I'm over it. I'm letting it go. Clare doesn't need to fulfill my vision of how she would look most beautiful. She doesn't need to care about being beautiful. She DOES have to wash her hair at least once a week. There I will not budge. But my girl won't define herself by her appearance the way I did. The way I still do.
As both a mother and a daughter, Shannon Bradley-Colleary's article really gave me some thoughts and feelings. I definitely remember fighting with my mom before every school dance because she thought I "would just look so pretty with a little bit of mascara" and fighting with her when I went through a phase (an ongoing phase) where I only wanted to wear neutral colors. That I would look so pretty if I'd just get the hair out of my face, or buy a dress, or put some makeup on or just show SOME interest in how I looked and other than the few times a year (mostly proms) when dressing up felt like wearing a costume, I just didn't care.
This is not an attempt to make my mom feel guilty or make her seem superficial. Wearing makeup, shopping, and getting dressed up just made my mom really happy and confident, and in her eyes, I think my refusal to take pleasure from that stuff looked to her like depression or self-hatred. She just couldn't imagine that I could both value myself and give very little value to my appearance. Granted, I did have some self-esteem issues, mostly due to a particularly traumatic high school relationship, but I always felt pretty comfortable with myself. When I did have issues with my body or appearance, I was quick to call myself out on them. When I went through a period in high school when I felt too fat to have friends, I wrote an essay about it and read it at a creative writing reading in front of all my friends and family. I had so much to worry about, and wearing uncomfortable clothing or makeup that made my eyelashes feel too heavy just didn't appeal to me. I lived very deeply in my own mind and wore the almost comically thick black glasses to let everyone know it. I still cut my own hair. I don't shave my legs unless I'm feeling particularly fancy. I didn't own a pair of jeans until sixth grade because they were uncomfortable and I refused to wear a bra until high school because WHY WOULD I DO THAT IT'S CONSTRICTING ME I CAN'T BREATHE, MOM!
Fast forward a decade and I have two daughters of my own. And because life is just this way, my kids love fashion. They "dress" to eat pizza in our living room, and every time we go to the playground, I have to explain over and over again that Christmas dresses are not appropriate playtime attire. Each kid already owns more dresses than I have probably worn in my entire life. They are comfortable in dresses, they feel confident in dresses, and while they also feel comfortable rocking a pair of holey jeans and a t-shirt, they feel most themselves when they're all dressed up. And it's hard for me, I'm not going to lie. When my seven-year-old asks me why she can only wear chapstick when all her friends are wearing lip gloss, it makes me uncomfortable. When she wants to get her ears pierced, I remember piercing my own ears twice before finally giving up on the whole damn thing, and I cringe. When she asks how old she'll have to be before she can shave her legs, I groan. "You don't have to shave your legs and wear makeup to be a worthwhile human being," I want to shout. But then I remember that she knows that. She knows she doesn't have to be conventionally girlie to be awesome. She dressed as a knight for Halloween and regards stereotypes about girls hating math or being bad at science with disdain. She is a good kid, a smart person, and yes, sometimes she wants to feel beautiful. And just like my mother finally gave up and stopped bugging me about mascara and embraced the frumpy, sweater-wearing daughter she was blessed to have been given, I have to embrace my fashion-loving, fancy dress-wearing daughters just the way they are*. Because they deserve to do whatever makes them feel best. And because I love them.
*Within reason. There will be no makeup or leg-shaving in this house until these kids are at least a couple years into the double digits.
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