My Woes with Western Ideals of Beauty

Moment of transparency: I was once paralyzed by the physical pursuit of perfection. Thanks to the impacts of European colonization, my culture glorifies lighter skin and other “western” features that I do not physically possess. For most of my life, I was confident in everything but the most physically visible parts of my life. In a Rachel versus Leah world, I felt like Leah. I shied away from opportunities that involved displaying myself, and it took this pandemic for me to pause and identify where my struggle with body image really picked up steam.

For starters, I wasn’t one that learned how to wear makeup to its fullest potential. I didn’t know (and quite frankly still don’t know) how to contour and highlight that well. I knew just enough to cover up my blemished skin, and simple applications of eyeliner and mascara. I usually had the same makeup from the school day on when I would facetime this one person I was interested in romantically. But one day, we started our daily catch up session later than usual, after I’d already taken off my makeup. Not confident in the way I looked without it, and also not confident with how I looked while facetiming, I hid part of my face under my bed sheet. But when he asked to see my full face, I obliged.

I wish I could tell you how freeing that moment was for me. To be seen, unfiltered, and seen as beautiful in the eyes of the person I’d spent countless hours connecting with emotionally and mentally and spiritually for months. But this was not that moment. I saw the unfiltered look of surprise and disappointment in his face…and the hesitation in his throat to say…anything. He let out an uneasy chuckle. I don’t remember how our talk ended that night, but a few days later, he tweeted about the power of makeup and how it can be deceptive.

From that moment on, I avoided videocalls like the plague until I’d forgotten why I hated them so much in the first place. Granted, a majority of us can say we have “good sides” and hold cameras at certain angles for a better presentation of ourselves. Makes sense. But this wasn’t that kind of avoidance. I’d resolved that I didn’t have a face that looked good on camera, no matter the angle. I didn’t bother practicing smiles and poses in a mirror, because to me, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything about what I accepted myself to be. For years, I’d told myself “I may not be beautiful, but at least I’ll dress really well.” “I may not be beautiful, but at least I’ll be Dr. Obih.” “I may not be beautiful, but at least I’ll have a cute apartment.” My facial attributes started to mean less to me, because that was the only way I’d feel better about not being able to do anything about them. Not because in the grand scheme of things, it was all vanity. No, it was because I couldn’t fix it like I could fix other external features of my identity. It wasn’t because one person didn’t like the way I looked, but because western ideals of beauty were the overwhelming standard that time and time again, I did not meet.

Now here’s where I’d say that there was some special, spiritually uplifting moment that sparked my feeling better about my appearance. That there was a renewed self-confidence that came from within. But it wasn’t until I started seeing someone who looked like me, with my wide face, my small eyes, my big nose, and my dark skin on J. Crew’s website, repeatedly, season after season, campaign after campaign, that I began to feel like I too could be beautiful. She smiled like I did. Her poses further accentuated her facial features. Bold, confident, beautiful. And here she was for the world to see, as herself.

Seeing these images exhumed a conversation of self-confidence that I’d laid to rest for years. I started asking myself why I needed external validation to be happy with my physical appearance. At that time, the makeup I wore, the way I presented myself to the world, was for the world and for the world’s acceptance, and not for myself. I learned to contour my nose with makeup so it would look thinner. That wasn’t for me, for I know what my nose naturally looks like. But the world loves thin noses and thin faces. And when I left the threshold of my front door, I mentally put myself and my well-being at the mercy of the world. In this way, it became my personal god, and I sacrificed my true physical self for its acceptance. This is not a put-down of wearing makeup. This went so much deeper than that for me. I did physical things in a personal attempt to change my intended identity. While I believed in God with what felt like all of my heart, soul, mind, and strength, I realized this blind spot had been insidiously growing for years.

That revelation came to a head about a month later at a young adult gathering at my church. Our gatherings were steeped in an honor culture of sorts: compliments and praises were never left wanting. But this night, they just started hitting differently. One of my friends who always spoke to the deep things of people’s hearts pulled me aside. She grasped my hands, hers trembling, her eyes bright and glistening with tears welling. Among votes of praise, she spoke these words to me that I would never forget: “If you could see how beautiful you are! If you could see what I see!” It was a moment I could only describe as prophetic and “otherly.” I knew she wasn’t just talking about my physical appearance. I went home that night, asking (really, begging) God, “Why can’t I see what she sees? Why can’t I see what they all see??” And in that time of desperation, the script was flipped. Looking at my life through heaven’s eyes, it was indeed beautiful. In pursuit of the passions God had placed in my heart, all I saw was beauty. Not perfection, but a perfect blend of grit and grace. Intentionally crafted. Intentionally positioned. Intentionally purposed.

I’ll be honest, this newfound freedom to be who I was meant to be in every interstice of my life still needs some occasional unscheduled downtime and maintenance. After all, it wasn’t until a pandemic halted life that I felt comfortable sharing these details with friends in a virtual book club (we were reading It’s not Supposed to be this Way by Lysa Terkeurst. 10/10 highly recommend). I still occasionally joke about how spending too much time in the sun will lower my proverbial bride price, but also acknowledge the nagging feeling of wondering if my darker skin prevents me from being appreciated by black men, as they too grew up with the same ideals of western beauty. But in that specific instance, I’m reminded that whoever my husband will be will look at me with so much joy, so proud to be mine. We will both be blessings in each other’s lives.

I share this reflection as an encouragement to anyone struggling with self-doubt and self-worth. Anyone who has put off that thing they’ve been wanting to do until they reach some arbitrary physical goal. A survey conducted in 2007 revealed that 67 percent of the women interviewed reportedly avoided “life-engaging and life-sustaining activities” because of how they felt about their looks. I have realized that every day I spent putting something off until I had clearer skin, straighter teeth, fewer pounds, or a prettier insta-scape was a waste of the opportunities God was giving me to carry out my calling. If God has all the resources in the world and still wastes nothing, then why am I? I remind myself that the world’s fallen eyes don’t matter to me because God is the One who created and called me. He created all things, and they all exist, I exist, because He created what pleased Him. He created me fearfully, wonderfully, and beautifully black. Here’s to moments of transparency birthing moments of clarity and purpose.

In love and veritas,

 Chioma