Mirror Mirror on the Wall… Whose opinion really fucking matters anyway?
We all know the Brothers Grimm and their classic tale of Snow White, an innocent princess sentenced to death by her haterade drinkin’ step momma and a loose-lipped mirror. Disney kinda skipped right over the part about Snow White’s stepmother being a narcissistic nightmare of a woman, whose desperate need to be adored for her beauty had a surreptitious effect on Snow White’s self-esteem and safety.  The cruel words and actions coming from a woman entrusted with her care caused Snow White’s view of herself to be warped and distorted, leaving her feeling like she was never good enough. At 7 years old. This internalized message (along with mommy dearest taking out a huntsmen hit) ultimately led Snow White to believe she would never belong or be accepted by anyone – not even in her own home. So much so, that her best option was to run off into the dark forest and shack up with 7 random dudes she meets after breaking into their home.
And let’s not forget how the story rounds out… some necrophiliac prince stumbles upon her dead body in the woods and is all “So what if she’s dead? I’m taking her child-bride body back to my castle.” The fuck? The prince and his men end up dropping her glass casket, causing the poisonous apple to fly out of her throat, she wakes up, marries the prince and they live happily ever after in his Ed Kemper castle. That is one way to escape a homicidal narcissist. Sorry Snow White, your only option was to become a baby bride to a man you barely know, who only values you for your beauty and was willing to overlook not only the whole you being a child thing but also the fact that you were DEAD, to rescue you.
Sounds extreme, but what if this fabled tale was our reality? What if every mirror appeared to be magic? But instead of a shadowy figure appearing and talking shit, it’s your voice and the voice and everyone you’ve ever met screaming and it only notices the flaws, imperfections, and areas you wanna cut off with scissors? What if instead of looking in a magic mirror we were forced to face society’s perceptions and internalize their critiques as if they are something immutable — as if they mattered more than our feelings or truths? After nearly 40 years of conditioning, I don’t need to what-if, and if I try hard enough, I can see and hear every single opinion about my appearance ever shared by anyone I’ve ever met. Alphabetically if necessary, like an emotional abuse Rolodex.
This is the power of generational abuse, the male gaze, and internalized misogyny. Our mothers continue to pass down their neuroses and coping mechanisms like family recipes and we continue to eat the same poisonous apples that Snow White was fed. The male gaze is an insidious force that has infiltrated our culture from early adolescence on, making it impossible to not internalize a version of ourselves defined by others. It continues to be a tool used to control and diminish women, turning them into passive objects or sexualized props for men’s pleasure. But it’s not all on the patriarchy! Internalized misogyny is a form of self-hatred that has become so deeply ingrained, we don’t even realize it’s there and that we’re doing it to ourselves. We have been complicit in our own oppression and continue to internalize these messages despite being aware of the harm they cause us.
I’m Mrs. She’s Too Big, Now She’s Too Thin
The narcissistic mother is one of the most toxic people you can encounter, and she’s stronger than a pack of wild wolves. She instills insecurity in her children, belittles their accomplishments, twists reality with manipulation and gaslighting, and loves to play the victim. At her core, the narcissistic mother craves attention to quell the tedium of her existence. She manipulates those around her like puppets on strings because it makes her feel powerful. Her need for control often leaves children feeling unloved, unheard, or taken advantage of…
My mother used to tape bows to my bald infant head to make me look like a girl to the outside world. She was the one that taught me to judge myself by how I looked and not much else. So, in a very real way, she gave me my own version of the magic mirror – the relentless pressure to be beautiful and perfect. And I, like most humans, have spent many a night staring into that mirror mentally listing all the reasons I was gross and gonna die alone. Diet and exercise were never talked about from a mental health and wellness standpoint. Nope, they were always framed as solutions to my problems, and all I heard was the problem part. I am a problem if I am fat. I am a problem if I am not beautiful. I am a problem if… fill in the blank with whatever shitty thing your inner voice is screaming at you right now. And then tell it to say something nice or fuck right off.
My earliest memory of feeling shame is standing in gymnastics class tugging at my leotard thinking I was fat, I was 6 years old. 6 years old! In middle school, I cut off my long beautiful hair and doused what was left with Sun In all because the boys nicknamed me Reno Raines from the tv series Renegade. Looking back, I’m not sure why I was so insulted but it was a catalyst for dramatic change nonetheless. In high school, I wasn’t fuckable or talented but I wasn’t a total leper so I blended into the nothingness of the middle and barely attended enough classes to graduate. I remember all the highs and lows I’ve felt based on other people’s opinions of me. The self-hatred was so deeply embedded, I couldn’t even see myself objectively. And that’s what the male gaze does to us; it robs us of our power and autonomy. It dictates how we dress, how we position ourselves in relationships, and how we view ourselves.
His Nickname is Chapstick, and no I won’t tell you why
I met Chapstick on that famed trip out West and he was not a fan. And I can’t blame him. I was 22, messy, and completely devoid of original thought. I outsourced my personality to alcohol and was hell-bent on being successful. My road map to romantic relationships was straight trash, so while personal relationships and intermittent infidelity were fun distractions, financial independence was my wet dream. I was an insufferable twat at times, who mainlined validation like that fucking cocaine bear, and I was an incredibly easy target for Chapstick to redirect all his disappointments and self-hatred.
