The Beauty Mirage
You see it, there, in the distance. Looming on the horizon. The beauty mirage.
You feel drawn to it, we all do. It whispers sweet fallacies in your ear. “Once you reach me, life will be easier, you won’t have any more insecurities, no one will reject you or leave you again, they’ll come crawling back, you’ll finally be worthy of love.”
So you chase after it. Constantly assessing what about you needs to change in order to reach it. Thousands of dollars and years of life spent in the pursuit of the mirage. And you’re so, fucking, tired. How long have you been running? When did you start? Nine years old…eight…seven?
I want you to stand still, just for a moment. Does the idea of stopping the pursuit, even for a moment, fill you with dread, with relief? Unclench your jaw, drop your shoulders, and breathe with me…
Have you noticed, that no matter how much you change about yourself, the beauty standard is always out of reach? As you pause for a moment to question it, you notice you’re surrounded by women of every shape and size, skin and hair color and texture. You hear their gasping, heaving, heavy breathing as they run alongside you.
One woman stands out to you. The way her hair floats behind her as she runs, effortlessly feminine, her body, your dream body. Your mind floods with confusion, astonishment, a desire to call out to her and tell her, “You don’t need to be doing this, you’re perfect.” The words escape your lips, and you hear all the times others have said this exact thing to you. She smiles sheepishly and continues running, just like you did.
Your mind begins to question it all.
She is what I see in the mirage, so why is she running? She’s already made it, she’s attained it, the standard. Yet she’s still running… Does she see something different, in the mirage, in the mirror?
The illusion of objectivity dissipates. The lie of attainability. You see it for what it is. The beauty mirage.
It exists only in its function of fixation, to captivate your mind and keep your self love and acceptance at arms length. Why? Because there’s power in making you hate yourself; the power that you hand over to it. Power over your behavior, your money, your decisions, what you accept for yourself, for your life.
You see it for all that it is, all that you’ve made it to be. So now what? You’re filled with regret, pity for the women who continue to run, for your past self, righteous anger, then the dread of taking that power back, and putting an end to the rat race. The race thats shaped your mind, your self perception, your life. Is it worth the risk, jeopardizing this idea of security the beauty standard has sold to me?
Why does it feel like a risk, to simply love myself?
Now, you have a choice. Swallow this truth, ignore it, and start running, knowing the destination is a pacifying daydream of a place where you have permission to rest, to exist, to love. Or, begin the process of purging this deeply entrenched parasite, withdrawing your consent to be its host.
It will be a long process, the scars will always be there, but you’ll have a real chance of getting to that place, of making that place. To stop exhausting yourself spinning your wheels, and instead put your energy to real and tangible security, love, beauty.
I’ve led you here, but I can’t pull you in a direction you don’t want to go. I’ll leave you with these questions to consider.
What would happen if you created your own beauty standard?
What would it entail? What would you decide makes you beautiful, or not?
What things about yourself would you allow, would you accept, would you love?
