I have always had scars. I can’t remember a time that I didn’t have them. I was born with them, and then I grew up, with them. They have always been a part of me. It’s always so difficult to explain them to people. People like to link scars to a physical trauma so it’s always been difficult to explain to them that none of the scars they see is due to that, well except for the two new ones I have, that was a bloody and painful day. I’ve always wondered if I prefer certain clothing choices because I want to cover up or because I genuinely love those pieces. I think, when you are young, there is so much that you don’t notice. So much that people your age do not notice because it doesn’t matter. But then you start to grow, and adults dump unto you their expectations of beauty and perfection, then suddenly you start paying more attention to yourself and to others. You start looking at them and judging them through that lens. Suddenly things that are so unimportant become a priority. You set a standard that only a few can achieve, sometimes excluding yourself in the process.
I don’t really pay attention to people’s skin but I notice, unconsciously. And when I notice I give complements. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose skin I didn’t think was beautiful. But sometimes I wonder how it must feel to be able to wear whatever you want or truly know things that you actually love to wear as opposed things that allow you hide.
If you’re lucky, you end with family that loves you just the same. My mom thinks that I am literally flawless, I’m not but I’m really beautiful, kind, and just an all round awesome human. None of these matter some times though. We live in a society obsessed with perfection and hiding flaws. I remember someone telling me during my time on Ms Malaika that I didn’t have good legs. What does that even mean? This is tame compared to what people have said about me and my skin. When you search the internet for scars, there are millions of articles telling you how to get rid of them. Copious amounts of information, proposing ridiculous remedies for scar removal. It’s always so frustrating because it suggests that this is something to hide, to be ashamed of, and to want to get rid of. Majority of my scars are on my legs and honestly I don’t think they are that bad. Sometimes, depending on the sun, you might need to zoom in on pictures to even notice. I know this because for a while I was obsessed with how they looked at different times of the day depending on the sun’s position and intensity. Morning sun - not really visible. Late evening sun, darkens them and exaggerates their size and color. It doesn’t really matter what I think though because people have pre conceived notions of what they believe people should look like to achieve their standard of perfection.
Earlier this year, I decided that I was going to wear something that makes me very uncomfortable but happy once in a while. Mostly it is a way for me to confront myself, my idea of perfection, and really test my theory that I love most of the pieces I wear because they allow me hide. They allow me present a façade of perfection to others and I don’t want to be that anymore. It’s been hard but I’ve semi loved every moment of it. Now, when I visit Asos or Zara, to you know, fill my cart and log out because who has that kind of money? I choose pieces that I genuinely love. I don’t think of how I might feel when I wear them. I just go with the first emotion I experience when I see them and if it makes me happy, it’s going straight into my cart. It’s been therapeutic. Now my biggest hurdle is reintroducing myself to people who knew me before I became this new me. Somehow, that, seems more daunting than showing strangers my scars. I know that it’s mostly because I want them to still think of me as that “perfect” individual. Yes, I am vain but who isn’t. The trick is to not let it run every aspect of your life.
