THE HOT GIRL COSTUME

Hey ZOnErz,

So, it seems that we are all slowly coming back to a more physical social life, hanging out at a reasonable distance of our loved ones, elbowing our friends before letting a newfound social anxiety quietly kick in our system. For real, never in my life have I been so self-conscious of how I interact with others and felt more of a dork, dumping on whoever accepts to distancingly see me, a constant stream of words describing in tedious detail my boring quarantine everyday life. These first human contacts have also brought up a usual train of thought I find myself indulging in even more often now that we have been effectively physically isolated for 2 months. How am I looking now? Did I change? What should I look like? And being my full shallow, narcissistic (but honest) self, I’ll even admit that I wondered how I could let go of the fact that 2 months-worth of my body and skin in their prime were not used to their full capacity. After a usual guilt trip (“Thou shall stop valuing your appearance so much FFS!”), I got curious. I thought about the women in my life and I felt that this underlying Angst when it comes to looking desirable is very much prominent for most of them – whether they consider themselves a trophy wife, a stay at home mom, a corporate rock star. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, but it seems that if you don’t look “hot" to your own eyes, or to what you think the eyes of others see, then no one really sees that you are beautiful. So, in this article, I wanted to touch base, with compassion and humor, on a subject that, even if it casts an unflattering light on the highly intellectual and expanded person I want to be, is ultimately consuming a large amount of females’ headspace and comes with its fair share of pressure, fear, and guilt.

Be hot first, do things after

I don’t even know where to start, so I figured I’d start with the end, or more accurately when we think we become invisible. Most girls, myself included, have integrated early in life, unconsciously, that women have a shelf life, an intriguing ticking clock on top of their sacred biological one. Mainstream media, advertising, the film industry have constructed the idea that a woman is desirable and thus worthy of being the center of attention for a defined period of her life: roughly from her high school heydays to her débuts as a MILF. It means women in these seasons of their lives are more represented, served better by capitalism because deemed more cashable and lectured by everyone that they should be very grateful for all the unrequired “compliments” they receive. Most important, they should make the most of the way they look … while it is still time. I remember very vividly a cautionary tale told to me at an advanced hour of the night by a guy in his 40s who was hitting on me in a club when I was the tender age of 21. He was explaining how lucky I was because “I had it all” apparently. My looks/ figure, because it somehow fitted what was conventionally deemed as sexually attractive would open me numerous doors, but I had to hurry because the minute my metabolism changed or my face would show signs that I had been around for more than 2 decades … well, it would be much harder. I remember being uncomfortable, but especially mildly panicked, because, like most 21-year old, I was (and am still not) blessed with banging body confidence, despite fitting the standard of what a “hot body” looks like (more on that topic later, you’ll get all the sweet whining of a sad healthy genetically “blessed” person … yeah I’ll slap myself too). What worried me the most was this: I did not really love my body at the time (and there is still a long way to go), and according to everybody else, it is the best it can ever be so I need to make the most of it NOW. I thus created for myself this added pressure of cashing in on my youthful looks and created a hurtful and scary narrative where the changes that would occur through time to my already weird shape would prevent me from doing stuff: “I might as well buy this skirt even though I really want to buy jeans, I won’t be allowed to show my legs at some point and I might regret it”. I basically tied the possibilities of being happy and fulfilled, feeling attractive, achieving what I want to a certain extent, and having decent self-esteem to something that is inherently designed to change: the looks and desirability of my body.

"You accept and integrate that your body is a sexual means you use to be deserving of being heard, to achieve what you want"

But you know, the worst part is that it seemed that my entire environment reinforced this weird limiting belief. Having a nice body and being hot seemed to come first because when you acquire this strange temporary weapon you start to be seen and to (to some extent) be heard. Evidence 1: when does the weird nerdy girl in every high school movie get the attention from the quarterback? When she gets a makeover takes off her glasses and puts on a banging outfit. Evidence 2: which female demographic has a significant engagement, platform, ultimately a louder voice because of the number of pairs of eyes that watch their stories on the regular? Hot female Models (think Kendall Jenner, Bella Hadid, Kylie Jenner, and all the others). Conclusion, if you want to have a voice thou shall look hot, be noticeable, be sexual. Having this realisation consciously or unconsciously leads to a great deal of disassociation: you accept and integrate that your body is a sexual means you use to be deserving of being heard, to achieve what you want. Personally, for a while, I completely disconnected my body from who I was, and the way I was presenting myself had more to do with my wanting to be seen than with a true expression of who I was. In simpler terms, I was wearing clothes, putting on makeup, doing my hair, not to look the way I really wanted, but to look like my definition of a hot chick. The scariest part is that for a time I saw positive results because I kept doing it for YEARS (and still do sometimes). All the voices around females seem to be telling us that we should be acting this way. I don’t need to explain the double standard between representation and judgment of women and men. As a female, even if your job doesn’t consist of selling sexiness and clothes (and for the record, there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with selling sexiness and clothes), but to pass laws, be a doctor, an entrepreneur, a journalist, your body will still be criticized, scrutinized, discussed first, and in details. It means that, even if you earn your place under the spotlight because the public decides you are proper enough looking, you still have to scream to get your point across and show people how to see beyond your physical appearance. I don’t see a lot of people discussing Bernard Arnaud looks, but I can only imagine what would happen if a woman was the public face of a world’s leading fashion conglomerate.

