July 19, 2013

Beauty can go fuck itself

This just in: National Tell a Girl She’s Beautiful Day is trending on Twitter. Time to tell all the females in your life that they are pleasing unto you.

Youtube comedian Jai Brooks is the latest celeb to jump on this bandwagon o' the day, tweeting, "
#NationalTellAGirlSheIsBeautifulDay all of our amazing fans this ones for u every single one of you:)"

Even NASA is getting in on the action. "It's #NationalTellAGirlSheIsBeautifulDay!" the organization tweeted from its Kennedy Space Center. The tweet included a link to a Youtube video showing astronaut Karen Nyberg washing her hair in space.

Gee. Thanks for that.

No doubt some well-meaning parent sparked this horseshit after a particularly nasty experience picking up her special snowflake at school. The parent watched in horror as her daughter stumbled out of the schoolyard and into the family helicopter, weeping and snuffling about why-did-she-have-to-inherit-Daddy’s-nose.

At that moment, helicopter mommy had a brilliant idea. She realized she needed to park that chopper right there and tell her baby that she is beautiful, inside and out, no matter what those other girls and boys say. 

Yes, baby, your nose may touch your chin, but it is beautiful in its own way and... hold on. Mommy needs to tweet and Facebook this shit immediately, because the world needs to hear this, and WOULD YOU PLEASE just HOLD ON a second, air traffic control? I am TALKING to my BABY. Gahd.

The stupidity of this National-Day fuckery is probably lost on the besotted creature who dreamed it up. That parent, too, likely was raised to believe that beauty, inner or otherwise, is the most important goal a female can achieve. 

By definition, beauty characterizes one’s ability to please others–most often visually. But there’s also that perennial consolation prize of “inner beauty.” You know, being pleasant according to others, or funny according to others, or just generally delightful for the purpose of enhancing the experience of others

Recently I spotted a Facebook post created by the uncle of a little girl with a terminal disease. The kid, who, for the record, was bald and seemed kind of fierce, had recently been told by some other kid that she looked ugly. 

The uncle wasn’t asking folks to send in money for hospital bills or even words of encouragement. Instead, we were asked to tell this child–this plucky, likely very badass, child–that she was beautiful. That she was acceptably pleasing to us, visually or in some other way.

For this uncle, the beauty seal of approval was the most important feedback his niece could get.

Here’s what I wanted to post in response. I didn’t have the guts at the time. (Staircase wit, it is a fine thing.)

Dear plucky dying bald little girl:

I am not going to tell you that you’re beautiful. This country, like most, has ridiculously, stupidly high standards of beauty, standards that, here in the United States, include being underweight, tanned and long-leggedy. 

The Western hemisphere also requires widely-spaced eyes, high cheek bones, clear skin, white teeth, pedicured feet and thick, lustrous hair. It’s also OK to occasionally have no hair, as long as the rest of you looks like Natalie Portman.

So. I won’t blow smoke up your ass and tell you that you’re physically soothing. You’re not. But here’s the thing: So the fuck what? 

It is not your job to shine a pleasant countenance upon this planet, and I say that regardless of how old you are. Even if you weren’t, like, 7 years old, even if you were an adult, it would not be your job to amuse and delight the rest of us. Not visually. Not emotionally. Not psychologically.

A female isn’t on this planet to get a guy’s dick hard, or to stroke some jackass’s ego by smiling while he pesters us on the bus. Women aren’t here as pleasurebots to make the world feel better about itself, via whatever the fuck inner beauty is supposed to mean this week.

Little bald girl, it is not your job to have beauty. It isn’t even all that important for you to have beauty. 

In your case, you’re probably better off with bravery; patience; a healthy tolerance for pain; stamina; a decent sense of humor; and the mental wherewithal to keep on mastering those times tables while some simpering uncle nags at you to hold still so he can get some more Facebook-worthy shots of you on his iPhone.

Hey, bald child? Fuck beauty. To hell with it. You’re bald. You’re skinny. You aren’t all that pretty. And who. The hell. Cares.

Got a question about the inner machinations of entertainment? Ask me via Facebook or Twitter.