The Dark Side of Pretty

Okay, I’m not the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m no Halle Berry. At almost 52, I’m fair to middling cute-ish. Not setting the world on fire, but not scaring small children just yet either.

Why am I telling you this? Well, for a few reasons. First, I’ve read a couple of stories that just pissed me off to no end about “how to catch a middle-aged woman.” The basic tenor of them is, that their looks have faded, and thus they’re desperate, scared, and will take just about anyone who pays them some attention. Ummmm no.

Second, I’ve read a couple of stories by writers that have had the balls to speak the unspeakable, to dare comment on the disadvantages of being blessed with good looks.

I’ve been the awkward, boobless, knock-kneed kid. I’ve been the 14-year-old girl that wanted to fade into the floor when someone told my father he had a nice-looking son.

I was that girl that longed to be beautiful and to have all the boys fall over themselves at the very sight of me. I wanted to stop traffic.

Until I did. I was a late bloomer. I was almost 30 when the “hot” kicked in. Men were coming out of the woodwork everywhere. Work, the grocery store, on the street, in the pub, there they were.

I’m not gonna lie, at first it was fun as hell! I was living my teenage dream! I was finally the belle of the ball. Take that prom queen (you know, if we had actually had one)! I drank in all the attention and got drunk as hell!

There are advantages to being attractive. I can’t deny that. Pretty privilege is a real thing and I’ve totally benefitted from it. I still don’t have to wait in lines and I’m not even young and hot anymore. I also know when I practiced law certain older male judges were, shall we say, more open to my arguments.

I don’t have to pay for drinks. Well, I didn’t, back in my bar days. Except I always did because I never wanted a fella to think I owed him something.

I’m treated well pretty much everywhere I go. People move out of my way. People offer me assistance without my asking. The fish counter guy at the grocery store will change the stickers on certain fish for me to make it less expensive (he offered).

So yeah, the privilege is real. And to this day, there are things I like about it. I still flip my thick curls to get my car in for that oil change right away. I still play the damsel, twirling her hair when buying a car until I have the seller in my pocket and then I hit him with the hard facts and the low offer, which they take.

But, and hear me out, it’s not all fun and games being attractive. There are downsides, some of them dangerous and some of them devastating.

First of all, when your entire self-worth is tied to your looks, you’re pretty much screwed from the start. I guess I was lucky, being a gangly, awkward kid because I at least knew I had my mind to fall back on.

My husband was totally different. yeah, you heard me, men also deal with issues around their looks. He was freakin’ gorgeous as a teenager and a young man.

Here’s the problem though, no one ever commented on anything else. All he heard about was his handsome face, his nice ass, his luscious lips, etc. He spent years focusing on those looks to the exclusion of everything else. Why? Because it seemed to be the only thing anyone cared about.

Never mind he might have been intelligent. Never mind he might have been a talented artist. He was pretty.

Funny thing, he got older. And he got bigger, a lot bigger. You know what he found, a mind and an amazing talent as an artist that has seen him sell paintings all over the world. But even at a good 260, he’s hot as hell!

My point is, he was a gorgeous young man and nobody bothered to notice anything else. They never bothered to look further than the surface and because of that, he never bothered to either, until he felt he had to.

So that’s men covered. Let’s get to us ladies. And yes, there are many downsides to being so-called beautiful (I say it that way because I don’t consider myself beautiful, I’m attractive, yeah, but as my mother said, Halle Berry’s beautiful, few others are).

Here’s an article from the BBC that covers it pretty well:

I’m going to expand on it with my own experience.

First, it’s very difficult to be taken seriously. Sure, some judges favoured me in the courtroom, but getting to that courtroom was often torturous. Being attractive and a woman meant having to deal with countless male lawyers as opposing counsel who assumed I was a moron or a pushover. Cuz, ya know, the pretty girl couldn't possibly know the law, right?

Throughout my legal career, I’ve been bullied, berated, and bitched at by more hairy-faced old white men (to steal my mother’s words again) than I can count. They underestimated me because of my appearance.

Yeah, don’t do that. I’ll take you to court, I’ll mop the floor with you because not only will I show up looking cute, but I’ll show up with my homework done and my mind sharp.

I’ve been told right to my face that women can be either smart or pretty. Seriously. To. My. Face. What message does that send to girls? Inherited physical attributes and intelligence are not mutually exclusive.

Seriously, get over it. I’m smart, I’m cute. It happens. It happens a lot. Maybe, just maybe, we should be focusing less on how pretty our girls are and more on encouraging their minds to develop.

