Image: Penguin (RED)

My friend gave me some advice this week, completely unsolicited. She told me I shouldn’t cut my hair too short.

I’m not going to listen to her, though. I want my hair short short. In fact, when I cut off all my hair on Friday (prior to going to a hairdresser for a professional tidy-up) my prevailing thought was “I want to opt out of pretty. I want to feel free.” Free of the  lank hair I’ve had the last few years, which is partly the result of hormonal imbalances and partly the result of the fact that I can’t wash it every day.  And free of the idea that I have to look the way other people want me to instead of how I want to look.

Because I went through puberty early then had  noticeable breasts, then bad skin, then put on weight, people have been giving me unsolicited advice about my appearance for a really long time.

Just a few things I’ve been told over the years:

That I’d be needing a bra soon. (Aged 9)

That I should wear sleeves to cover up my (approximately four) underarm hairs. (10)

That my leg hairs were disgusting and I needed to wear trousers. (12)

That if I washed my face, I wouldn’t have so many spots. (14)

That I needed to eat less chocolate. (28).

I know at least some of these tips were kindly meant, (just as I know my friend meant no harm with her comment about my hair) but the subtext of all of them is the same: You’re not good enough as you are. Please change, then I’ll like you.

And that’s the pervading message women receive in our culture: in magazines and TV shows, in many self-help books, in the ads for cosmetic surgery in every glossy magazine. It’s  a message all of us internalise to some extent, and which men absorb on our behalf (and unthinkingly reflect back to us) as well.

Growing up, I knew (without knowing how I knew) that I was supposed to be pretty, and that in some ways (being relatively thin, having thick shiny hair) I measured up and in others (being short, having acne) I definitely did not. I knew that we were judged by society and that we judged each other in this way.

There is nothing like the scrutiny of teenage girls. We scrutinise ourselves and others, always trying to measure up. All but the most conventionally beautiful girls fail, and feel less worthwhile as a result. I once cried for hours after a girl in my class ranked us all by looks and I came after a girl two sizes larger than me who I didn’t consider to be attractive.

I know that teenage boys face body image issues too and suffer from body dysmorphia and eating disorders just like girls do but it is much more rare. Also, even when boys are considered unattractive, fat, and stupid, by being loud and confident (and when they get older, powerful and rich) they “get away” with it in the eyes of society .

When I researched this article, I had a really long (and rambling off topic because I found it so fascinating) phone conversation with a sociology researcher who had loooked at the messages teenage girls absorb about appearance. He had found that where teen girls had a supportive peer group who did not place emphasis on appearance, those girls grew up with better self-esteem and lower incidences of body hatred and were able to dissect and reject patriarchal messages rather than simply absorbing them.

Yeah, most of us don’t grow up with that. But some do. That girl two sizes larger who was ranked as prettier than me? She had that. She had a gang o’ pals who liked to play sports, draw, go for walks, play music… All stuff I would never have dreamed of doing because I was too busy looking in a mirror, spending time with my friends trying to get my hair to look right or practising how to use makeup to enhance my eyes and cover my spots. I had the misfortune of having a gang o’pals who liked to talk about how we weren’t pretty enough (and who, with the exception of me) were mostly really tall and really thin. Looks felt like the most important things in the world, inextricably linked to how much people would like me. And I felt ugly and ashamed of my body almost all the time.

I have a friend now who is uncommonly lovely. She hears the comment that she is beautiful a lot. We once somehow stumbled onto a conversation about how I don’t enjoy conversations with other women about make-up and hair tips and clothes. How I found those chats often had an undercurrent of bitchiness and competitiveness.

She had no idea what I was talking about, no angst about those topics at all. Perhaps she had more supportive friends growing up than I did. Or perhaps life is just easier for pretty people in many ways. (Although being thin, tall and pretty with good skin still doesn’t protect women from body snark, as  the way the modelling profession is conducted proves.)

Anyway, I’ve been struggling with these issues for years.

And then on Friday I got pissed off about how much my hair was annoying me and realised that the only reason I didn’t already have it really short was that I was worried about what other people (might) think.

I hold myself back from a lot of things because of what other people (might) think. I never had any interesting hobbies as a teenager because I was waiitng until I was thin and pretty with perfect skin and I never felt I was. (In the same way, I tried for years to mould my personality into an effotless cocktail of charm and humour that would offend no-one).

For a couple of years I’ve been trying not to refer to other women’s appearances at all, not wanting to contribute to the idea that beauty should matter.

I haven’t quite worked out yet if that’s the best approach. I know some people think telling ALL girls and women they’re beautiful is the answer, but that still seems like we’re accepting the idea that our main purpose is decorative.

However, I think we can’t ignore our physical selves altogether and that wanting to is a bad thing. Finding beauty in who we are, in all of who we are is the challenge – finding beauty not because our legs are thin but because they are strong, not because our faces are free from lines but because they light up when we smile, all of those cliches of the body-acceptance movement are so true and important. That’s an idea of beauty I can get behind.

Now I feel like I’m having a small revolution. I’m looking inward instead of out. I’m working out for myself what I love. I love the feel of short hair. I love wearing trousers. I love wearing eyeshadow and  nail varnish because it’s wearbale art that lifts my spirits.

But I can’t wear high heels.

I’m trying to only wear lipstick when I feel like it, rather than when I worry I’ll be judged for not doing so. I think body-shaping underwear is the work of the devil and I refuse to countenance it. Instead of trying to force myself into that version of femininity, I’m choosing what to embrace and what to reject. Feminists have been doing this for decades, of course, but it’s new ground for me.

I think anything people say about other people reflects their own prejudices more than anything (even if they say something nice) and it’s important to remember that no-one’s opinion of you matters, really. You make it matter, and with continued effort, you can choose not to.

It doesn’t matter if someone calls you ugly or beautiful, it’s essentially the same thing: a judgement, a confirmation that how you look matters, perhaps matters more than anything else. You can relish approval but that’s dangerous as you start to mould yourself in the image of how you think other people want you to be. You can whither under disapproval, never feeling good enough.

Or you can find your own way. You can think compassionately of others and their struggles with self-esteem, but not listen to anything they say about who you should be or how you should look.

And you can cut your hair short short and not worry if you’re pretty or not.

PS: Quote in title of this post is from TLC’s wonderful song Unpretty.

PPS: In an extraordinary case of synchronity, India Knight posted the above image to Twitter while I was in the middle of drafting this post.