Cozy up and settle in folks, this is a long one. This was originally the draft of an essay I wanted to include in my first book but decided that it did not fit into the overall flow. I had so many directions I wanted it to go in but decided to just leave it, for now, I may revisit it in the future. I chopped it up a bit, drastically reducing the word count for readability, and now I’m releasing it into the wild (here). Enjoy!

Alternate title: Unpretty

Unpretty by TLC was one of my favorite songs growing up. A core memory of mine that is as clear as the day it happened is of my older cousin reprimanding my siblings and me for watching the video and telling us to close our eyes during the scene where a woman was getting breast implants. We were too young to fully understand the gravity of what was going on but her tone and insistence that we stop watching told us that we should feel ashamed for doing so. I loved that song so much because it and its accompanying video accurately portrayed some of how I felt about myself as an adolescent, even though life experiences hadn’t yet exposed me to the true meaning behind the song.

I, too, felt unpretty, mostly because of other people’s and society’s perception of beauty.

Throughout my life, I have been made aware that I am not conventionally attractive and the typical standard of beauty that society has defined as such. Most of us aren’t, I know that. But after a lifetime of living with my face, I know that more than few would describe me as “ugly.”

Each time I disclose this fact, I have to give the disclaimer that I am not calling myself ugly, though, for most of my life, it has been ingrained in me that I am.

Because even til this day, I am often reminded that society wouldn't put me in the category of beautiful. Sometime right before the pandemic began, while walking back home from spin class, I immediately became guarded as I walked past a group of about six men ranging from young adult to one elderly man.

“Aye chocolate! I love you girl. Whatever you want I got you!” yelled the elder of the crew.

“Have a good night!” I yelled back hurriedly, without looking in their direction.

“I’ll be long stroking you all niiight” he began to crassly sing as I walked past and ignored him.

“That’s what’s wrong with you Unc, you always go for the stuck-up ugly bald head b*tches, she ain’t even say hi!” a different man from the crew barked.

“See youngin that’s where you’re wrong, it’s the ugly bitches with the best pussy.” he replied and then said back in my direction “Aye chocolate come get this dick, damn that ass fat I want you girl!”

I don't remember the first time the world told me that I was ugly, but I do remember that I first learned it at home.

When you have a popular older sister who has all of the preferred physical attributes that you lack, you learn quickly to hide in her shadow and just take the jabs of reminders that she is light-skinned, with long hair, a pretty face, built body, and the signature Malone backside that only showed up for me in adulthood.

Anytime someone found out we were sisters it would be the shock of the century followed by questions like;

"Tia, Tia?"
"Tia Malone?!"
"That's YOUR sister?"
"Y'all got the same daddy? .. and Momma?"
"Were you adopted?"

Even teachers who taught both of us couldn't believe it, but that was usually less about our differences in looks and more about our differences in personality and academic achievements. In fifth grade, during a physical examination for school, I remember being so happy and proud that the scale said that I was 125 and hers read 127.

"HA!" I exclaimed with a "gotcha" tone, "You can't call me fat anymore because technically you weigh more than me!"

"Well, that's because you're shorter than me stupid,” she retorted, “I'm still smaller and I don't look fat, you do."

As a child, I remember feeling like my sister accepted a personal mission on the day of my birth to remind me that I was not considered beautiful by her or by boys and after being told something consistently by many sources, and provided evidence of it you can't help but to believe it.1

In middle school, where I had two of my first three boyfriends, I remember having a very similar conversation with both of them at the start of our "relationship."

"If anybody asks, we don't go together, and don't be mad if I act different in front of my friends, I just don't want them to know that I have a girlfriend." And because I felt lucky to finally have boys interested in me romantically, I obliged. I still remember getting caught kissing one of them on the playground near a secluded tunnel and him pretending that he was dared to kiss me and that he didn't even like me because I was ugly. Another time, when one of them sat next to me on the bus to a field trip, proceeded to give me the rundown of how we couldn’t hold hands or get too close because we were keeping it low. But I knew, even then, he didn't want to be embarrassed if our classmates knew he was dating the fat and ugly chick.

In high school, I once stood awkwardly by the pool as I noticed one lifeguard signal to another to look at me. He then made a gagging gesture and they both started laughing. I don’t remember when or where but I do remember being so crushed that I no longer wanted to be in the pool for fear of them watching me and possibly exchanging insulting gestures about me while I happily swam. So I went off to seating area and said I no longer felt like swimming.

Another time, I was in the middle of a conversation with one of my friends and classmates who happened to be one of the most popular, smartest, and most involved guys in my grade. He was extremely handsome and fit; both a starting football and basketball player, and you could effortlessly drown in his waves.

From the outside, I'm sure seeing him bent over my desk closely and laughing, it looked as if whatever topic of conversation we were having was a flirtatious one, but it was never that. I knew better and didn’t like him in that way. Right as the bell rang to signify anyone else walking in was officially late, a group of his teammates in the same class walked up and said "Oh shit, Ty2, that's you now?" and they all proceeded to laugh as I grew hot with embarrassment but also curiosity at how my friend would answer. "Mannn get the fuck outta here with that, don't ever try to play me like that," Ty said angrily as he walked away from my desk towards his. I was crushed and our friendship was never the same. This began my lifelong insecurity of being friends with extremely handsome men and I wish that this was the only example of this kind of experience, but believe me when I say that this was only the beginning.