Ya see Chapstick was a bit of an outsider in The Boys Club, cause he ate carbs and didn’t have a 6-pack. He also hated himself more than most women I know, so that really paints a picture of his body dysmorphia and level of mind f*ckery… that’s what happens when your entire existence is defined by female beauty and acceptance. The knife cuts both ways y’all! He was one of the many men who suffer from body dysmorphia and treat women like objects to regain a sense of control. He measured competency by beauty and perfection and anything else was unacceptable. He didn’t understand that I wasn’t put on this earth to please him or make him feel superior, I’m my own person with needs and feelings, but it didn’t matter. I was an object to him and he wanted me to play the part — so I did, if only for a short while. I dieted, obsessed over every little imperfection, and danced the line between likable and fuckable, all to appease the male gaze and inflate myself with a false sense of self-worth. My career and success were directly tied to the scale; it was fucking exhausting, it was fucking frustrating, and it was fucking ridiculous.
Chapstick didn’t get there on his own… he was taught that this is how the world works. His mom was the one who fucked him all up and told him he had to be handsome, smart, and perfect in order to get ahead and he wasn’t any of those things. Her words were his bible and The Boss and The Boys echoed her mantra. We all learn it in one way or another, and his teachers were the same as mine – a generational curse and a culture obsessed with female beauty and male approval.
Society has Been Placing Impossible Standards of Beauty on Women for Centuries
According to recent studies, American women spend an average of 55 minutes grooming each day (that’s damn near 2 weeks a year!) and make up 80-90% of the $115 billion industry for beauty products, affecting both their time and financial resources. My Diamond member status at Ulta directly supports this theory.
Society places impossible standards of beauty on us as women; from the media, to our peers, to our romantic partners – everyone is always telling us what we should look like and how we should act if we want to be accepted or successful. We’re told to wear makeup, to be thinner, to cover up and dress a certain way – all to conform. We have dealt with centuries of toxic beauty practices like corsets that restricted breathing, deformed your ribcage and rearranged your organs (all for that 14″ waist!), foot binding that restricted your ability to walk upright and had the men lining up until 1949, microdosing arsenic for a blooming complexion and appearance of embonpoint (aka perky tits), and using nightshade eyedrops to get that perfect seductive pupil and only blind you in some cases. All these practices were meant to make women more desirable – but ultimately just made them weaker and more dependent.
And these ridiculous standards don’t just limit us in terms of physical appearance; it also limits our ability to succeed in other areas of life. We are told that if you’re not beautiful enough, you won’t get the job, the promotion, or even the guy, so we don’t try, avoid taking risks and stay small. We see this type of discrimination every day in the workplace, where women in high-power occupations are often expected to invest time and effort in pursuing beauty, more so than men in these occupations.
I know what you’re thinking, why do we all feel this pressure to conform? In a nutshell, it’s because we live in a society that values physical beauty over everything else. We are constantly bombarded with images of filtered perfection on television, in magazines, and on social media that make us feel inadequate if we don’t measure up. Additionally, this idea that physical appearance is the most important factor in determining success perpetuates gender inequality. Women are directed towards rewards for their appearance rather than power for their performance; this prevents us from achieving our full potential in life and robs us of our power and agency.
Everyone is Fucked Up and Together We Can Un-Fuck-It-Up
Owning my truth has not been easy. I am still working to unpack the designer set of baggage I’ve been carrying around since birth. I’m pretty sure one of the smaller bags is still filled with those damn taped bows. But I’ve learned that my truth is not what society (or anyone but me) deems as beautiful. It’s what makes me happy and confident in my own skin. It’s knowing that I’m working to reframe diet and exercise as nutrition and physical activity, and understanding they are not meant to be restrictive or punitive, they are healthy tools in my wellness journey. I am working to retrain my brain and stop obsessing over the number on the scale and start looking at the numbers on the chart, like my blood pressure, cholesterol and whatever-fuck-else is important to maintaining my health.
After my experiences, understanding how people have treated me due to my looks, coming to terms with my body and learning to truly love myself inside and out, and having an amazing and supportive squad that helped me navigate all the fuckery; this is my journey of taking back control. I have learned that Psychological Safety can help us create a safe space to express ourselves authentically and be our true selves – free from judgment or fear.
It’s not easy to challenge centuries-long beauty standards and social norms, but it can be done. It doesn’t have to mean sacrificing your health or happiness for arbitrary ideals; instead, it can mean embracing who you are and making choices that make you happy instead of what some bullshit filter tells us we should look like. And I’m not saying burn the bras, throw out the razor, and use your makeup pallets as watercolors. I’m saying whatever choices you make, make them, or don’t make them, for you. As individuals, we all have our own unique stories surrounding our connection with our bodies and it’s important to remember that we all fucked up and we are not alone in this experience. We have the power to challenge the oppressive ideas around accepting our bodies for what they are regardless of their shape or size; together we can begin to create positive dialogue and effect real change. Share your stories, help build platforms and communities dedicated to smashing outmoded attitudes and ignite real transformation in how we perceive ourselves and others.
It’s time for us to break the cycle and love ourselves exactly as we are, no matter what society says. It’s not simply about “loving yourself” in a superficial sense but creating a space of acceptance and understanding where you can actually believe it and own it. Your daughters need examples of strong women who have escaped their internalized prisons and shattered external expectations, so they can live their lives without the weight and pressure of everyone’s opinions but their own. We must learn to think of ourselves as complete human beings — not just our bodies — with an innumerable amount of talents that make us unique and beautiful on our own terms. So grab that metaphorical magical mirror, smash that fucker, and pick out a dagger… We ride at dawn.