What Makes You Beautiful?

Gwyneth Paltrow was just selected as People Magazine’s “Most Beautiful Woman.” When I opened my mailbox on Friday, I was staggered by her healthy skin, sun kissed hair, straight white teeth and killer body. Gorgeous cover shot, no question. And then I opened the magazine and was hit with not one, but two more Gwyneth covers.

Guess even the editor was blinded into indecision by her beauty. But what is People telling us about what constitutes “beauty?” In reading the article, we learn that Gwyneth adores her children, eats carbs and enjoys a martini, values her marriage, and is more than a little obsessed with her two hour workout routine (must be nice). She tells us that, just like the rest of us, she runs her kids around five days a week to their after school activities, and that her marriage takes work.

There’s no reason at all to be anything other than impressed, dazzled and, yes, envious of the whole package – her “beauty.” So why is it that when I read the article and looked at the six full page photos of her, I wasn’t impressed or dazzled, but was instead more than a little bit sickened? And I’m not the only one. It seems that lately there’s a big anti-Gwyneth movement sweeping the nation. Why is that? On paper, there’s nothing not to like about her. She seems ‘perfect.’ And that’s just it. Perfection can’t – and shouldn’t – equal beauty, and I’m disgusted with Hollywood telling us it does and perpetuating average (i.e., normal) women’s feelings of inadequacies.

Dove just made a video that went viral where a sketch artist asked average women (i.e. non-celebrities) to describe themselves, and then had a person who had just met them do the same. The side-by-side drawings were strikingly different. Social media blew up with comments about recognizing your own beauty, and the need to improve self-image and self-worth, and it made me think.

If I had to describe myself, I’d for sure start with the one eye that somehow shrinks to half the other one’s size when I smile, the bump on my nose and the pockets of droopy skin on each side of my mouth that get more pronounced every year. I’d mention my freckles that look more and more like age spots as the years progress, and would probably vocalize disgust for the mystery wrinkles around my mouth. Then – maybe – I would say that I usually like my hair (although it’s terribly thin), and that my smile is kind of nice (although my front teeth are too big and one has a tiny bright white spot on it). Would I include my sense of humor or that I’m a loving and caring mother and wife, or that I’m quick to find the good in most things I’m faced with? Maybe, but only after I mentioned how I hate the sound of my spoken voice.

I’m not proud of that honest admission. I’m not. And honestly, I really do like myself. I like my sense of humor and my enthusiasm for life and even my feet. But do I consider myself “beautiful?” Not at all, despite the lucky fact that I have a husband who’s been telling me that I am every day for almost 20 years. In my defense, I’ve grown up in a world where, for as long as I can remember, magazines and other media outlets have put airbrushed and over-stylized photos of a “Gwyneth Paltrow” in my face, detailed their perfect and successful lives, and then told me that was what defined “beauty.”

And after awhile, a girl starts to buy into it, no matter how much she knows that’s not the case. I know a lot of people might say that I’m reading way too much into People’s definition and declaration of “beauty,” or maybe that I just need a better self-image. But as long as “beauty” is equated with physical appearance and two hour workouts and homes with gardens and movie star success, it will be pretty hard for the rest of us to find it in ourselves.

And that’s a shameful message to be sending.

Michelle Newman is a writer, mom and personal assistant to two hilarious and dramatic daughters, who has been held against her will in Minnesota for the past 15 years. When she’s not at Target or giving her cat insulin injections, she’s writing about her 17 years of being a SAHM, the absurdity of celebrity life, and anything else she can find hidden humor in, over at her blog, You’re My Favorite Today.