almost never see young actresses touch their food. Many have way too much plastic
surgery. I don’t knock the profession; it has its place. But people get addicted. So many women, and men, are chasing an ideal
of beauty that’s just not cute.What is it that these ladies see in the mirror that would make them think it’s a good idea
to blow up their lips with some filler to the point where they look like two hotdogs on their face?
When you strive for that kind of perfection in your appearance, you end up not looking human. Women lose their individuality,
and they look like sisters from the same planet. Girls are taking drugs, diuretics, and laxatives to get thinner and thinner.
They’re doing all sorts of things to themselves short of mutilation in their quest to look like Angelina Jolie, and the people
behind the magazines and blogs are perpetuating this madness as they sit and judge every little hair that’s out of place.
It sets a terrible precedent for the rest of women and girls. When you give way to this kind of obsession with your looks,
you miss out on what true beauty is.
Perfectly Imperfect
To me, real beauty has nothing to do with perfection. It’s those little flaws we have in our faces that make us memorable.
It’s like a great jazz performance, when a horn or saxophone cracks a bit in one spot. Or one of those rare times Aretha Franklin
hits a note that’s ever so slightly off. Those are my favorite parts. It isn’tperfect, and that’s okay. It’s all part of
the charm. The way it is, flaws and all, is special, and that’s better than perfect. Not only do these tiny imperfections
highlight how brilliant the rest of the performance is, they remind me that the artist is human, and that makes their music
even more beautiful to my ears.
Leave It Alone!
The most beautiful picture of Mary J. Blige I ever saw was the one on the cover of her album
Mary
. It’s a black-and-white shot of her in profile, and it shows the scar she has running down from her left eye to the top of
her cheekbone. Usually that little mark gets airbrushed out, but the fact that they left it alone is what makes this image
so unforgettable.
For the most part, I’ve been fortunate that photographers have not gone crazy and digitized my image beyond recognition. But
I have had issues with the scar on my forehead. Sometimes I have to fight to make sure they leave it alone. I got that scar
when I was three years old playing tag with my brother. I tripped and fell, hitting my forehead on the corner of the bathroom
door frame on the way down. Not long after that, I was running into my aunt’s house when I tripped and landed face-first on
the stairs, in the exactsame spot where I’d injured myself before. I had to have three stitches. But that scar reminds me
of my childhood and the fun times I had with my brother. It’s part of who I am. I
love
that scar!
I wish every woman would learn to love herself and embrace what she was given naturally, even her small imperfections. The
point is to be healthy, feel good in your own skin, and play up your best assets. Whether you’re short or tall, thick or thin,
the beauty comes from how you carry yourself, how you care for your appearance, and the inner glow that confidence brings.
A girl can be born plain, but if she believes herself to be gorgeous, she can be the sexiest woman in the room.
When your self-confidence is low, it’s all too easy to internalize what you see or don’t see in the media. I was fortunate
enough to have a foundation of self-love instilled by parents who constantly told me how beautiful and special I was. As a
little girl, I never wondered whether I was beautiful or not. I knew I wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense, and all the
Dark and Lovely in the world wasn’t going to get my hair straight, but I liked myself plenty.
I was athletic and big-boned. All limbs. I was always running around, getting scraped
surgery. I don’t knock the profession; it has its place. But people get addicted. So many women, and men, are chasing an ideal
of beauty that’s just not cute.What is it that these ladies see in the mirror that would make them think it’s a good idea
to blow up their lips with some filler to the point where they look like two hotdogs on their face?
When you strive for that kind of perfection in your appearance, you end up not looking human. Women lose their individuality,
and they look like sisters from the same planet. Girls are taking drugs, diuretics, and laxatives to get thinner and thinner.
They’re doing all sorts of things to themselves short of mutilation in their quest to look like Angelina Jolie, and the people
behind the magazines and blogs are perpetuating this madness as they sit and judge every little hair that’s out of place.
It sets a terrible precedent for the rest of women and girls. When you give way to this kind of obsession with your looks,
you miss out on what true beauty is.
Perfectly Imperfect
To me, real beauty has nothing to do with perfection. It’s those little flaws we have in our faces that make us memorable.
It’s like a great jazz performance, when a horn or saxophone cracks a bit in one spot. Or one of those rare times Aretha Franklin
hits a note that’s ever so slightly off. Those are my favorite parts. It isn’tperfect, and that’s okay. It’s all part of
the charm. The way it is, flaws and all, is special, and that’s better than perfect. Not only do these tiny imperfections
highlight how brilliant the rest of the performance is, they remind me that the artist is human, and that makes their music
even more beautiful to my ears.
Leave It Alone!
The most beautiful picture of Mary J. Blige I ever saw was the one on the cover of her album
Mary
. It’s a black-and-white shot of her in profile, and it shows the scar she has running down from her left eye to the top of
her cheekbone. Usually that little mark gets airbrushed out, but the fact that they left it alone is what makes this image
so unforgettable.
For the most part, I’ve been fortunate that photographers have not gone crazy and digitized my image beyond recognition. But
I have had issues with the scar on my forehead. Sometimes I have to fight to make sure they leave it alone. I got that scar
when I was three years old playing tag with my brother. I tripped and fell, hitting my forehead on the corner of the bathroom
door frame on the way down. Not long after that, I was running into my aunt’s house when I tripped and landed face-first on
the stairs, in the exactsame spot where I’d injured myself before. I had to have three stitches. But that scar reminds me
of my childhood and the fun times I had with my brother. It’s part of who I am. I
love
that scar!
I wish every woman would learn to love herself and embrace what she was given naturally, even her small imperfections. The
point is to be healthy, feel good in your own skin, and play up your best assets. Whether you’re short or tall, thick or thin,
the beauty comes from how you carry yourself, how you care for your appearance, and the inner glow that confidence brings.
A girl can be born plain, but if she believes herself to be gorgeous, she can be the sexiest woman in the room.
When your self-confidence is low, it’s all too easy to internalize what you see or don’t see in the media. I was fortunate
enough to have a foundation of self-love instilled by parents who constantly told me how beautiful and special I was. As a
little girl, I never wondered whether I was beautiful or not. I knew I wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense, and all the
Dark and Lovely in the world wasn’t going to get my hair straight, but I liked myself plenty.
I was athletic and big-boned. All limbs. I was always running around, getting scraped
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