I remember you. You might not remember me, but I could never forget you. You were the girl who used to say things like
“I need to lose five pounds”
and
“I wish I had her body”
and
“I’d be happy if I was taller.”
But the question you could never answer was “Why?”
What a lot of your favorite TV shows and magazines, all liked to say was that it’s the size and shape of a few choice body parts that defines beauty. To an extent maybe they’re right – no one ever faulted anyone for having nice legs – but to say that’s the entire package is a gross understatement. It’s not just what a woman has that makes her; it’s how she carries it. But you didn’t realize that because those TV shows and magazines wouldn’t let you.
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Once upon a time, there was a girl we (I) called “The Pretty Face Girl.” In pure anatomical terms she was probably nothing special, but in real terms she had two things that made her nothing less than exceptional: she was a very sweet, very fun girl, and she had possibly the most beautiful face we (I) had ever seen in the flesh.
There were a lot of women out there with better physiques than this girl. There were narrower hips, there were flatter stomachs, there were bigger busts. But those girls couldn’t do what the Pretty Face Girl could do. They couldn’t capture us they way she could. Couldn’t light up a room with a smile. Couldn’t hypnotize you with those big brown eyes. Through her we (I) realized that “it” is all there in a woman’s face. Her appeal. Her beauty. Her magic powers, so to speak.
At some point the Pretty Face Girl decided it was time for a change and we watched her morph away from the girl we were all so wild about and into the girl that everyone just wanted a piece of. She lost a considerable amount of weight, got her hair highlighted, started dressing more provocatively. More emphasis sex appeal, less emphasis on being just the Pretty Face Girl.
Not worse, of course. Just different. Her body was hers and it’s not like anyone was complaining about this brave, bold, alluring new girl.
The sad part was that it took all that work for her to realize what she had. She’d been given the gift of unrivalled natural beauty and didn’t even know it, instead deciding that she needed to fit into a certain size skirt before she could be at peace with her body, her image. What she didn’t know was that the gym and the makeup and the clothes didn’t make her someone else, they were just sideshows and trvial accessories.
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I still see her around every now and then, and she still looks great. I’m as big a fan of metamorphosis stories as anyone else, but with her it’s not the same. She wanted to be something different and in a way, almost tragically, she never knew there was no reason for her to change in the first place.
Perhaps we (I) should’ve spoken up sooner. Not to change her mind or anything like that; I just think more people should know what they have going for them. But really, who cares what I think when somewhere out there, the Pretty Face Girl has reason to light up a room the way only she can, and the way only she ever could.
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- Chicago, IL /June 5, 2006