When I posted the new publicity photo I received email from a novelist friend informing me that I am beautiful. I found this puzzling, as people do not tell me such things. I proceeded to check with various other people (who might not be exactly impartial) and they all agreed with the assessment.
Then I reviewed my mental files and tallied all the mad encounters with total strangers this year. I know that my clothes and hair play to a certain demographic, and my appearance has not changed recently. But I’ve been getting lots of attention from people who would never before have dared.
I am excessively confident and do whatever I like. But this attitude is predicated on the fact that I’ve never cared what anyone thinks of me. I couldn’t afford to – the scars ensured that I would never have access to the normal concerns of adolescence. I skipped both the good and the bad parts of being a girl.
I did not hear insults, did not feel injuries. I became a self-contained person who never risked emotions that I could not control. The tradeoff was never hearing compliments, never allowing anyone to say nice things to me.
Or I did not hear if anyone tried. But mostly nobody did – I looked like I would put the smack down because I would. That facade flickered on and off; some people saw me differently but they were a trusted few.
At some point this year there was a dramatic inversion of my public self. Now the defensive side is the bit that is only intermittently visible.
I’ve had a deeply confusing remedial crash course in being human and I do not know the etiquette for this new life. All of my secrets and statistics have been stripped away.
Stella wrote to say that I look good in the new picture because I am happy. She is correct. I am also bewildered, displaced, delighted. I have proper human emotions that I never knew existed. Like the ability to enjoy it when someone says I look nice.
My mother sent a message to the photographer that read Thank you, I haven’t seen a picture of my daughter (the real person) since before she got cancer.
Of course beauty is a social construct. I am no more or less attractive than anyone else. Arguably this belief is my best feature. Aside from the lipstick.