No. You're Ugly

"I like me. I like my hair. I like pink.. ." Kenzie, my three-year-old sings while dancing around the living room.
I wonder when it is that my little girl will stop liking herself and start worrying about her hair, her skin, her makeup, her body size. Because it's inevitable, isn't it?
Is there a way to escape the insecurity and angst that comes with realizing that you don't live up to some arbitrary standard of beauty?
I had a big nose. I remember the comments and snickers. I remember trying to walk facing towards large crowds so they couldn't see my profile. I remember always trying to shield my face with my hand in class, so the people sitting next to me wouldn't notice my monstrous nose. I remember reading the sign that said, "God don't make no junk." and thinking, "No, but he makes ugly people like me."
We read Cyrano de Bergerac in English class and I burned with shame every time we read lines about his big nose, knowing that my class mates were all thinking, "Poor Stephanie. This is her story." I knew it was the reason I didn't date, couldn't get a boy to be interested at all. I tried to joke about, but it was painful to make fun of myself just to try and beat someone to the punchline.
Then, between my junior and senior year of high school, I was scheduled for major dental surgery on my jaw. Why not get my nose done at the same time? So I did. I had a nose job. (There, I've said it. I had a nose job.)
The surgery was painful and awful, and I began the school year with two black eyes, a nose cast, and my jaw wired shut. Somehow this seemed less humiliating than having a big nose.
I expected instant self-esteem, dates would come flooding, friends would gather around and awe at my new beauty.
But I was still me. I was still sarcastic and tried to beat people to the punchline by being clever and mean first. I think I had a little reverse sexism going on. I do remember going on a blind date (after the black eyes had cleared up), and the boy actually showed interest and called me back. I'll never know if it was the fact that I didn't have a big nose anymore, or the fact that I wasn't focused on my big nose, so I allowed myself to have a good time.
It took a few years of high achievement in college, and succeeding in running to finally realize that hey, I was okay. I was worth knowing and loving. And I might not be beautiful, but I was fine.
I often wonder how different my life would be without that nose job. Would I still have developed self-esteem and worth? Would I be able to hold my head up while walking by a crowd and not care if people were staring and laughing at my nose? Would I ever have loved myself enough to allow someone else to love me?
I don't know. I do know that despite a nose job, make up, exercise, good clothes,whatever I do is not good enough.
Just a month ago we got our family pictures taken. I went to the shop to order the prints, and there I watched myself get photoshopped into the photographer's standard of beauty. Teeth: whitened. Hair: flyaways fixed. Face and neck: Wrinkles smoothed and skin tone evened. Bust line: lifted. Arms: slimmed.
I have plenty of things to be self-conscious about, now I have a few more thanks to my instant chest lift. The pictures look great. But somehow I feel cheated. Silly me, after my nose job I had started to believe all those people that said beauty is on the inside. I thought beauty was something you did, not something that came in a compact.
The other day I walked by a new shop opening up in the area. It offered the "Gift of Beauty," because obviously unless you wear their products you are ugly and unacceptable.
I find it highly ironic that we tell our little girls, "You're beautiful just the way you are," and then stand in front of the mirror and cover our faces with make up.
How am I supposed to answer their questions:
"Why do you wear that mommy?"
"It makes me look prettier."
"Why can't I wear some?"
"Because you're beautiful just the way you are. (But I'm ugly, so I need this.)"
Yeah, that doesn't make sense to me either.
I have mostly stopped wearing makeup. I am in make up limbo right now. I don't quite dare to plunge all the way into makeup free, which probably makes it worse when I don't wear makeup. You know, the shock of seeing someone makeup free after you've seen them dolled up is much worse than just seeing someone who never wears makeup.

I know, according to society, I look better with makeup. My eyes are brighter, my skin tone is more even, my lips are fuller. But deep down, I think this is ridiculous.
I'd like to take my mascara and eyeshadow and throw them in the trash as a symbolic gesture of my belief in inner beauty, but something stops me.
A part of my feeling good about myself is tied to that little tube of black mascara.
And that's a shame.