The evolution of man is an iconic visual representation of the transformation of a beast into a man, you know that picture of the crouching monkey that gradually stands tall, stops dragging its knuckles on the ground, picks up a spear and then finally walks a bit like Dave from your local? Well I thought it would be interesting to recreate this shot with a slight twist and focus on the evolution of beauty in society and this photo is a little insight into my musing on a subject that is so very disturbingly ugly; beauty.
Much like our hairy primative ancestors I started off as an unkempt little oaf, I was shy, clumsy, unsure of myself and branded as ‘ugly’ up until the age of seventeen-and-three-quarters. Growing up in the late eighties I didn’t know any different to the bushy caterpillar eyebrows that crawled their way across my giant forehead, my rosacea making my face glow bright red without ever having to be embarrassed and wearing flared leggings not because I was fashionable but because I think they were still left over from the seventies and I was way behind on the times.
Alas during my early childhood I never concerned myself with how I looked mostly because mirrors were far too high for me to reach even on tiptoes and the only thing smart about our snot-green rotary-dial house phone was the receiver cords ability to curl perfectly back into shape after each use, unlike the copious rainbow slinky’s that had knotted up and been buried in the back garden. Before smartphones were ever invented I had no fear of photographs and lived a carefree and unsuperficial life. Yet I was bullied horribly throughout adolescence which only pushed me further into my shell and made me feel like I didn’t belong, like I didn’t deserve to be around others and that I wasn’t ever good enough. My lack of beauty made me hate myself and my body, but it thankfully gave me a whole heap of time on my hands from being alone and shutting myself off from others that I got a pretty decent education and gained a super hard work ethic.
So you can imagine my surprise when at the age of eighteen I was scouted to be a model and people actually wanted to take pictures of me to put in magazines, not to laugh at my meekness or appear in the circle of shame for my lack of fashion sense but for men to make salt-shaker motions to me in their underpants. Yeh I know, I was shocked too, but it opened my eyes to an entirely different world; as an ugly geek people spat in my face and called me names, yet as a glamour model their trouser snakes spat on my glossy-magazine face as they called out my name in a high-pitched voice.
Literally overnight the girls who had cut chunks out of my hair at school and thrown stones at me were trying to be my friend, asking for modelling advice and wanting to know if I could make them famous, and the boys who laughed in my face and pushed me over wanted to bed me. Needless to say I neither befriended the spiteful girls nor bewildered the shallow boys, but instead I carried on with the same kind heart and positive outlook that I’d always had, astonished that the way I looked could have such a dramatic effect on how people treated me. If you’re deemed as ugly the world pushes past you and kicks you whilst you’re down but if you’re beautiful then everything falls at your feet, people do anything to get to know you, impress you and please you.
At the age of 25 my breast implants decided to collapse sending me into hospital not long after I’d given birth to my second child, and five days after my second repair surgery and reconstruction my fiance of almost six years did the offski because he didn’t want the responsibility of a wife and children. At first I was a little upset, partially because I couldn’t stand up to boil a kettle for my morning tea as I was merely held together by staples and painkillers that made me forget my own name, but mostly because I was scared shitless that I wouldn’t be strong enough to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders at a time when I was so low and heartbroken. Nothing can prepare you for your body mind and soul all packing up and saying sayonara on the same day and I was really hoping for a nice hug, bunch of grapes and a get well soon card instead, but life works in mysterious ways.
It later turns out that as a mother of two I was apparently “dressing too old for my age, boring and didn’t make enough effort with makeup” which I think was pretty fair-do’s when you’re left to do night-feeds, school runs, work and look after a family of four a la Cinderella. So there I was on my Jack Jones as a single parent with some huge new boobies after I was thankfully rebuilt like a female version of robocop minus the weaponary, unless you class nipples as weapons because get me in a tight t-shirt on a cold day and I take no prisoners! Rather than cry forever about the past I looked to the future and realised that despite the fact life had served me a whole bucket of lemons for my birthday surely the only way was up. And instead of dwelling on the shit time that I was going through I seized the day and did everything I wanted to, I learnt to ride a motorbike, snowboard, fire a shotgun, conquered my fear of drowning, climbed a mountain, started bodybuilding, running, pole fitness, got a heap of inspirational tattoo’s around my boobs and lady-garden and went out and met amazing people. From insecure geek to glamour model, mother and now motivator, my life changed literally overnight and I have never looked back, nor will I ever.
Beauty isn’t measured in the amount of likes your trout-pout receives on instragram, nor your bra size, ability to twerk or how many marshmallows you can fit into your mouth without gagging; it’s the ability to remain kind-hearted despite the knives that lodge in your chest. People have become so self-obsessed with how they look that they forget how to have fun, smile or be kind to others; so kick off your heels take off your false lashes, hair extensions, fake tan and trowelled-on makeup and get to know a wet wipe, run bare-foot across the grass and take your mirrors off the wall because you don’t have to look perfect, you just have to accept yourself for being you. No matter what we look like in life people will judge us, if we fail to show off what we have then we’re classed as unattractive, yet if we put it on show then we’re attention seeking sluts. I like to think that I’m a fairly middle of the road kind of girl, without makeup I can stealth my way through the day and go unnoticed, and with a bit of lippy and a tight dress I might break a few jaws. But people who know me know that regardless of where I am, who I am with, what I am wearing or how much money I have in my pocket I am always the same person, I always treat people how I’d like to be treated and I have immeasurable time and respect to help others.
In striving for beauty we have become a nation of selfie-snapping filter-flipping wannabe celebrities with no passion or ambition in life other than to be rich and famous. I on the other hand enjoy a nice game of chess, adopting stray animals and leaving my armpit hair an extra day or two before shaving it so that I can save on replacing my razor blade so often because they’re as expensive as hell and it’s not like anyone’s going to be cuddling up to me anyway. And if you agree with my views on beauty then it’s probably quite likely that you’ll enjoy my new book “Traces Of Me by Tracy Kiss” which I just thought I should mention because it’s a kinky trilogy I’m currently writing based on finding self confidence and true love in life. It’s also guaranteed to make you scream my name.
Now if you could do me a favour and please tag and share this with a friend who is drop-dead beautiful inside, has eyebrows that need their own passport or filters everything in life other than their coffee that would be great. Let’s shake up the world and celebrate natural beauty, individuality and equality of the sexes. Love your bodies warts and all and if people can’t appreciate you for who and what you truly are then more fool them, send out a two finger salute and big up yaself! 🙂 books before looks, peace out, T x