My daughter approaches me, her Lisa Frank coloring book clutched tightly in her hands. She flips to a page displaying an illustration of a girl with enormous eyes, a cute little nose, and enticingly drawn lips. “Do you think she’s pretty?” she asks me.
I hear this question often from her in reaction to the various portrayals of girls and women she encounters in advertisements, magazines, movies, and even in her coloring books. It’s concerning to me that she is starting to associate looks with being liked. I feel compelled to respond but find myself resorting to a vague, “She’s nice.”
For my daughter, appearance is a new and significant topic. She senses my hesitance and pushes me further. “Do you want to look like her?” she inquires. “Sure,” I reply, anxious that rejecting the coloring book would seem like I’m dismissing her as well. My voice wavers, but she interprets my response as approval.
“Well,” she states with an unsettling sense of authority, “you just need to wear flowers in your hair like this,” she indicates the picture, “and let your hair grow long.” I can already picture the day she’ll critique my makeup skills. She’s only four, yet her confidence in these opinions feels misplaced, as if she’s borrowed a jacket that’s too big for her.
Reflecting on my own upbringing in the 1980s, I remember my mother never being concerned about my fascination with appearances. She bought me a Barbie styling head and a Pretty Cut ‘N Grow doll, both of which were cherished toys. My mother’s attitude was one of acceptance, never worrying about whether my dreams of being a hairdresser would lead me astray. She focused on essential things: keeping us fed, reading bedtime stories, and supporting our science projects. I envy her carefree perspective.
In truth, my childhood dreams didn’t harm my self-image. I earned a Ph.D. and somehow made it to adulthood without ever feeling pressured to conform to beauty standards. Perhaps I’m overreacting. After all, the Barbies I adored seem similar to those my daughter loves today.
Still, I feel a pressing need to protect her from developing anxiety over whether beauty equates to being liked. I worry that she might internalize these standards and view herself or others through a lens of superficiality. I don’t want her self-worth tied to her looks or to learn unkindness.
In a few weeks, we’re headed to Disney World for her first visit, where I’ve arranged for her to meet some beloved princesses. However, I opted not to book a princess makeover at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique. While I don’t mind if Ariel gives her a hug, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of strangers fussing over her, showering her with compliments about her appearance while adorning her with glitter and hair extensions. Ariel can appreciate her as she is—unconditional love feels far more authentic.
I hope my daughter will one day connect with role models who inspire resilience, independence, and creativity. Occasionally, I see glimpses of this potential. Just recently, she was pretending to be Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens, a character I’d love for her to look up to.
It’s vital for her to cultivate a sense of self that goes beyond surface beauty. The world is full of challenges, and I want her to face them armed with confidence and strength.
This journey of navigating beauty standards and self-acceptance is complex, but I believe it’s essential for her growth. For more on supporting your family’s journey, check out this excellent resource on intrauterine insemination.
Summary
The article reflects on a mother’s concerns about her daughter’s fixation on beauty and the implications it may have for her self-worth. The author reminisces about her own upbringing, contrasting it with today’s media landscape that often emphasizes superficiality. The mother expresses her desire for her daughter to focus on independence and resilience rather than conforming to beauty standards.