People considered me ugly as a child. Now, I know they were wrong
Qwenews.com – Stephanie Fairyington, a journalist based in Brooklyn, New York, reflects on her journey in her new memoir and aesthetic exploration titled “Ugly: A Letter to My Daughter.” The narrative unfolds through personal anecdotes and societal observations, highlighting how early judgments shaped her self-perception. A family member’s name is used pseudonymously to safeguard privacy.
The First Time I Was Called Ugly
At 10 years old, I first encountered the word “ugly.” After a swim in my family’s pool, I was sprinting through the cul-de-sac with neighborhood kids when a woman’s question cut through the laughter: “Who’s that?” she asked another mother, known for her popularity. “Oh, that’s Chrysi’s daughter,” the latter replied. The woman’s disbelief echoed, “That’s Chrysi’s daughter?” I didn’t catch the reply, but the memory of retreating from the scene, soaked and humiliated, stayed with me.
The Weight of Expectations
My mother, with her blue eyes, blonde hair, and classic features, seemed destined for 1980s fashion campaigns. She had been celebrated as the ideal teenager—flirtatious, witty, and a top contender for prom. Her life revolved around social gatherings, drinks, and romantic encounters, while mine was defined by quietness, oversized clothing, and a sense of being overlooked. I had already gone through puberty by then, my acne-ridden face and prominent teeth contrasting sharply with her polished appearance.
A Curious Presence
My tomboy style—scuffed sneakers, faded T-shirts, and a mix of boyish attire—drew sideways glances. Yet, beneath the rugged look, I appeared older, more unconventional, and even strange. Friends’ parents, and even classmates, seemed to notice something different. One day, while trailing behind a friend, I overheard her whisper to a mutual acquaintance that I was a lesbian. How could such a conclusion be drawn so early? Was it my behavior around girls, my gender expression, or the way I moved?
“Lesbian” was shorthand for “masculine” or “abnormal woman” and thus ugly,” noted historian Lillian Faderman, who has traced how society has historically used the label to undermine feminist progress. This framing made me feel like an outsider, a deviation from the norm.
The Language of Ugliness
At the time, being called a lesbian was synonymous with being unattractive. The stigma followed me, a persistent shadow that defined my adolescence. While my mother’s beauty was a source of pride for her, mine was met with skepticism. I internalized the critique, believing my looks were a failure of cultural expectations. It wasn’t until my late teens that I found belonging in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood, an LGBTQ hub where I began to embrace my identity and feel seen.
Today, I see the past clearly. The judgment I faced wasn’t just about appearance—it was about who I was, and who I was meant to be. My journey from feeling “not-right” to discovering my place in the world is a testament to the power of self-acceptance and the evolving standards of beauty.
