Recently, I opened up to a friend about a cosmetic enhancement I had chosen several years prior, a detail I had kept private among a select few confidants. Her indifferent response surprised me. “Well, you’ve always been a bit vain,” she remarked with a casual shrug.
Her words stung. I had never considered myself vain. To me, vain individuals—particularly women—are often depicted as villainous and self-absorbed, willing to go to extreme lengths to uphold their appearance, even at the expense of close relationships. (Think Snow White and similar tales.) I knew I wasn’t a caricature, but her comment prompted me to reflect on the fine line between pride and conceit.
As a child, my initial concepts of beauty were shaped by my mother. She would take my sisters and me to department stores, spending what felt like hours testing lipsticks and eye shadows while we fidgeted at the Clinique counter, trying to understand the peculiar skin type analysis tool. My mom wasn’t particularly obsessed with fashion, but her self-esteem was undeniably tied to how much makeup she wore.
She wasted no time in passing her beauty ideals to me—teaching me to shave my legs at ten and suggesting I address my “mustache” at eleven. Our bonding moments often took place during bleaching sessions in the bathroom. I remember the first time I was allowed to wear eye shadow for a birthday party in fifth grade; I rummaged through her outdated makeup bag and found a cracked baby blue shade, applying it with a sense of daring, albeit with limited visibility while roller skating.
While some may critique her methods, I eventually appreciated my mother’s inclination towards artifice. Her lesson was clear: whatever your definition of beauty, it can be achieved with the right tools. Looks were never prioritized over intelligence or other inner qualities; I could be both smart and attractive.
However, my self-image took a hit during adolescence, a tumultuous period that eroded my confidence. As my friends flourished into confident young women, I felt like a scrawny weed in comparison. Teasing and comments about my appearance, like being called “Sweetchuck” (a character from the Police Academy films), were hard to ignore, especially when taunts like “The Young and the Chestless” echoed in the hallways.
With time, hormonal changes, and a few training bras, I gradually regained my self-esteem. As I entered my twenties, I rediscovered the transformative power of a little eyeliner and lip gloss, reviving my mother’s teachings. Although I never woke up looking flawless, I always had a game plan. Taking time to look good made me feel more composed, empowered, and vibrant.
Admittedly, I find joy in enhancing my appearance—whatever my interpretation of beauty may be. I relish dressing up, receiving compliments on my hair, and catching my reflection in shop windows. I prioritize fitness, mostly avoid carbs to maintain my figure, and wear sunscreen to protect against wrinkles. Makeup has become a beloved indulgence, transforming Sephora into my personal haven. I strive to nurture both my inner and outer beauty, and whether that constitutes vanity is up for debate.
As I approach my 40th birthday, I am acutely aware of the unique challenges that come with aging as a woman in today’s society. The cultural obsession with youth presents its own set of anxieties. I am not a supermodel; I have cellulite, fine lines, and bunions. I don’t aspire to dress like I’m 25 anymore, but I do want to look my best for as long as possible, a goal I hope to pursue throughout my life.
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Summary
The pursuit of beauty and the desire to look attractive is often scrutinized, yet it can coexist with other values such as intelligence and character. Personal experiences shape our perceptions of beauty, and societal pressures can complicate self-image, especially as we age. Embracing the journey of self-care and enhancement is not inherently vain; rather, it is a celebration of individuality and confidence.