My ten-year-old daughter, Lily, has a distinct style—she exclusively chooses clothes from the boys’ section. Her favorite outfit? A loose, boxy t-shirt featuring superheroes, particularly Spiderman. She always sports two braids, even while sleeping. Lily’s hair is thick, golden, and absolutely stunning. With her wide-set blue eyes and high cheekbones, she has a grace that reminds me of a young foal. To me, she is beautiful, but she couldn’t care less about that.
Last year, I insisted she take her braids out for her class picture. It turned into a major showdown. I resorted to psychological tactics, claiming I worried those braids were her security blanket (which they kind of are). I expressed my desire for her to feel comfortable with any hairstyle and my fears that bullies might target her for her appearance. To sweeten the deal, I even offered to buy her an Obi Wan Kenobi FX lightsaber—something that could have funded our grocery bill for a month.
But beneath my concern for her emotional well-being lay the honest truth: I craved for her to look pretty in her school photos. I envisioned her hair cascading around her face, a perfect reflection of my dreams, ready to be showcased to friends and family.
On picture day, however, Lily chose to wear her hair in ponytails. She took her braids down just for the photo, and her entire fourth-grade class reacted with gasps and admiration, praising her beauty. After the picture, a classmate carefully re-braided her hair.
When I received Lily’s school picture a month later, the outcome was exactly what I hoped for: she looked lovely with her flowing hair. Yet, she seemed different—not quite the Lily I knew.
I’ve decided to let go of my expectations. My daughter doesn’t need to conform to my idea of beauty; she doesn’t have to care about looking pretty at all. The only requirement I have is that she washes her hair at least once a week—no negotiations there. But I won’t allow her appearance to dictate her self-worth the way I allowed it to dictate mine.
What truly defines Lily are her passions: crafting weapons from paper, learning to draw manga characters through online tutorials, engaging in epic Dungeons and Dragons sessions with her dad, devouring the pages of The Hunger Games with me, playing the piano, and embracing Judo. Her interests are what make her remarkable.
These kids—they really show us how to live life authentically.
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In summary, I’ve learned to appreciate my daughter for who she is beyond her looks. Her passions shape her identity, and that’s far more important than any picture-perfect image.