Ugliness

Alright, so I am no beauty, but neither am I hideously ugly. I wonder what it would be like? A friend and I looked up people today that were incredibly ugly, just to feel better about ourselves. Of course, I am fully aware that I could be this sort of confidence-booster, because I am strange and pretentious- I harbour all manner of undesireable characteristics.

I know a girl obsessed with pink and other things. She isn't hideous but she does look very much like a pug dog. Her infantilised fantasies only serve to throw her canine face into starker relief; I think that this is a huge problem for ugly people. They merely need to accept their ugliness, and then to work with it rather than moulding themselves to some form of playboy femininity. Pretty girls that put on fake tan and doll themselves up to the eyeballs (and beyond) to pose and pout are pitiful, but they are at least intimidating. If one observes a pack of them on a night out, there is always one among their number that is doughier and plainer than the rest. She suffers from the Playboy complex; she desires so much to be an object of adoration, or of intimidation, like the others, that she begins to think that she is one. She ends a drunken night whining, "I'm so fat!" to others that agree with the declamatory exclamations. I know another girl that suffers from this playboy complex; she simply looks like a pudding: white, doughy and pasty. Her legs meet all the way down, and even the most slimming vestments fail to detract from her ample form. Her face is maternal, or matronly. She will never be beautiful, unless someone falls in love with her; she is an object of pity, and she doesn't know it. She takes obscured pictures from high angles to disguise her double chin and piggy eyes. All of this, aside from the last, I had accepted in her; I assumed that she was proud to be funny and well organised instead. But she thinks that she is hot, and she never can, or never will be. It is impossible, and therein lies her complex.

I consider it a point of pride in myself that I accept my masculine features, their shortcomings and gains, and whether I love them or hate them, at least acknowledge them. I am under no illusion that I am a wispy heroine; and I am glad of my self-awareness.