Vanity, such a small word, creates such a discussion. As we age, we are told vanity is a bad thing. But is it really? This is the age old question that plagues mankind.
From birth I was told I was the prettiest baby ever, then as a chubby checked adolescent I was told how pretty I was. I was going to break the boys’ hearts.
I remember my grandfather teaching me how to read, I was four. My grandmother walked into the room and said “she’s pretty, don’t make her into a bluestocking. She can make a good marriage.” It wasn’t until I read Gone with the Wind that I understood that sentence. I was twelve, I didn’t want to get married. Ever. I wanted to grow up to be the first girl Musketeer.
God bless my parents, they tried their level best to curb that vanity which had been instilled in my psyche since birth.
My dad would tell me how smart I was, while my mom would try and tell me the old adage, pretty is as pretty does.
True beauty, real beauty, starts from the inside and works its way outward. While that is all good and fine, vanity thy name is Angie.
I believe a healthy dose of vanity is a good thing. I know, I spent the last 2 to 3 to 4 years without my vanity. A shadow of myself, as it were. Once one loses the ability to care about what they look like on a daily basis, society as we know it begins to fall. Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither are beauty queens.
It takes a lot of effort, time and money to look as good as I do. It gets a lot harder and more expensive as I advance in age.
If you truly are a person who doesn’t care about what you look like, let’s examine that for a minute.
Do you bathe?
Do you brush your hair?
Do you wash your face and moisturize?
Do you put on fresh clothes?
Do you make sure your clothes match?
I’m willing to bet there is a modicum of vanity in everyone.
I will be the first to admit it is working in overdrive in my DNA. I am pretty, I know I’m pretty, I do not suffer from false modesty. I do not have self-esteem issues. I do admit I had self-doubt for a few years, but that was due to me allowing another person to dictate how I felt about myself. Guess what, I’m back, I’m vain and I am not afraid to say I am proud of that.