So New York Magazine published an article today about a woman talking about how rough she had it growing up beautiful. The piece is getting a fair amount of criticism and backlash on the internet, and I’m really not sure why. Personally, I’ve never related to something so well. As a beautiful person myself, I know what’s it’s like to go about my day to day life, carrying the burden of being really, really, (like really) hot. It’s a thiccc cross to carry. So I’ve decided to stand in solitude with my fellow gorgeous comrades, and break down the article paragraph by paragraph:
Around eighth grade people started to tell me I was pretty. I was tall and willowy. I had a great figure and I never weighed more than 120 pounds throughout my 20s. I started modeling in high school and had waist length dark brown hair and brown eyes. When I do the whole makeup, eyelashes, high heels, gown look I am very intimidating.
Preach, sister. Us tall and willowy bitches need to stick together. And you’re not alone in that makeup situation. Whenever I wear eyelashes and high heels, I’m also very intimating. People do not hesitate to call the police.
I never interviewed for a job I didn’t get. I had a good degree from a good college, sure, but I think all things being equal I’d get the job above other candidates because of the way I look.
I’ve also never interviewed for a job I didn’t get. And I also never knew New York Magazine published articles with double negative sentences. Journalism is thriving. But I digress. I’ve also probably never interviewed for a job I didn’t get, mostly because I don’t get that many interviews. Fuck it. Still counts.
One of the worst things about being beautiful is that other women absolutely despise you. Women have made me cry my whole life. When I try to make friends with a woman, I feel like I’m a guy trying to woo her. Women don’t trust me. They don’t want me around their husbands. I’m often excluded from parties, with no explanation.
I felt this one. I’ve always wonder why girls consistently make me cry, and I guess it’s just because I’m too sexy. When I try to make friends with woman, I also feel like a guy trying to woo her, and I agree, it’s get old. Like every time I text a girl at 2am saying “U up?”, they always assume it’s for wooing purposes. Maybe I just want to talk. Maybe I just want someone to share this 7/11 buffalo chicken taquito with. Stop seeing the worst in me just because I’m so delusional that I think I’m better than all of you.
Excluded from parties with no explanation? High school makes a lot more sense now. It’s crazy to look back knowing no one invited me anywhere because I was just that hot. Now I know why my family didn’t invite me to Easter dinner this year. They knew I would bring the heat. They knew I’d be clapping cheeks at the dinner table. Grandma knows I’m a baddie.
At my first job after college, my female colleagues conspired against me. They planted bottles of half-drunk booze on my desk so that it looked like I was drinking on the job. Two women were obsessed with me
I HATE when this happens. Anytime you see me at OHE or Conor Larkins at 2pm on a Monday, know that it’s the evil doing of an enemy, and that I 100% did not decided to go there through my own pure will. Even if I seems like those are the only two places where I’m genuinely happy, it’s still a mischievous prank pulled by my haters.
That resistance other woman have towards being my friend is definitely one of the pitfalls of being attractive.When I was younger I was so desperate for friends, I’d take anyone.
Couldn’t have said it any better myself. No girls want to be friends with me, and like always, it’s because I’m hotter than all of them. When will the hatred end?
I never had any trouble getting guys, but I got bored easily and moved on. I should have taken the good ones more seriously. I can see now that they would have been good husbands, fathers, and providers but I’d just drift away on to the next and stop returning their calls.
She brings up a good point here, and I might have to take her advice. Gay guys love me. It’s a fact. No joke I get at least 1 DM a week from a gay dude (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Maybe it’s my birthing hips, or my jazz eyes, who knows. Regardless, maybe I should start going the other way.
These days, since I have aged, when I don’t wear makeup and I gain a bit of weight (which happens often) I pass as normal. As far as men, and anyone under 40 is concerned, I am invisible. They do not see me. I could walk across the street naked — it’s that bad.
Tell me about it. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked across the street naked and no one’s noticed.
Here’s the really sad part. It doesn’t matter how beautiful you were in your youth; when you age you become invisible. You could still look fabulous but … who cares? Nobody is looking. Even my young-adult sons ignore me.
Yea probably a good thing your son isn’t sexually attracted to you. That’s not the best way to gauge your value with men. “If my teenage son won’t fuck me then who will?” Let’s forward that paragraph to child services.
But regardless, it’s nice to know that someone else understands the daily struggle I go through, and can also take a step a back, make an honest assessment on yourself, and have the self awareness to blame every single short coming in your life on the fact that people are jealous that you’re really really hot. That’s the mature thing to do.
And look who came out on top:
My husband was the last decent man standing. He had a bit of a drinking issue, which he’s overcome. There was a time when things were bad and I considered leaving him but I had no idea how to even go about finding someone new because I never, ever, had to pursue a man. I knew I couldn’t cope with that kind of rejection.
The haters must be really jealous now, because you’re really peaking with that alcoholic husband that you won’t leave due your low self esteem and fear of failure. Smile and wave at ’em, babe, smile and wave.