Monday, July 16, 2012
Dear Pretty Girls
Just for once, I would like to hear one of you say, "Yep, I'm a knockout. I know it. I admit that being pretty makes my life easier in ways you will never know. Jobs will be more plentiful, more people will want to be my friend, the network I can draw on will be huge, and there is no social gathering I will attend where at least three men don't try to get my attention."
Pretty Girls, I am tired of hearing you blush and smile and say, "Ohhhhhh, I am NOT pretty." I am tired of hearing you say that while your online photo shoots indicate that you know exactly what you're leveraging. I am tired of hearing you say that when we go to social events together and men talk to you as though you're alone. Tired of it as I struggle for ten minutes to get a bartender's attention while a stranger has your drink purchased almost before you even arrive. I am not one of those people who believe that life is fair and that, deep inside, Pretty Girls must truly be unhappy in order for the universe to balance. Because you know what? Deep inside, I'm unhappy. And I'm not pretty. And I don't have the guy. That particular guy. You do. So don't insult me by pretending that you're just like me. Don't tell me how much you hate your nose, or wish you had my eyes, because we both know you don't. We know that you would never trade places with me in a million years, and if you could at least show some honest gratitude for the completely unearned hand you have been dealt, I would respect you so much more.
Pretty Girls, fuck you.