I can’t write this post without thinking of Ani DiFranco’s song “Not a Pretty Girl.” Only, I always had a part of me that wanted to be rescued. I am a “pretty girl.” Not stereotypical pretty, maybe “natural pretty” or something like it. Everyone tells me I’m pretty. I don’t wear makeup. I don’t get my hair or nails done professionally. I don’t carry a purse, or spend hours doing my face or hair to go anywhere. But, everyone tells me I’m pretty. Pretty is a curse.

Our society teaches us a lot of negative things about people who are pretty. It’s honestly been taught to me that I can’t complain about anything because I’m pretty. I’m supposed to be happy all the time and perfect because I’m pretty. It’s socially acceptable to hate a girl just because she’s pretty. Women get mad at me for my genetics, basically. I once had a woman get angry at me because I was crying and when I went to the bathroom to “clean myself up” I didn’t look like I had been crying. Women who read this post will be mad at me, and it’s not like I worked for any of it; I just am who I am physically. I’ve never felt the need to wear makeup, so I don’t. My hair is an afterthought; I wash it, brush it, and go. My nails are so brittle that any products destroy them, so I don’t get them done. Women get angry at me because they pour time into something that I don’t need to. I get it, I would be frustrated to work so hard at something that another woman didn’t need to work for, too. Why hate me for that, though?

Yes, I got lucky in that department. However, our society makes me desirable, but that’s all men see. I’m objectified constantly. Men will say anything to stake a claim, and then they’ll move on or try to “fix” me. Being pretty is only surface level. In dating, I can attract 1500 men, but none of them want to stay. All they saw was my looks, my body. They didn’t care about the rest of me. I’m attracting flies with honey, but I’m not finding a real life partner.

The hardest part for me is that dating today is full of so much distrust that men don’t even believe me when I tell them my job. I’m not allowed to be “smart” and “pretty.” I’ve been dancing my whole life and one of them saw me do something “sexy” and assumed I’d been an exotic dancer. There is nothing wrong with that job, in my mind, but I didn’t dance to be objectified for money. I danced to fill my heart and express emotion in movement. I didn’t even get paid to dance, I only got paid to teach it.

Folks, in case it isn’t clear, I will tell you a story. In 6th grade, I was new to the school and the teacher quickly picked up that I was smart. She paired me with the “hot” guy in class because he had potential, but was struggling. She wanted me to help him academically. The two popular girls in the class felt threatened by me. They started threatening me and my life because I was sitting next to him and helping him with school work. I had death threats on my answering machine at home, they stalked me during recesses and after school. One day in gym they grabbed me, pulled me behind the bleachers and tried to strangle me with jump ropes. It was like a scene out of a movie; I caught my hands under the ropes and fought them until they overpowered me, pinned me down, and got the ropes around my throat so I couldn’t shout… or breathe. The teacher caught them before I lost consciousness, I think. I don’t remember much else. Being a pretty girl is a curse. Somehow, everyone hates you. The world teaches you that you’re not worth anything as a person; you’re just a pretty girl, and no one loves a pretty girl.

I don’t have the heart for a funny story this week. “I’m not a pretty girl, that is not what I do.” Find love and compassion this week, folks.

Love, -S.