I was raised to believe that, as a pretty girl, I would never have to do anything for myself. That anything I ever wanted in this world could be mine just by asking a guy for it. My mother was the first to tell me this. I didn’t believe her, of course. I’ve known that she’s full of s**t ever since I was inside of her to see for myself. But then my father said it, and I knew it to be true.
The TV of my time focused a lot on pretty girls that were treated as though they were ugly. Society wanted to see the outcasts, someone who’s ridiculed for being ugly"but they didn’t actually want to see an ugly girl. If the girl being teased on TV was actually ugly, no one would feel sorry for her. It’s her fault, really, for being ugly. But a pretty girl who’s called ugly…she’s the one you want to feel bad for. She’s the one you want to relate to.
This pretty/ugly girl was almost never bitter, as heroes are usually optimistic in the face of peril and ridicule. She would have a friend, though, possibly one who was actually ugly, (Or worse, fat) and she would be horribly bitter. But the truly ugly girl would be helped, and inspired, the pretty/ugly girl, who would tell her to stay happy, that the best revenge on the world was to become a huge success despite her horrendous looks. I watched these shows. I knew better. I knew it didn’t matter what I did, or what some ugly girl did, I would always be successful. I would always be better.
Because I’m pretty.