That gorgeous 14-year-old might just be ready to dump science for looking cute. She might just be the one who’s going to cure cancer 15 years from now. Let her be and do both!

And when people aren’t thinking the pretty girl’s dumb, they’re making assumptions about her personality. Because clearly, I’m a snob and a bitch and I hate absolutely everyone that’s not as cute as me.

Really? Are people that insecure? Short answer, yes.

Spoiler alert, attractive people don't go around all day feeling superior. It's quite the opposite, in fact. When all people see are your face and body, it doesn’t make you feel good. It makes you feel lonely.

It makes you apologetic. Society tries to tell you looks don’t matter, while at the same time screaming that looks matter a whole lot. You question yourself. You question every choice you make. That guy or girl you don’t really like? Are you rejecting him/her because you don’t feel a connection, or is it because of some superficial looks thing?

I’ve dated, even married men I didn’t feel attracted to, just to prove to myself I was a good person, just to prove to myself and the world that I knew looks didn’t matter.

I wasted the time of those men and my own. I was wrong. I used them to make me feel better about myself. Shouldn’t have done it. Did do it, can’t take it back.

Oh, and then there’s safety. I left the biggest one for last. Pretty women, as much as they might be admired, deal with creeps and stalkers, and just can’t navigate the world without feeling on guard.

I’ve been stalked in the criminal sense (as in I actually filed charges) four times. The first time, I worked in a coffee shop and our delivery driver took a shine to me. I was clear that I wasn’t interested.

He took to driving past my house and then reporting to me every Wednesday (delivery day) what he saw on my clothesline, with special attention to my undergarments. When I started dating another man, this guy was happy to tell me exactly where we went and when.

If you’ve never been stalked, let me tell you, it sucks. It sucks hard. It makes you question everything. You question every word you ever said, every little thing you ever did that might have encouraged the stalker. It makes you question the world at large. You walk around in fear, in terror, knowing that person might be watching, ready to pounce at any second.

I didn’t deserve that. Nobody does. I was just working and doing my job. I was pleasant, that was all. I didn’t flirt with this guy. I gave him no indication that I was interested, quite the contrary.

But that’s one of the pitfalls of being attractive as a woman. Common everyday courtesy is taken by some as “she wants me.” No, honey, she just said hello, she didn’t say hello big boy take me now. Sometimes hello is just hello.

The second time, it was my ex. When I left, he felt he lost his trophy.

Granted, I accept responsibility for marrying him. I shouldn't have. I should have listened to my gut. Live and learn.

I won't bore you with the details on the third and fourth times. You get the idea.

Safety is a real issue. I don’t want to be approached at the grocery store by some guy blocking my passage with his cart. Dude, I’m over here trying to buy kale, go away.

I don’t want to be followed to my car. I don’t want to be followed to the washroom when all I’m trying to do is pee.

I don’t want your comments on my face, eyes, or butt. Well, if you’re respectful, I’m okay.

My point here is beauty is only skin deep. There are definite benefits, But, it’s not all fun and games. It’s not great to be told that your appearance is all you’re worth.

It’s not great to be treated like a moron. It’s not great to be treated as weak and vulnerable. It’s not great to have your personal safety and integrity threatened when you’re just living life.

Contrary to the prevailing opinion of some, you DO NOT get to take liberties just because a woman is attractive. It isn’t your right to get a pretty girl on your arm. You don’t have the right to my time or attention. You don’t have the right to make me feel unsafe.

It’s not great having PTSD from all of it. It’s not great being discounted and judged as the poor little pretty girl and scoffed at by others that don’t get it. And it’s not great being told I’ll be so very sad when it all goes away next week because, you know, I’m old now.

Newsflash, don’t care. Well, I care a little. Do I like being attractive? Overall, yeah, I still think it’s better than the alternative. Do I know it says zero about me as a person and is a simple accident of genetics? Yeah. I’m aware. My mother was gorgeous, see:

And so was my father.

I get that. I get it's really nothing more than a genetic lottery. All I’m saying is, in this time of supposedly not judging people based on appearance, don’t judge people based on appearance.

Being attractive isn’t a golden ticket to all the wonderful things in life. We have insecurities. We have minds and feelings. We’re judged, yes positively, but also negatively. Our safety is threatened. Our sense of self-worth is threatened. And you know what? It’s not okay regardless of what we look like. Pretty is not a panacea. It’s a surface image and not much else.

Originally published on medium.com. Edited to provide updates.