took that perfect selfie. I still felt that tiny surge inside me when I received attention, it made me smile and feel just a little higher.

But after all those years of confusion, misplaced affection and fake smiles, my most cherished memories with myself are the moments when I published my first writing pieces or YouTube videos for all the world to see. In those moments I am makeup-free, tears streaming down my face, being wholeheartedly me and I’ve never felt prettier.

Authors Note: This piece was inspired by the song, “Hot Girl Bummer”, by Blackbear.