Columnist Jasmin Ashton on hiding, accentuating or down-right accepting your best/worst features.
It may just be the lens through which I view it, but Melbourne is largely a youth-oriented city. Young adults seem to be the majority of people in the city at almost any point during the day, with the ‘grown-ups’ squirreled away in offices and high school kids locked away in classrooms, while we have unopposed free reign of the city streets.
As part of this youth culture, it seems as if every person is commanding attention through their appearance — defining themselves as part of a subculture or aesthetic, or simply expressing their individuality. Envy-inducing fairy floss hair, stunning haircuts that seem to defy both logic and gravity, and fashion so daring it has people stopping mid-sentence to gape.
It’s safe to say the act of such self-presentations are largely about attention and identity, defining who you are and setting yourself apart from the masses.
I used to have a morbid hobby as a teenager, most likely reflective of my small-town paranoia about ‘stranger danger’. It involved mentally constructing a short description of strangers in the street, essentially filling the blanks of a Crime Stopper ad. Height, defining characteristics, hair colour, etc. (I’m fully aware this hobby is weird. I clearly missed my calling as a Private Investigator.)
When I tried to turn this technique on myself I struggled come up with my ‘defining characteristics’. After much self-reflection, I rested with ‘fat, tall, and brunette’. These descriptions have applied to me my entire life. Other people had dramatic hair, tattoos, piercings, or generally ‘cool’ quirks or personality trait. But my number one visual identifier was my body, which it took a while for me to accept as okay.
Coming to terms with these physical traits is similar to when you lose your mum in a shopping centre and have to ask around for her. You’re forced to think from an outside perspective: you don’t know what she looks like, she’s just ‘mum’. She looks like home and familiarity. But right now she needs to be described as tall, wearing a red dress, with brown hair in a ponytail, if you’re ever going to see her again.
Everyone has identifiers, even if it’s not something that they don’t wish to have pointed out on a daily basis. It can be a struggle to accept this. Dramatic eyebrows, a large nose, bald patch, disability, noticeable stature — there’s something for everyone, and majority of the time it just cannot be helped or altered without great cost or pain.
Here’s a fun job for when you get bored in a lecture: try constructing a photo-fit of yourself online. It’s eye opening and will definitely deter you from committing any serious crimes (they are not flattering), and show a different version of your face, constructed from facts and interpretations. It doesn’t have the story that goes with the scar on your chin, or the reason why one eye is smaller than the other because you were head-butted in the face in Year 10. All those little cool stories and features that people assessing you on the street, (or police arresting you) will never get to learn about.
When I was in high school I had a bit of a crush on Lea Michele, particularly after reading a quote from her saying, “I’ve always been proud of my Jewish nose … that’s not going to change.”
I’ve never been self-conscious about my nose but I figured that sort of self-confidence could be translated to any body part or feature. Regardless of what the world and media says, you can just tell them to stick it and be proud. And when she had a nose job a few years ago, that was her choosing to alter her defining characteristics, albeit a bit of a kick in the face for teenage Jasmin.
Everyone is visible in different ways, and some people make choices to control their most visible features — whether it be by hiding or accentuating them. It means we have the ability to define ourselves rather than be subject to what we cannot control. It’s all about power over yourself — it’s the one thing you should have above all else.
By Jasmin Ashton
Originally published at rmitcatalyst.com.