In case you haven’t noticed, being a woman is hard. It’s pretty much impossible to log onto any form of social media and not be immediately bombarded with photos of beautiful women. All of them with flawless skin, snow-white teeth, perfectly sculpted asses and legs for days. These women are celebrities, they’re our friends, they’re our nemesis from the third grade, they’re our sisters-boyfriends-cousins-husbands-nieces-best friend that we follow on Instagram and politely stalk from a distance. They are generally sporting three different editing apps, two filters and took 37 selfies before they got the perfect shot – but we ignore that, and we idolize the polished versions of these women nonetheless.
We all present the polished versions of ourselves. Regardless of whether we think we are polished enough, majority of us are guilty of it, and in turn, all of us are the women we are cursing under our breaths. We’re all staring at our phones, scrolling through our feeds and dreaming of all the things our genetics have not granted us with. Did any of us ever stop to think that some of our own features are fascinating to other women, too? Even without the filter?
That stupid damn dress (you know which one I’m talking about) was the perfect example of how different our perceptions are. I don’t know about you, but I know that I saw white and gold, and I refuse to dispute it. The same way I refuse to dispute the negative convictions I have about my hair, my smile, and the way I always blush.
I really despise lumpy yoghurt. Lumps in yoghurt should not exist, and I refuse to accept any varying beliefs on the matter, just like I refuse to accept any varying beliefs about my general appearance and size. I perceive lumps in yoghurt as tiny little fruit Satan’s, sent to earth to fuck my day up – but SOMEONE is buying that shit at Woolworths. There are people out there who genuinely enjoy the lumps.
The sound of Nicki Minaj’s voice makes me want to insert rusty screwdrivers into my eardrums. On the flip-side, there are people out there who literally hand over dollars of money to obtain a CD featuring an entire hour’s worth of her voice. (Shit people.) (This is not a valid point.) (Ignore this.)
My best friend could spend an entire hour explicitly describing all of her faults, and I would literally stare at her in confusion and wonder how severe her brain damage must be, because I am absolutely certain that the sun shines out of her asshole and every other orifice of her body. I don’t see what she sees; I’m too busy being blinded by her fucking beauty.
I’m trying to make a point here. That maybe, just maybe, the way we perceive ourselves is totally different to the way a portion of the population perceives us? I did some calculations and a quick pie chart; my findings show that it’s at least slightly possible.
So the next time you look in the mirror, or you obsess over another woman’s cheekbones on Instagram, or put yourself on another fad diet for the sole purpose of pleasing other people’s eyeballs.. Spare a thought to the yoghurt lumps. You might not enjoy them, but that doesn’t mean that nobody else thinks they’re delicious.
If all else fails, Valencia. And stop listening to Nicki Minaj, for fuck’s sake.