On America's Next Top model, supermodel Tyra Banks insists that self-confidence is heavily reflected in a model's photos.
I was praised for my unique features, but ultimately dismissed
because it was apparently obvious that I had no self-confidence at all. The experience only made me feel worse. I felt dejected, as usual. On the car ride home, I reflected on the fact that I hadn't always been like this.
It all began when I made a new best friend the year before. Unlike my other friends, she was also Pakistani. And unlike most Pakistanis, she was very light-skinned, a very valued trait in the Pakistani community.
Aishwariya Rai is the portrait of beauty in India, praised for her European features, light skin, and colored eyes.
Being around her, I first became conscious of the fact that I was not fair-skinned, and deduced that I was hideous. My best friend probably didn't mean to hurt me, but she dropped remarks much like Maureen did when she asked "What do I care about her old black daddy?"(Morrison, 73). Maureen didn't directly attack Pecola, but she spoke in a derogatory manner, very casually, about her father being black. I experienced little things like these. We'd watch a movie, and my friend would point out in disgust how black the actress in the background was. I'd feel ashamed, but not phased. "The insults were part of the nuisances of life, like lice"(Morrison, 153), and I'd come to accept the fact that I was simply inferior. That was how my Sunorexia got started. If I avoided the sun, my skin would be more fair. I quit sports, I ate less healthy... anything to appear more fair.
"Pale is Pretty" is a common motto amongst "emo" kids, who generally wear black and avoid the sun.
And it worked, at least in my twisted little world. I felt like "A little black girl who wanted to rise up out of the pit of her blackness and see the world with blue eyes"(Morrison, 174). By hurting myself and my health, I truly felt as if I had "blue eyes"(Morrison, 197). Unfortunately, it was really all in my head.
I wasn't looking for pity. I simply wanted to blend in. But it was not my dark skin (which I realize now, is not comparatively dark at all), it was my dejected mannerisms that alerted people. I had hardly realized how little I'd smiled. Each morning, I would start my routine by putting on make up that made me appear lighter, putting on a black shirt to make me appear more fair, and then simply starting in the mirror, soaking in my own ugliness. Everything was so twisted in my head that I really found no reason to smile. I hadn't noticed until one day when a friend and I had a tickling contest, and she remarked that it was good to see me "that way."
A smile can truly transform a person's appearance and aura. I believe everyone is beautiful when smiling. :)
It was very much like seeing Pecola when "She was smiling, and since it was a rare thing to see on her, [Claudia] was surprised at the pleasure it gave [her]."(Morrison, 106) I used to be a very happy person, constantly smiling, and it was perhaps this incident that first alerted me to the fact that I'd changed.
When a person obviously has low self-esteem, people tend to shower them with pity, even when a small misfortune befalls them. When Maureen treated Pecola to icecream, the sisters "were embarrassed to be caught... thinking that she would treat us, or that we deserved it as much as Pecola did"(Morrison, 69). I find it ironic that they use the word "deserved". Do people really deserve anything for being weak? Accumulating pity is a reaction to weakness, and if anything, acquiring things through pity only serves to further destroy self-esteem. I find human nature very interesting- we flock to protect those weaker than us, perhaps because it makes us feel better. It can be likened to the fact that "Aunt Jimmy... took delight sometimes in telling [Cholly] of how she had saved him"(Morrison, 132). Claudia noted that Pecola's "pain antagonized [her]"(Morrison, 73), and she also used it as a platform to yell at Maureen, who had disappointed her for not buying her ice cream. Her anger was not really in Pecola's best interest, and since her attack was not successful, it "demonstrates that anger and hatred by themselves are not enough to defeat racism"(Bump, 190). Another interesting idea is the way we pity men versus the way we pity women. Pecola and her mother seem to be martyrs. Pauline was portrayed as "no more than a girl, and still waiting for that plateau of happiness"(Morrison, 118). She also had an inferiority complex, and in accumulating pity became a way of life for her as she ended up "holding Cholly as a model of sin and failure, she bore him like a crown of thorns"(Morrison, 127). Once you've been pitied and you've become accustomed to it, it become something that you constantly expect to be there, even when you no longer have any reason to be pitied and you've been given the opportunity to step up. I experienced this myself. I began to pity myself and make excuses for myself.
After playing the victim for a long time, it becomes all you know how to do.
I later realized that instead of making excuses, I had plenty of chances to step up and be strong. I believe Cholly at least tried to be strong. Even when "the trace of pain edged his eyes, and he had to use everything to send it away"(Morrison, 156). He could've given up an looked for pity, but since he was a man, he had to find another route. He did rape his daughter, but in a way, the way Pauline ignored and beat Pecola was just as bad. She cared for a white child and beat her own. She seemed ashamed that Pecola was her child as she spoke to the little girl: "'Who were they Polly?' 'Don't worry none, baby.'"(Morrison, 109) When your mother doesn't even care for you, life must be devastating.
Motherly love is often the cornerstone of a person's development.
I can't imagine what Pecola must've gone through. It's interesting however, because Pecola is one of two reactions to being unloved- the other is to overcompensate and be arrogant. Pecola's version is more realistic and truly saddening.
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