Let's Talk About Beauty...

 

"I'd date Belle because she saw the beauty within the beast.  She knows it's what's inside that counts." - Phil Lester

I've been thinking a lot about beauty, lately.  And no, not just because my "pictures" file on my laptop is steadily filling up with Phil Lester's face (although also very much because of that).  

What set it off was stumbling across a photo on Facebook, which featured my former real-life crush.  I looked at him and realised that - and bear with me here, because this may sound like one major backhanded compliment - his looks weren't necessarily what mainstream media likes to tell us is stereotypically attractive, but that I found him utterly gorgeous, based on who he was as a person.  

I'm not saying he wasn't physically appealing.  He had (and I'm assuming still has) beautiful, big blue eyes and a very sweet smile.  But his real beauty, as with all of us, came from within.  I thought his smile was cute, but I thought the love he had for his family and friends was beautiful.  I thought his eyes were lovely, but I thought his cheeky sense of humour was even lovelier.

It's become something of a cliche to say that beauty comes from within, but it's absolutely true.  Only the most shallow of people could see a gorgeous person acting cruelly and still prioritise their looks over their behaviour.  The most stunningly beautiful exterior is useless if it's hiding an ugly soul.

So, it stands to reason that the opposite is true.  A person who we might think of as average-looking can quickly become almost perfect in our eyes, if they're kind, funny and caring.  The inside of a person starts to shine out and we see them for them, rather than as merely their face and body.  

That's actually what happened in the case of my number one celebrity crush (Phil Lester; come on guys, where have you been the last few months?!).  At first, he was just "the darker haired one" from Dan & Phil.  Then, he was the "funny, really sweet one."  Then he was the "funny, really sweet and incredibly thoughtful one."  Only after I discovered more about him and learned what sort of a person he is (or at least, what his Internet persona is), did he go from being "the darker haired one," to being "the most gorgeous human being on the planet."  Don't get me wrong, Phil was gorgeous to begin with, but I didn't see it properly until I realised that he was also a sensitive soul, a creative force and a total and utter weirdo (I say that with love and as a fellow weirdo, so it's cool).

MOOSE HAT.  Your argument is invalid.

Of course, I say all of this as someone whose own looks have never been anything close to being stereotypically beautiful.  My nose is too big, my chin is too pointy, I have ridiculously curly hair, I'm incredibly short and my belly sticks out at the moment, because I recently discovered "Golden Oreos."

And I do awkward rock-horns in photos with alarming regularity.

The thing is, the older I get, the more I'm starting to realise that literally none of that matters.  Would I like my hair to be manageable and for all the Oreos I consume to be entirely fat-free?  Yes.  But would I change who I actually am inside?  No.  Because, without getting all Christina Aguilera on your asses, I am beautiful, no matter what they say.  

It's absolutely fine to worry about things like doing our hair and make up nicely, or wearing a really good outfit if we're going somewhere special.  But it's also absolutely fine to not care a jot about any of that stuff, if you don't want to.  Equally, it's fine to acknowledge someone's good looks and find yourself attracted to a person based on their physical appearance.  We just all need to be better at remembering that the outer shell is just that; the outside packaging.  And the packaging only goes so far.  Eventually, we have to realise that a person isn't just their eye colour, hair style or bra size.  It's about their humour, their warmth, their empathy and their ideas.  Looks fade over time, but a beautiful soul will stay that way forever.

And if you're sitting there, thinking "this is all well and good, but I'm ugly, so nobody's going to bother getting to know my beautiful soul," then let me stop you right there. 

You might think you're ugly, but I can absolutely guarantee you that there are plenty of people in the world who don't.  How do I know?  Because for years (and I mean years), I thought I was the ugliest girl on the planet.  Nowadays, whilst I don't look in the mirror and see a total stunner, I don't see someone hideous, either.  I see someone who tries to be kind to others.  I see a weirdo with a strange sense of humour (and I like that about myself!).  I see someone who will always be there for her loved ones.  Those are the things that make me beautiful, regardless of whether anyone else can see it.

