I got fat. I got bloated. I lost some hair. Is that what you wanted to hear?
No, you wanted me to say that my skin started glowing, my confidence skyrocketed, and I had the oh-so-common epiphany that social media was ruining my life. False. What I actually gained was clarity on my body, my needs, and the frightening truth that I genuinely don’t care what I look like anymore.
I love makeup. I love dyeing my curls honey blonde every two months. But trends kept whispering: “Sculpt your nose. Lift your eyes. Wear this.” I chased features I didn’t have. And while my self-esteem stayed intact, my blush placement absolutely did not (newsflash: clowncore is not for everyone).
For the past two years, I’ve been in and out of hospitals. By the end of sophomore year, I landed in the ER. I stopped caring if my lipliner was blended or if my beat-up boots matched the hoodie I wore like armor to class. My body was breaking down, and so was the façade. Bye-bye haircare. Bye-bye Urban Decay.
Usually, summer is when I thrive: glowy skin, small waist, birthday season energy. But this time, after a trip across the country with my boyfriend, I looked, and felt, the worst I ever had. Another ER visit. No glow in sight.
So I cut the noise. No more social media trends. No more “sponsored” anything. Instead, I took myself to the flea market and bought clothes I would’ve loved at age five. I stared at my face for way too long in the mirror, shaping my makeup to where the shadows hit my face, not where someone with a slim face and oval face told me to contour. I wore blush as eyeshadow. Purple lipstick for no reason. Stopped dyeing my hair (even though I might go back, don’t fight me). I started getting plain nails again. Ugly jewelry that makes no sense. Earrings shaped like bugs. Random Y2K pieces I’d never wear at my college.
And while I stopped watching social media, I started watching my body. It bloats when I scroll for too long. It hurts when I eat protein. It’s breaking out enough to host a Tic-Tac-Toe tournament. But instead of hiding, I started listening. I bought skincare for my skin. I ditched lash extensions that leave bald spots and opted for cheap strip lashes. I stopped working out for a big butt. I like cardio. I like having a small bum.
Trends can be fun. They teach you, they inspire you. But stepping away teaches you what you like before algorithms get a say. And everything you think you need to change about yourself? It’s probably just your uniqueness being gaslit by the For You page.
I gained some weight and my skin’s still healing. But I’m finally seeing just my features, and I’ve never cared less about how I look because I’ve never known myself more.
