“It’s okay! You’re cute. She might be girlfriend material, but you’re wife material.”
My friend was trying to reassure me that I was desirable, that compared to the girl in our youth group whom every guy seemed to want, I had other qualities that would qualify me to be the object of someone’s — anyone’s — affections. I might not have had the beauty that would’ve gotten me attention I longed for but at least I had the heart and personality to win them in the end.
She said it with the best intentions, knowing my insecurities, and despite the poor word choice and delivery, I knew she only said it to help me feel better about myself.
But it’s been almost twenty years since those words were spoken over me, and there are days when they ring louder than the truth. There are days when I look at my thirty-eight-year-old face in the mirror and wonder how I could possibly be attractive, even to my husband. I notice the pores that never shrank, the blotchiness that makes my cheeks look flushed (but not in a cute way), the fold lines on my neck I wish I could iron out. I see my protruding belly in the mirror and swear I could look thirty weeks pregnant, while wondering if I could regain some of my youthfulness if I could just stop eating what I want to eat.
So, I find my tummy-tucking jeggings and wear a tunic-like shirt on top to hide the bulges. I patch up the acne scars and dark bags under my eyes with a stick of foundation and blend in another layer of liquid foundation. It’s nearly impossible to find the right shade for my skin color, so two are often better than one. I curl my stubbornly straight eyelashes, inevitably pulling some of them out, and I wear mascara to give the illusion that my almond-shaped eyes are bigger than they really are.
It’s all an attempt to prove that I’m someone desirable, someone to pay attention to, someone to be curious about, someone that’s not invisible.
I grew up in a hybrid culture, with immigrant parents above me and second-generation Korean-American peers next to me. One side told me I should try my best not to be noticed, unless it was being noticed for being the best, and the other side struggled to be seen and heard as equal, normal — not exotic, not nerdy, but just your average somebody.
But when the baseline for beauty is what is white and Western; when there is no other framework through which to see yourself; and when the mirror tells you you’re falling short, you can’t help but wish you looked like somebody else.
During those formative years of high school and college, upper eyelid surgery was just starting to become more widespread. Peers with monolids like mine (eyelids with no crease) would show up to church or school one day with double eyelids. Where there was no crease, a crease was formed by the surgical blade of a cosmetologist, and parents encouraged it.
Nowadays, double eyelid surgery, nose enhancements, chin reduction surgery, even jaw reshaping surgery are so common in Korean culture, it doesn’t faze many of us anymore. And it’s not just the women anymore. Men are getting similar surgeries, and unfortunately, more and more Koreans, especially those from the motherland, look like copies of each other instead of their original, unique selves.
In hopes of achieving a more Western look — the straight, protruding nose instead of a round, flat one; double eyelids instead of one; a strawberry-shaped face instead of one shaped like a moon — we’ve sacrificed who we are to look like a generic picture of what the world says is beautiful. Instead of being seen as we are, we’ve completely altered what we look like in order to be accepted, in order to be called wanted, and in doing so, our true selves have become further hidden, disappearing even.
Genesis 1:31 says that after God made human beings and finished His work of creation, He looked at all He had made and called it very good. Everything was unaltered, naked, natural, and pure. No enhancements or alterations needed to be made because everything in its most basic form was already very good.
I hardly say that what I see in the mirror is very good, and there will long be days when I slather on my makeup, curl my eyelashes, and tuck in my belly hoping to see someone new looking back at me.
I don’t have the face or the body the world might deem pretty or sexy, and as time passes, even what seems decent now will soon fade away. But I’m slowly learning to respect what is mine — my almond eyes, my flat nose, my round face — and I’m speaking new words over them:
You are very good.
Instead of being seen as we are, we’ve completely altered what we look like in order to be called wanted, and in doing so, our true selves have become further hidden, disappearing even. Click To Tweet