SELF CONFIDENCE CONFETTI PARADE!

It makes sense to me to end this blog with a quote that is often attributed to Audrey Hepburn, but which I think I'm right in saying she actually borrowed from a poem/letter and used in a speech, hence everyone thinking it was hers in the first place.  Regardless of whoever came up with it, this pretty much perfectly sums up my belief that real beauty will always come from within, no matter what we look like on the outside:

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others.

For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness.

And for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone."

Beauty is more than just skin deep.  

Beauty comes from the soul.

The 5 Stages of Having a Crush...

I try to be honest in this blog.  I figure that revealing myself warts and all might inspire someone somewhere to realise that they're not alone in the way they think or feel, or in the experiences they've had.  Life can be lonely when you go through something on your own, after all.  

This morning, something (and I genuinely don't know what) got me to thinking about my love life, or lack thereof.  See, I have this tendency to develop huge crushes that I never do anything about, because I don't believe for one second that anyone I am hugely attracted to could possibly feel the same way about me.  Maybe it's a weird form of self-preservation, having been in an abusive relationship and being genuinely terrified of being hurt again, but I just tend to fall for someone and then never do a thing about it.  

It's time that stopped.  

Because, you see, I'm tired of the endless merry-go-round that I put myself on, over and over again.  I'm sick of repeating the same old routine.  Once I really started thinking about it, I realised that there's a definite pattern to my crushes.  And, for the sake of total and utter honesty, I've decided to share the five stages that my crushes tend to take.  Maybe you'll recognise some of these stages.  Maybe you'll think I'm utterly insane.  Or maybe, just maybe, sharing this will be the kick up the arse I need to actually do something about it, once and for all.

1. The "Jane Austen" Phase.

Being the over-sentimental fool that I am, I don't really do the initial "I fancy him" bit.  Or if I do, I'll find that very soon after (once it goes from "I fancy him" to "I have a crush on him"), I dive straight into what I lovingly call "The Jane Austen Phase."  

Basically, my internal monologue begins talking as though I'm in a novel from the 1800s.  I'm less Lady Marmalade and more Lady Mary from Downton Abbey.

"Oh, heavens.  I do admire him, so!  And yet, I simply cannot express my feelings, for it is unladylike to do so.  I must wait for him to declare that he wishes to become my suitor..."

I have this propensity to swoon, should the object of my affections pass by.  I really ought to carry smelling salts, or something.  I'm all desperate longing, secretly hidden behind a polite smile.  And I smile because I am hopeless at talking to someone I have just discovered I really like.  So, I hide behind my metaphorical bonnet and play my metaphorical piano forte, or whatever it is ladies did in those days...

I hear ya, mate.

2. The "Dress To Impress" Stage.

Despite the crippling shyness I genuinely suffer from (and there are plenty of people who don't believe that I do, because I'm usually able to fake confidence when it counts), once I've decided I like someone, my brain goes: "Right.  I'm literally unable to initiate conversation with such a God-like creature, so I must plan my outfits with military precision."

If I know I'm going to be around my crush, then literally everything gets taken into consideration, from which bra gives me the best cleavage, to which eyeshadow compliments my eye-colour best.  I've been known to literally plan outfits weeks in advance, if I know I'll be seeing someone I like.

I guess this stage isn't really that silly, either.  An outfit that you think makes you look your best makes you feel more confident, after all.  And feeling confident means you walk that bit taller (which is useful for me, seeing as I'm tiny), carry yourself better and give off a vibe of "hey, you should talk to me, because I'm awesome," rather than: "please talk to me, because I am terrified and will not approach you EVER."

To be fair, this stage isn't really a stage.  It's more of a permanent state of mind...

