The Myth of Beauty, The Truth of Ugly

On ugliness in all its glory

“Are there universal ways in which people react to beauty? No, because beauty is detachment, absence of passion. Ugliness, by contrast, is passion.” -Umberto Eco

“The fear of looking ugly will ruin your life and steal your joy,” (@im.an.adult on TikTok) is the opening line for a TikTok video I have saved deep in my favorites folder. This was a very tough pill to swallow. I knew it was true, but damn, did I hate hearing that — the fear that overtakes me every day, the fear that my under-eye concealer creases when I smile, that the folds of my body are visible to the outside world, that, well, we could go on for hours. You get the point. I woefully fear being ugly.

I’ve heard similar sentiments throughout my 20 years — most notably “Your fear of looking stupid is holding you back,” or something along those lines. I think I first heard this in a cheap self-help book — you know the kind, full of catchy mantras and shallow one-liners, the one you pick up in Barnes and Noble and walk out considering canceling your next therapy appointment. Nonetheless, this one stuck out to me, this one minute and 21-second video forced me to interrogate my feelings toward “ugliness.”

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Czardas dancers, 1908

I think, in a sense, I’ve gotten over my fear of looking stupid. Let’s put it this way: I’ve made a lot of stupid clothing purchases and have worn those stupid purchases, usually to high school. One day in junior year I wore a ruffled polka dot shirt, a plaid skirt, fishnet stockings, and rain boots (this was not a stupid outfit, nor stupid purchases. Rather, it was stupid in the eyes of teenagers). Two things happened that day. I got a dirty look from a girl during passing period, almost as dirty as the looks I give to MAGA hat wearers; she looked me up and down and grimaced. A different girl complimented my outfit, an interaction that ended with a big hug even though neither of us knew each other’s names. So yeah, I’ve done my fair share of “looking stupid” exposure therapy.

But looking ugly terrifies me to my core. I so deeply wish it didn’t, but here we are. The rational and logical side of my brain recognizes the fact that Western beauty standards are steeped in racism, misogyny, and fatphobia and that the beauty industry is capitalism and patriarchy at work blah blah blah blah blah. Yet that’s the thing about being human, rationality doesn’t always work.

“Unpleasant” and “repulsive” are the two most common words across various definitions of the word “ugly” — pertaining mainly to appearance but also personality. It’s a word tossed around haphazardly and a label to be avoided at all costs. “Ugly” is a dynamic title — what was once considered ugly 500 years ago may now be deemed as beautiful, and vice versa.

Leonora Carrington, Green Tea, 1942

A person’s value is dependent on their physical appearance. Fat people, people with disabilites, people of color, and every single person who doesn’t perfectly adhere to the current beauty standard is deemed as less than in one way or another. Their character is brought into question, as is their basic worth. But by our own standards of beauty, every single person has been “ugly.” So why are we so terrified of it?

There is a distinct division in the ways we perceive ugly art versus ugly people (hence the chosen photos — I Googled “ugly art” and the rest is history). Ugly art has intrinsic beauty. Even if the matter is ugly in nature or appearance, we as the viewers still find beauty within the integrity of the art — the colors used, the brushstrokes, the composition. Yet why can’t we find that same beauty in people? Why must we categorize people into one of two camps? If we looked at ugly artworks the same way we look at ugly people, we would simply dismiss the art as “Not worth my time,” because, what ugly thing is worth anyone’s time? Imagine how much art and culture we would miss out on if we refused to engage with things that challenge our carefully crafted capitalistic perceptions of beauty.

Beauty is a performance. You aren’t born with it, because natural beauty is somewhat of a myth — 50% of people may think you’re drop-dead gorgeous while the other 50% says there’s not much to write home about. Does that 50% vote qualify a person as being beautiful? Statistically, with eight billion other people on Earth, you’re not going to check the “beautiful” box on everyone’s ballot, and that is okay, at least it should be okay.

I want to embrace my moments of (physical) ugliness without shame. I want to look at objectively bad photos of myself and laugh while flipping off the beauty industry, I want to exist without constant fear of how I look, I want the freedom of simply being. “I know that I’m a good person and [that] I have value regardless of what I look like at the time” (@im.an.adult on TikTok). I’ve come to realize that the message presented in the video is not a one-and-done thing; it is an attitude I must practice. Societal conditioning is a hell of a drug, so moving forward, I will try to both embrace and accept the fact that my face isn’t perfectly symmetrical, that I have fat on my body, and that I get acne. Those facts shouldn’t affect the perception of my worth, from my perspective and the public’s. I am beautiful and I am ugly, as is everyone. It’s still uncomfortable for me to say that but I realize more and more every day that discomfort is a state to seek out — not to run from. So yes, we are beautifully ugly, uglily beautiful, and everything in between. As the quote by Umberto Eco says, “ugliness is passion,” — if ugliness is passion, then I want to bleed ugliness, I want every part of my life to be touched by the hand of ugliness. Since beauty is such a contrived force, then let us morph it, play with it, and distort it — let us move through the world not in spite of our physical appearances, but in appreciation of all their ugly beauty.