I had a deep crush on a boy from eighth grade up until graduating high school. There were several times when he embarrassingly reminded me that I never had a chance with him in public. But he'd sometimes be extremely kind and flirtatious with me in secret, preventing my feelings for him from subsiding. There was a time when a frienemy, Hailey, first told him that I had a crush on him and he loudly exclaimed "Ew, no!" But, that's not what she told me was his response.

Instead, she said that she knew for sure he liked me too but that I had to make the first move. So I did what any school girl would do who was too shy to tell her crush in person that she liked him. I wrote him a note. "Hey, Alex, Hailey told me that she told you that I liked you even though I begged her not to. But I'm glad she did because she said you might be feeling me too. It's okay if you don't, I just wanted you to know." The horrified look on his face as he read the note across the room and began to write back is embedded in my brain.

After class, he walked over to me, dropped the note in my lap, and hurriedly walked away. I eagerly opened the note to read his response where he coldly wrote "Hailey lied. I don't like you like that. Sorry." When I relayed this to Hailey, she got the BEST laugh out of it and said "I didn't think you'd write him a whole love letter, he actually said ew when I told him, I just didn't have the heart to tell you." A few weeks later, I was online late at night on the new social media site Tagged and saw that he sent me a message. "Glad to see you're up. Can you sneak out of the house? I'm tryna fuck."

Back then I took his desire to have sex with me as an indication that he actually was crushing on me too and that he just didn't want a relationship with me. In adulthood, I’ve learned that that is more common than not. The desire to have my body, but not love me. I'm so glad I never gave myself to him in that way, I was adamant about saving myself for marriage and I wasn't throwing that away for anyone back then, not even him.

My lack of conventional beauty throughout my life has plagued me in many ways, and it caused me to even shy away from friendships with extremely beautiful girls in my youth and early adulthood as well. I always ended up being the "ugly friend" who was left without a paired-up boo in the group of guys interested, even if the numbers were even. Boys would rather wander alone than be stuck with the fat and ugly friend of the group.

I was even left alone to walk around Cedar Point by myself when my two beautiful friends decided to wander off with a group of cute guys who weren't interested in me tagging along with them. And when they finally returned a few hours later when it was time to leave, they accused me of being too sensitive and jealous that they got the attention of cute older boys. While both of those things were true, I was also hurt that I was always reminded by strangers and loved ones alike that my physical appearance was not a preference and there was nothing I could do about that.

These experiences early on in life caused me, and still do since I'm being honest, to struggle with believing someone extremely attractive, also finds me attractive, and is genuinely interested in me outside of sex. It also causes me not to make the first move when I am interested in someone unless I know mutual attraction has already been established in some way. I've since learned that this is a form of self-sabotage. I hate that I still have a slight fear of rejection, especially in that area so that stays for now.

Like most women, especially those who date cisgender males, I have no problems finding a willing partner in the bedroom tango despite my appearance. And I wanted to delve more into that here. But decided to save that for another time.

It has been a pattern that I am often desired privately by men, usually because of my physical assets below the neck, and I shy away from close platonic friendships with most men for fear that they will one day decide that my kindness is somehow indicative of desire. I have more success in dating when the purpose is to "keep things casual" or to remain only “beneficial friends,” but not as much when I am on the search for a romantic companion and partner. I am not the first choice for a person who has a superficial lens of physical attraction, and I am okay with that.

I am always intrigued by men who find me physically attractive, and I've become a master at discerning which ones would happily sleep with me, but would never bring me home to Mommy or proudly parade me around like a trophy wife.

Even though I am still reminded in some way that I am not the preferred standard of beauty, I have learned to not only be okay with that but to also deem myself beautiful in a world that does not think that I am. Whenever I confess this truth to someone they instantly feel the need to reassure me that I am not ugly, usually finding the best way to affirm my looks and stating that I am SUCH a beautiful person, inside and out. Sometimes even rattling off the things they believe make me beautiful. But, I am not asking for that.

I don’t need to be assured that I am not ugly. I no longer believe that I am though for most of my life, up until early adulthood, I did. I have many more stories of public humiliation surrounding my looks, from early childhood and even into current times. It is as if there were individuals placed in my path JUST to remind me that they, and the world, deem me ugly.

Fuck them.

Currently.

Feeling — I’ve just come down from a hypomanic episode lasting from Christmas until this past week. I also stopped taking my ADHD meds daily and I’m sure that contributed. I don’t think I need them until I start working consistently again.

Reading — I just finished “I’ll Show Myself Out” and “Good Morning, Love.” I’m still making my way through “Nonviolent Communication” and started “A Long Way Gone, Memoirs of a Boy Soldier.”

Listening — “Unmasking Autism” audiobook. It’s over ten hours long so it’s keeping me company on long commutes to and from daycare.

Anticipating — My two interviews next week. The third round with one company and the first with another.

Contemplating — How to make myself get my ass up and move more. After three weeks of travel, I returned and stayed on my couch for a week. I now need to get myself into the habit of getting myself up and moving around without a direct reason to.

Affirming — Things will always work out for me.

Similar to this.

Posts of mine with a similar vibe:

• What I see when I look at my naked body.

• The person controlling my simulation is bored.

• I took one of the "easy" ways out.

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