3. The "WHY DID I SAY THAT?!" Stage.

There comes a point where you can't put it off, any longer.  Whether it's my brain being sensible for a change, or whether it's borne out of sheer adoration, there comes a point at which I decide "I am going to talk to him."  Hooray!

The trouble is, my brain turns to mush when I'm talking to someone I like.  I will either suffer from total verbal diarrhoea and talk at him, or the opposite will happen and I'll look into his big eyes and my brain goes: "Nope, I got nothing."

I swing so wildly from one to the other, that I am a mute one minute and a freakishly talkative idiot, the next.  I may give someone I like a compliment and then make an excuse to immediately leave, because I'm scared I've put myself out there too much and he might know I like him (which is terrifying and I can think of nothing to say that isn't "by the way, you're gorgeous and I secretly want to kiss you right in the face" which makes fleeing my only option).  Then, the next time I see said person (whether it's later the same evening, the next day or the next month), I may find myself initiating a conversation so obscure that I end up randomly blurting out nonsense about my choice of footwear.  And those two examples?  Are totally not made up.  I genuinely did once give the guy I like a compliment and then scurry off into the night, like a not-at-all-crazy person.  And I genuinely did once suffer from such a scrambled-brain, that I began casually telling him about my poor wardrobe choices.

I am beyond help.

Pictured: ME.

4. The Over-Analytical Stage.

True story:  I was once at a club and the object of my affections was standing in the opposite corner, having a drink.  My friend was desperately trying to get me to go over to talk to him, seeing as he was by himself, but being a total wuss, I kept refusing.  Anyway, after a while, he went to the toilet.  The toilet door was a few feet away from where I was standing, so as he approached, I smiled and waved and he was so busy looking back that he walked straight into the door.

Once I had finished privately wetting myself with laughter, this caused a major case of over-analysing.

"Was he distracted by my dazzling beauty?  Was he looking back and thinking 'I quite like her?'  Or was he just looking because I distracted him by waving and now he thinks I'm the bitch who could've caused him a broken nose?!"

I am an over-thinker at the best of times.  I do tend to brood on things and it's a curse.  But when I have a crush, that over-thinking gets so, so much worse.  Once I'm past the "too shy to talk" thing and I can actually communicate with the person I like, then my brain goes to town with the analytical nonsense.

"He looked right into my eyes whilst he was talking to me.  Isn't that a sign that you're attracted to someone, or do you think he was just being polite?  But I tweeted him and he didn't tweet back, so do you think he actually hates me and is physically repulsed by me?  Then again, remember that hug we had?  Maybe he doesn't find me utterly disgusting after all.  But perhaps he only did it because he's a nice person and he felt sorry for me because I have 'I am desperate for love' tattooed on my damn forehead..."

If there was an off-switch for these thoughts, believe me, I'd press it.  And of course, it's not just over-thinking, it's overreacting, too.  If he hugs me, I may simply return the hug and seem like a pretty normal human being on the outside, but inside, my heart's beating a Samba and my brain is screaming "OH MY GOD, I TOUCHED HIM!"  

Conversely, if I wave at him and he doesn't wave back, it is the end of the sodding world.

5. Depression and Acceptance.

The trouble with being too shy to do anything about it when you have a crush, is that the person remains oblivious to your romantic intentions and you never find out whether they might have felt the same.  The consequences of this are that you either dither too long, avoiding showing your feelings and end up getting your heart broken as you watch them go off with someone else, or you eventually become utterly convinced that your crush is definitely a one-way thing and you give up, entirely.  Either way, you've reached the wallowing, miserable, binge-eating-cake-whilst-watching-Bridget-Jones phase of unrequited love.  And it ain't pretty.

You do your best to put on a brave face in public, insisting that things are just fine and dandy, but if you're as sensitive as I am, inside, your heart is veritable tube-map of cracks, caused by this hideous realisation that you're going to have to let go of those silly dreams you've been having for however many weeks/months/years...

You're so not.

