Today's Definition of Beauty

A short story in the mind of a teenage girl coming to terms with her idea of beauty and self-love.

Summer is the worst season of all; the sheer bliss of zero responsibilities, the excessive hours on social media and most importantly, the heat. The sun had removed the protective shield of the clouds and left us exposed to the sun’s glaring eyes. The sun has a reputation for being a sign of optimism and hope: a reminder that the darkness of the night does not last forever. Unfortunately, while the external darkness blends into shades of pink, yellow, and orange, the inner darkness hides deeper, in fear of the sun. The sun is a predator. It moistens the body, allowing us to undress quickly and slip-on clothes that barely shield us from its harmful rays. We can no longer hide behind the comfort of baggy hoodies and sweatpants but have to allow our bare skin to bask in the wrath of the sun. The sun illuminates every single discrepancy in our bodies: the body hair that has not been shaved, the dark circles, the acne from the dust particles dancing in the air, the thighs that sway with every step and the stone-cold face of self-loathing and despair. 

I’ve been saying “we” but what I really mean to say is “I” because this isn’t a problem for everyone. Just me. Scrolling and swiping through social media showed me that in addition to flat stomachs, smaller noses, blond hair, blue eyes and fuller lips, forehead size is now another insecurity to consider when you are practising your daily dose of negative affirmations. With a deep breath, I threw on the baggiest shirt I owned and a skirt that went to my knees. Remember: when you have hip dips, cellulite and love handles, avoid definition. On the bus, I noticed the way that my skin folded when I sat. I squeezed the folds and checked again after five minutes. They were right there. As I arrived at school, I thanked my lucky stars that this was the last day and from tomorrow I would be able to blend in with the shadows that the wretched sun cast. My phone pinged: “Not your target weight? Don’t worry! We’ve got just the solution for you. This new tea will change your life! Guaranteed weight loss with no dietary modifications and exercise.” I clicked on the link and began to scroll as I walked into campus. 

My eyes drifted to my surroundings and noticed that the faces of everyone I knew began to blur. I rubbed my eyes in fear and looked again. Every single girl looked the same. They had the exact same facial features, body type, hair colour, and even outfits. 

“Why do you look like that?” asked one of the girls. 

“What do you mean? I look like what I normally look like. Why do all of you look the same?” I replied. 

“We don’t look the same. You just look different.” She scowled. 

I continued to walk further.

“Who still wears size 6 jeans? If I ever came to school looking like that, remind me to isolate myself for two weeks.” A girl whispered to her friend. 

Everyone began to slowly hover in the air and spin around me. Before I could fathom what was happening, they circled around me at a faster pace,  blocking all of my exists. I screamed into silence and pressed my hands against walls in fear. As I was engulfed by the tornado of people, their faces begin to blend until all I saw was one girl. The girl with the perfectly toned body, the beautifully clear skin, the blonde hair and blue eyes. The perfect girl.

I realized that the only way to get out was to become her. So, I sat down and figured out everything I needed to do to be able to look like one of them. I would need laser hair removal, bleach, lip fillers, a facelift, a 15kg weight loss, contact lenses, a dermatologist and more. I needed to change rapidly and easily. After hours of pain, treatment, days of starvation and suffocating clothes, I was ready. The storm subsided and the sun was ready to illuminate the beauty that I had so perfectly crafted. 

“Hey, girl! You look amazing!” A girl yelled at me. 

Those few words rang in my ear and the echoes lasted for what felt like an eternity. I smiled. I looked down at my stomach to see that the folds were gone, and there was nothing to squeeze. It was so easy. All I had to do was look like them to feel like them. I would feel beautiful, confident, and most importantly, loved. I wanted to see myself. I hadn’t looked in the mirror in ages. Mirrors have this sheer honesty that can’t be replicated elsewhere. It simply shows you the exact truth, so when the truth is foul, you want to deny its existence. However, now the truth was perfection, and I’m sure the mirror would show me just that. 

I ran to the bathroom which posed to be a difficult task with my new heels that blistered my feet. It’s okay, beauty is pain. I had to hold my skirt up the entire time because there was no size small enough to fit my waist. It’s okay, beauty is accommodation. My hair kept sticking to my face because of the gloss of my lipstick. It’s okay, beauty is change. My mind was playing music similar to when the hero and the heroine reconcile after a conflict. I felt this way too. I would finally get to meet the person who would be deserving of my love. I arrived to see the mirror, the truth, the perfect girl, me. 

I was expecting the music to climax into an angelic strings sequence. But, the music slowed, reverbed and then eventually stopped. Silence. The mirror showed me another girl. She wasn’t me. I threw some water on the mirror and tried again. No. She wasn’t me. Maybe it wasn’t working correctly? I went to the next mirror and the girl followed me. I touched my hair and the girl touched hers. I spun around and she did too. I reached out my hand to see if it would go through but the glass blocked me. I noticed that her eyes began to swell and tears started to form. My cheeks were stained with black streaks and so were hers. I knew she wasn’t me because I had a mole on my left cheek which she didn’t have, I had curly hair which bounced in the wind, and I had a scar from playing tag with my brother when we were children. She didn’t have any of that. 

Don’t get me wrong, she was beautiful. I loved her. But, I thought that the love I would project would find its way back to me. Perhaps it couldn’t recognize me. Her face had now begun to look like a piece of abstract art, the colours of her makeup creating a Kandinsky effect. My mouth began to turn sour and my face grew paler. I rushed inside a stall and vomited into the toilet. Along with my last night’s dinner, I saw myself swirl in the toilet until there was not a single particle of me floating in the clear water. I grabbed the last sight of her in the mirror and went outside to get some air.  And there it was, the sun. 

I took off my heels and felt my bare feet burn. I didn’t move. The sun stripped all the uncomfortable clothes and peeled off all the correction tape that held my cheekbones and my neck back. It dried my tears and melted the paintings on my face until all that was left was my bare skin basking in the embrace of the sun. I stepped in the shower to wash off the facade of the day. I built up the courage to look at myself in the mirror again. I saw my mole on my left cheek, the scar from my brother, the nose that was too big, the folds that had reappeared, and my dark circles from all the stress. I stared at and analyzed every single flaw and every imperfection. The marks, the skin, the hair that had perched on my shoulder like a parrot taunting me that nobody likes someone who is different. But, attached to every flaw was a story: my mother’s curls, the game of tag that gave me the scar, and the sleepless nights that gave me the bags under my eyes. The stories didn’t come together like a dignified sonnet, they crafted a wild free verse of melancholy, ecstasy, and shame. I looked at the mirror again.  It’s not the uniform, it’s not perfect, and it’s not her. It’s me, hoping that someday tomorrow’s definition of beauty will be authenticity and individuality. Then, I’m sure that the love I extended will find its way back to me. Until then, we wait.

Author's Note

How do you feel about the lack of dialogue? Do you feel like you are able to connect to the character or does she need more of a backstory? Do you think it fits the theme of the competition?