Natural Beauty

I’ve noticed something yet again (I’ve been noticing it every semester of every year I’ve been at college) that not necessarily baffles me, but definitely bamboozles me. Every morning I get to class usually right on time, or two minutes late. It just happens that way. And every morning the same girls are there, cool, collected, on time, and miraculously looking fabulous. You know—perfect make-up, good hair (like you can tell they styled it—STYLED it. Curls, perfect straightness, some funky twisted braid thing, that though it may be funky, you know it took some time), cute clothes, and that aura that says: “I got here five minutes ago and I look cool and collected because I am cool and collected. I ate a complete and balanced breakfast, walked leisurely to school, and here I am.” These people amaze me. Because clearly they got up in enough time to do everything necessary to give off such an aura. I’ve tried to convince myself that they just naturally look that way, so there’s nothing I can do about it, being a mere normal girl who God did not endow with natural, easy goregeousness—but the thing is, I’m pretty sure they didn’t just roll out of bed looking like a flock of sophisticated secretaries for corporate America. I have no excuse. I don’t get up early enough to do that. I don’t make enough effort to join their ranks (and believe me—such ranks have to be joined—I’ll explain that later). This morning, for example, I bumbled out of bed, into the shower and had five minutes to do my hair, make-up and get dressed. I think I went over and took eight or nine instead. And that, unfortunately, is the norm. I keep hoping that a figure like Audrey Hepburn, hair like a shampoo model and skin like a baby’s toosh will just come to me one day. Like I’ll wake up some glorious Tuesday and voila, I’ll have been transformed into a model—all of which will be totally natural and take no preparation whatsoever. I’ll been waiting for that day for a long time. I don’t think it’s coming—but I’ll hold out till next week just in case.

I would like my style to be classy, but I know that in reality it’s more like… scroungy, but clean. I arrive to class heaving, eyeliner smudging and sometimes a little perspiration on my forehead from the thigh-searing haul of a walk up the ubiquitous stairs that are some sort of sick requirement to get to campus.

Now to talk about joining the ranks. I want to focus on the fact that there are ranks, more than the fact that you have to join them. Being one of those cool, collected girls puts you in a yacht with the other cool, collected girls. They talk to each other, laugh well-groomed laughs and give us scroungy girls a look that says clearly: “late again? And your hair looks pathetic.” The thing is, I don’t resent the fact that I’m not a part of this league of prepared beauty and organization—but I do want to join. So, every morning when I get to class and drop my bag by my desk and collapse, heaving, into my seat—shirt not matching shoes and mascara speckling one of my eyelids, I mentally tell myself what I want to tell them: someday! Just you wait! One of these days I too will wake up early enough to put my hair in a chignon, eat a complete and balanced breakfast, walk leisurely to class and look REALLY good.