I once spent 25 minutes stalking hot girls on Instagram. I scrolled through my feed and clicked on any woman who had a face I wanted to throw a rock at, and body I wanted to feed Kalteen bars to. A few of my favorites are Jessica Burciaga, NikkiBlades, Natalie Halcro, SydneyFashionBlogger, Shay Mitchell, and even the infamous Taz’s Angels.
These women look nothing like me. They have mixed backgrounds, and piercing blue/hazel/green eyes. They have pouty lips, shiny thick hair, and chiseled cheeks or cute chins. Their legs go on for days (maybe weeks), and their torsos are taller than me. Their breasts are perfect: full, and heaving. They bounce in videos, and create hypnotizing cleavage. Their asses are perky, and can be seen from the front. And their waist-to-hip ratio is unreal. I feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame in comparison.
Yet, I wouldn’t trade bodies with any of them. Not a single freckle, strand of hair, or cupsize. Wait, I’m lying. I’d definitely add a cupsize. Don’t get me wrong, there are a handful of changes I would make if given a magic wand. However, being someone else is not one of them.
Because being beautiful does not make you any less human. While you may get certain special privileges, you are not exempt from heartache. It doesn’t make you smarter, funnier, more talented or athletic. Nor are you guaranteed happiness. Even with eyes like Adriana Lima, you could still be blinded by love or lose sight of what’s important in life. You could be the most beautiful woman in the world … and still feel hideous. So no. I wouldn’t want to look like Kelly Rowland or Miranda Kerr. I don’t want to look like the most beautiful woman in the world. I want to be the woman who thinks the world of herself.