i hate ugly girls

coming to terms with my inner misogynist

source: pinterest

I hate ugly girls. I hate them. I hate girls that don’t try to be beautiful, that don’t take care of themselves. I hate girls that hold so little space for other people’s opinions. I hate girls that wear mismatched clothes, unflattering coats, and hideous sneakers.

Don’t they know that nobody will take them seriously when they look like that? People will talk, sneer, laugh, pity, and ridicule. Nobody wants to be friends with an ugly girl.

The truth is that I was an ugly girl. But I had the decency to do something about it.

First, I listened. I listened when people laughed as I walked past, I listened when they pointed at my arm hair shouting “monkey!”. I listened when they gave me advice, when they pointed out what exactly needed fixing: my out-of-season clothes, my non-stuffed bra, my crispy, dry, untameable hair, my greasy skin, my bitten nails, my wonky teeth, my glasses that I should just stop wearing, better blind than ugly at the end of the day.

Then, I acted. I spent hours waxing, shaving, styling, priming, painting, pushing, stripping, clenching. The thousands of make up videos I watched, the glow up tutorials, the “how to stop being ugly” guides for 12-year olds, those were my scriptures, my bible, I bit onto them like a famished dog and swallowed those poisonous bites. I was Eve and Beauty was my forbidden apple.

I did the work, I put in the effort. And now I get to enjoy the result. Beauty and ugliness are now iron chains wrapped around my heart. They control my mind, my soul, I am nothing but their slave, living and breathing for them, through them. On beauty days, I’ll bask in the glow of my own confidence. I will laugh, I’ll make jokes, maybe I’ll even dance. On ugly days I will hide from people’s eyes, I’ll cower from mirrors, I’ll loathe my very presence in the room. Every interaction, every breath will be stained and rotten with this terrible ugliness.

I envy ugly girls. I envy their carelessness. I envy their gleeful hearts. Now, all I want is to be one of them. I want to think I’m worth something even if I’m not dolled up. I want to stop feeling the world’s judging gaze on my body. I want to believe when my partner calls me pretty.

I don’t hate ugly girls. What’s ugly is my jealousy, my envy, my bewilderment towards an attitude that seems impossible for me to achieve. I strive for the day when I’ll value myself for more than my body, my face. When wearing cute clothes will be for fun, not for necessity. When makeup will become an accessory, instead of a shield.

A day where I’ll love myself for who I am. And I’ll let other people do the same.