Naked on the Page: Is Honesty Really the Best Policy?

This is for Sasha's unofficial challenge.

I stumbled across it via Paul's entry.

I just read a piece by Rachel, reviewing Verity, so that's at the top of my mind.

All linked at the end for your perusement.

Here goes...

I am beautiful.

I am not beautiful at all.

Both things can be true at once. I am living, walking proof of it, and Orwell can suck it.

Like Paul, I'm a bit of a contradiction in some ways. Maybe we all are.

I'm not beautiful, but I do think this picture of me is beautiful.

I reject typical beauty standards (most of the time. IE. when it suits me). It's easy to do when you don't really fit them, anyway, so please don't consider it a moral victory on my part.

I tell myself that drinking enough water and getting enough sleep are more important than smearing lotions and potions on myself, but I'm basically a permanently dehydrated night-owl, so you can imagine how well that is working out.

I'm not beautiful underneath, which is probably the more important bit. In Verity, the character says that if an autobiography is done properly, you won't like the person. It will make you feel uncomfortable. She might be right. Maybe.

I've said before that I'm never so naked as I am on a page. How naked do I want to be, really? If I strip off enough layers, will you see the ugly parts? Is that such a good thing after all? Don't we keep them hidden for a reason?

Naked, then, but not naked at all.

More contradictions: I don't have much patience for most aspects of femininity, but I do have curves. In my defence, I can't help that. They're just sort of there. I do keep my hair long (personal reasons) but I never do a damn thing with it. No straighteners or product. I rarely even use a hairdryer. My waist-length hair just hangs around, literally. Neglected. Tangling, and splitting, and going grey.

I've never had much truck with make-up. I recently experimented with fake nails, and safe to say I won't be doing that again in a hurry.

In this image I'm wearing some tinted chapstick. Unless I'm getting married or something, that's as much as you'll ever catch me wearing. It makes me feel like a clown, or like I'm in drag. I don't like how it feels. On my skin, but also the resentment it sparks. Why do I have to bother with this shit, just because I'm a girl?

It's feminist to exist as I am... right? Without plucking and toning and contouring myself into a socially acceptable package. Women are allowed to exist like this, although you wouldn't know it some days. (Sometimes I feel like feminism hit a peak in the early noughties, and we haven't made progress since then.)

If I'm brutally honest, the feminism is a happy by-product in this case. The reason I don't bother with all the feminine bollocks (ha) is that I just don't want to. I see the array of Stuff we are meant to buy (buy buy buy! consume! spend money! spend time!) and I'm knackered and broke just thinking about it. About buying, storing, maintaining, and replenishing it - never mind using it.

But it is nice to look nice, sometimes. So shoot me.

What does it even mean to feel beautiful? Is it important? Why? We don't tend to tell men they are beautiful, or that they deserve to feel it. Still. Slide into some thigh high boots and bang on a monochrome filter, and the result does feel pretty good.

The upside of never bothering with makeup normally is that even a small amount makes it look like you've made a huge effort. (The downside of never bothering is that you aren't much good at it, and it is likely to look shit unless applied by someone with a more practised hand.)

Beauty is more important for women, I think. We grow up with this idea that whatever we achieve, or whatever skills we cultivate, we'll be practically invisible if we aren't pretty. Some internalise this message more than others. It's definitely affected me, but I don't know how much. Probably more than I'm willing to admit.

I'm not beautiful in the conventional way. I'm plain. I'm covered with flaws and filled with them, too. I haven't bothered to learn how to enhance what I already have - to make my eyes and lips look bigger, or style my hair, or what-have-you.

I can make the most of what I have in other ways. I can take a decent selfie, for instance. (Exhibit A.) Gok Wan has nothing on me. (How to Look Good Naked, 2006.) I know to tilt my head this way to show my best side. I know to position my leg like this so you don't see that gut roll. The monochrome loses the sumptuous red on my boots, and the hint of it in my hair, but doesn't it showcase my skin?

Is it possible to be truly naked (authentic) and beautiful? Truth is beauty is truth, my generous arse.

In a way, I'm not really naked at all, here. It's curated nudity. Pruned. Acceptable. Certain bits are covered. It's just more contouring and plucking, really, but it's on my terms.

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me (unless I enjoy it).