Guilty of wearing the hot girl costume

To get back to my original point, I have been willingly wearing (and still sometimes wear) this hot girl costume that I feel I need to wear to be seen. Trust me, it goes far beyond just figure-hugging clothes. It is a sense of worry, a murmur that accompanies you even when you consciously try to shut it. Paradoxically, this very costume has served me well and has been pretty comfortable to wear over the years. Why? Well, it comes back to my point, when you consider yourself a sexual object, all of a sudden, your identity doesn’t feel that exposed anymore. People don’t really see you because they are so distracted by your obvious display of sexual attributes: you are not really vulnerable to the world anymore. My shield of choice for a time was my extra-large breasts that I got reduced 2 years ago. I had the most paradoxical relationship to that very expression of my femininity: I hated looking weirdly sexual in a simple tank top, I hated the looks strangers could give me, as much as I felt this weird power my breasts gave me and loved justifying my unsuccessful love life because “Omg they are just interested in my body, men are trash lol”, taking 0 responsibility for willingly pursuing people that were emotionally unavailable and clearly not choosing me. Getting my breasts reduced thus felt like I was stripped of that protective layer, of a piece of my identity that sheltered who I was from the outside world. If I wasn’t the “chick with huge tits” anymore, who was I, would I even be someone? Who would like me? And I think that is a question a lot of women ask themselves: if I am not hot anymore, what am I, who am I to the others … Can you hear how shallow this sounds? Because we all can! Us females all know that appearance should NOT weigh that much in our internal value system, that your body should be considered a vehicle that gets us through life more than an object that creates desire for others.

"When you consider yourself a sexual object, all of a sudden, your identity doesn’t feel that exposed anymore"

But the unconscious reflexes are deep-rooted and we all get that nice little high from considering we fit into our ideal of the hot chick. That endorphin rush strikes you after you snap that photo of you on a non-bloated day in that cute bra, when you catch a glimpse of your own behind and notice the effect of a regular squatting routine on your now bubble butt when you receive that sweet validation from other people after you post a revealing selfie. But don’t get too comfortable, because right after, the internal fight begins and shame enters the chat. When you are dolling up for an event, shame asks “Am I really doing this for myself?”. This weird moment after posting a selfie, shame asks “why am I doing this?” “Do I really own my sexual power or am I waiting for thirsty dudes to slide in my DMs?”, “Am I really that shallow?”. Where to draw the line between “I am posting those bikini pics because I fully own my body and express my choice of revealing it to the degree I choose” and “I just need attention and validation to feel worthy”? Well ZonErZ, if there is one trait that defines all humans it’s their paradoxical natures, so I think there is room for both, but it comes along with conflicting emotions.

"I hate that I care so much when I like to convince myself that I don’t"

Admitting we are struggling with our self-induced body objectivization is uncomfortable, to say the least. I still feel a sense of shame when I doll up or dress in the morning, not because of societal moral standards or because I don’t look like a respectful woman, but because I hate that I care so much when I like to convince myself that I don’t. As much as I value and constantly develop skills that have very little to do with my appearance, as much as I cultivate a (relative) low maintenance and easygoingness, I would lie if I said that sometimes I don’t question my behavior as just not another attempt at being the “cool girl” defined by Amy Dunne in Gone Girl: laid-back, funny, smart but most of all and first falsely “effortlessly” hot. The “be beautiful and shut up” era is over, thank god, but the importance we (society, men and women themselves) put on the way women look isn’t. I’ll end this logorrhea with some honest unanswered questions. Will I ever be able to find myself attractive without fitting the standard of what culture taught me was hot? Can I unconditionally spark desire from myself for myself? What would my life look like if I truly didn’t care?

Mad love