I hate that the so called standards of beauty seem to be ethnocentric, even Eurocentric at times, failing to reflect different shades of beauty.

I hate that 98% of women look in the mirror and fail to see in reflection the attractiveness of their features, to understand that flawless symmetric beauty is an urban legend, a fairy tale, found only in beauty magazines designed to make them feel ugly.

I hate that many of us seem to believe they are one too many pounds or inches away from attaining the ever so glamorous title of beauty.

I hate it when certain ethnic physical features are labeled by the elite to be a misfortune to its carrier, a disease of some sort that needs nipping and tucking, bleaching and plucking.

I hate it even more when the victims are led to believe that the answer to their “misfortune” is found in a tube filled with a magical chemical that would make them all “fair and lovely” or a charmed machine that would silk away their kinks and fears of rejection.

I hate that instead of contemplating, or better yet celebrating, the sleepless nights spent seeking higher education, working for ones future or simply looking after loved ones, which lead to the inevitable puffy eyes, grey hairs and mischievous wrinkles. We are fixated on concealing the puffiness with countless lifts, dyeing these defying gray strands and straightening those stubborn wrinkles out.

I hate to explain that “beauty comes in all forms and shapes” is in fact not a cliché, and that “natural look makeup” is an oxymoron.


Ladies, put down the diet pills, and step away from the make-up. You are perfect the way you are.