Skin
I can never unsee that albino alligator
Welcome to In a Word, a newsletter that cultivates thoughtfulness, one word at a time. If a friend forwarded you this email, click here to subscribe:
I became desperately self-conscious of my fair skin as a young teenager. I sunbathed in oil, and when that didn’t work, slathered Jergen’s self-tanner in streaks that left my palms orange for days. I bronzed my cheeks with coppery Cover Girl. This sun-in-a-bottle period left such a mark that when I got married, in a strapless dress, I opted to show my tank top tan lines rather than go anywhere near a spray tan. It’s like how I can never eat barbecue chips again because I once ate too many and threw up at soccer practice. Barbecue chips, bottle-tans: it’s a no from me.
I’m not here to rail against makeup or moisturizer or hair removal or anything else we might do to feel better about ourselves. What I have an unequivocal, ‘absolutely not’ attitude towards is that ball of equal parts self-loathing and hope smoldering in my chest while I baked in the sun. I watched my legs with all the focus of the first scientist to observe cell division under a microscope. (I guess every 14-year-old observes herself with microscopic intensity, everything enlarged in their minds: feelings, leg hair, what was meant by “hey” on AIM.)
All the imaginative play and world building of childhood summers had been sucked under this microscope. (There was still a lot of magical thinking, to be sure. I really believed I could channel Jessica Biel as Mary Camden through Banana Boat tanning oil, SPF negative 25, and willpower. Her golden, Greek goddess tan didn’t even stop where her basketball socks started; her ponytail never had fly-aways! Magical.)
(Unrelated but important to note: while I was willing my skin to darken, I was completely oblivious to the privilege and power that alabaster tone conferred.)
I’m bummed I funneled so much of my creative energy into trying to look like someone else, but I think girls today might have it harder. Beauty standards haven’t really changed, but there is added pressure to love yourself as you are. We ask women to love themselves in a vacuum, to somehow divorce their vision of themselves from the cultural vision of the “ideal” woman. It’s nearly impossible to set aside our compulsions to look “better” when society still rewards (and punishes) women for how we look.
We are being being told the problem is how we see ourselves, not the society that shapes our views and makes the rules for what is celebrated and what is sidelined.
I do want us to love ourselves, as we are. I want it for 14-year-old me, and for my daughter. But I don’t want us to take the self-consciousness or shame we might still feel, despite Lizzo’s best efforts, and add them to the pile of things we need to “fix” about ourselves. The only thing worse than feeling bad is feeling bad about feeling bad.
Sometimes neutrality is a victory. I don’t embrace my under eye circles, but we have a truce. I glimpse them in the mirror with a shrug. If I can be less than thrilled about the skin I’m in without getting sucked into a shame spiral, that is a victory. If I can humbly offer a suggestion? Make a peace deal with yourself, if you can. Put down your weapons. Start with the eyelash curler, because it’s gonna poke an eye out.
In this issue, you’ll find a novel, an eye cream, a podcast, some thought-provoking articles, and of course, a benediction. And I have a poem for you coming in a separate email later this week!
The Vanishing Half is one of my favorite novels I’ve read (this year, and ever). It follows twins who are light-skinned Black girls, one of whom lives in her Black identity, and one of whom “passes” for white. The storytelling and character development is gorgeous, and the exploration of appearance and constructs v. reality is masterful. (I listened to the audiobook.)
You Want a Confederate Monument? My Body is a Confederate Monument:
“I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.”
I am fanatic about sunscreen, but don’t put it that close to my eyes for obvious reasons. This Bright-Eyed SPF 40 Cream, I slather on my actual eyelids, my crow’s feet region, everywhere. It is a revelation for those of us fighting the good fight against UV rays.
Soap Dodger: Meet the Doctor Who Says We May Have Been Showering Wrong (this is gross, and intriguing)
“Maybe I’m framing myself without hanging.”
I’ll join the chorus of parents, educators, and others that say this is a must-listen. We must understand the weight of the decisions we make about our children’s education.
Some last links worth a click:
As always, I’d love to hear what this issue calls to mind for you! Simply respond to this email to share your thoughts with me. I’ll be back in your inbox with a poem later this week, since this email was too long!
Gratefully, Jacey
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