And so, behind closed doors, you get drunk on cheap wine, croon Nothing Compares 2 U at a frighteningly loud volume and watch Beaches because you "need a cry."  If you're really heartbroken, you watch Les Mis and refer to yourself as "life's eternal Eponine," whilst warbling along with On My Own.  

Or maybe that's just me...

SHUT UP AND DON'T JUDGE ME.

All of this really serves as a reminder that I am too damn old for this shit.  This is one hamster wheel I don't really want to run in, anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, it's time to break the cycle and actually do something about it.

Nothing To Say...

The trouble with blog-writing, is that once you commit to it, you're supposed to keep it up.  Regular little updates are expected, on anything from the biggest news stories of the day, to simply what you had for dinner last night (a very nice roast, if you're interested, which I'm sure you're not).  And sometimes, no matter how hard you try, inspiration just doesn't come.  From anywhere.  So, you find yourself sitting in front of your laptop, desperately hammering the keys, in the hope that you can write about something - anything - before eventually slumping onto the keyboard, in a state of silent panic that you've actually lost the ability to write at all.

The funny thing is, I've not run out of subjects.  It's just that it sometimes feels as though I've covered everything I want to say at that very moment, already.  Following her despicable piece about wanting to drown (or shoot) migrants this weekend, I was tempted to blog about Katie Hopkins, but... Well, I've done that already.  Then I thought about writing a piece on the awful abuse Sue Perkins received, after being (apparently wrongly) labelled as Jeremy Clarkson's successor on Top Gear, but I remembered that it was only last month that I wrote about Jeremy Clarkson and I've already written about online abuse, as recently as February.  In fact, I wrote about it twice.

It's not like I shy away from personal topics, either.  This might be a public blog, but I'm not averse to writing about some of the most deeply personal issues in my life, such as my experiences of emotional abuse and my sadness at not having become a mum, yet (and my worry that, seeing as I'm 32 and single, I may never do so).

But today, I just can't seem to find the right words, let alone the right subject, hence the inclusion of what I can only call a "greatest hits" list of links, above, in the hope that someone stumbling upon this blog for the first time might actually realise that I can write a coherent post, now and then.  Today just isn't the day...

Random photo, for no reason.

There are probably several reasons for my lack of brain-function when it comes to writing, today.  Firstly, I'm massively overtired.  I went to see (and MEET - still not over that!) McBusted on Friday 10th April and after that excitement, I only really had a day or so to chill out before I went off to sunny Butlin's in Minehead from Monday-Friday of last week.  Cue many late nights, probably too much alcohol and noisy neighbours who woke us up at all hours with their loud chatter, television watching and... Other stuff I won't mention.  The day after I returned home, I also went to a wedding and stayed up late after the reception, so basically: Zzzzzzzzz.

My mind is also not my closest friend at the moment, seeing as it's bombarding me with images of some poor guy I barely know, who I have quite a crush on.  I don't think I've ever said more than a passing "hello" to him, which is why said crush is so silly, not to mention the fact that he lives and works a good three hours' away.  I'm not put off by long-distance relationships, but I'm sure he's probably put off by the thought of some soppy mare who can't even bring herself to make eye contact when she's in the same room as he is...  So my conscious brain and I aren't exactly on speaking terms. 

Anyway, I sat down at my laptop, with the absolute intention of writing something decent.  And then I was distracted by YouTube.  And then by a site on which I ended up designing a birthday gift for my best friend.  And then by a local property website (because damn it, if I win the lottery one of these days, I need to know what's out there...). Procrastination is truly the greatest skill of any writer.  We might be able to put words into semi-entertaining sentences now and then, but our true talent lies in our ability to avoid doing so at all costs, on days like these.

So, my humble apologies for wasting the last few minutes of your life with this utter drivel.  But I thought it might be interesting to leave a post up online that reminds both me and my readers (if I still have any, after this...) that sometimes, we have nothing to say.  And that's okay.