I remember entering the room and finding many girls my age, but prettier. I made all heads turn, not because I was tall, had soft long hair, was skinny, wore heels or had make-up on; I made heads turn because I was the absolute opposite. I was different, very different. As I walked to the other end of the room I was followed by many up and down looks, some even looked at me as if I was some weird creature, a creature that didn’t belong there. The feeling of regret flooded my brain as I started rethinking whether this was a good decision or not. My hands were shaking as I was filling up the participation form and the soft quiet voice in my head kept whispering, “Do you really want to do this?.. You don’t belong here.”
I was relieved when I heard my best friend Amal’s voice calling my name; “I’ve been looking for you!” she said, smiling. “This is not what I expected…” I whispered in her ear as I was receiving the warmest hug. She then went on her long typical talk on how this modeling casting is going to be a great experience and will boost up my self-confidence, but still all my senses were screaming right in my face that this was a bad idea. I participated in this casting after weeks of her begging me to go through this with her since we did everything together.
Amal was 5’8, light skinned with straight dark blonde hair and a beautiful white smile. She was the model type. I wasn’t. Back in my early teenage years, I had a very unique style. I would even go as far as calling it the “I don’t care” style. My father always wanted me to have my own authentic identity; he taught me not to care about the superficialities and that people are never valued by the way they look or how much they own but by who they are on the inside. Everything in that room was the contrary of everything I’d grown up to believe: The girls were excessively perfect for their age. It’s as if they skipped puberty and just went straight to being grown women! All of their outfits had as little material as possible while making sure they showcased their perfectly tanned long legs. Some girls had straight hair while others had it curled up; their juicy red lips and sharp liners made them very similar to pin ups. It seemed like all of these girls were custom made and produced for these events. “I can’t wait to be older and have a nose job!”, “You’re fat!”, and “I’ve been approved in 20 modeling castings so far,” were some lines my ears picked up from conversations going here and there while my eyes were scanning the room. I started questioning myself and my worth. “Am I not pretty?” “Should I have perfectly straight hair too?” “Maybe I should ask my parents to start buying more stylish and high-end clothes…” All of these thoughts were running through my mind as I was blankly staring at Amal getting all hyped up and excited to walk in front of the judges and get her beauty “evaluated”. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and did not like what I saw. For the first time I didn’t accept myself. I didn’t like wavy un-done hair, my make-up free face or even the clothes I was wearing. It was the first time I felt insecure and uncomfortable in my body. “Why am I not like them?” I asked myself, I had no reply to this question at the time.
I heard someone calling my name and ran out of the bathroom. It was my turn. I walked and I noticed the plain white walls that had stickers of the company here and there; there was one table with the judges sitting on it and a cheap red carpet leading to it. I had to walk in front of the judges and it was their job to tell me whether I was born to be a model or not, something that I already knew the answer to. I tried to do the “girliest” walk of my life but I perfectly knew I was terrible at it. I stood in front of the judges as they looked me up and down, too, and wrote down some lines. I had to go out for a second to let them decide and give me the verdict. A few minutes later I got called in again; I was told that I wasn’t tall enough to be part of the models group. “At least they didn’t say I wasn’t pretty enough,” I whispered to myself as I was walking out. I waited to know if Amal got approved or not, which she did. I was so happy for her because she always wanted to be a model. I went back home and went directly to my room and started overthinking everything that happened that day until I fell asleep.
I would say that this experience was a huge punch to my self-esteem as a teenager and I found myself trying to fit in and be normal which is something I never cared about before. It took me a lot of time and work to regain my confidence again but the journey taught me a lot. I learned that the values my father planted in me as a young girl were very important in order for me to be sane and to be me. I learned that even though I was a girl, I didn’t have to do what most girls did. I learned that I didn’t have to wear pink or put lipstick on or dye my hair blonde to be called a girl. I learned that I can be a girl in so many ways other than that. I am now the girl I want to be, as confident and as happy as ever and I LOVE IT!
