If I open my drawer of contacts, I will find several cases of unused pairs. All are grey colored-contacts. All would cover up my natural eye color, and make them something else. Make me someone else.
I never wear clear contacts. I don't own any. I have glasses, but I never wear those either. Well, I do now, because after getting my eyes examined last week, my doctor has expressly forbidden that I go without the aid of ocular devices like I have been. But its only recently that I've become comfortable with that. When I was younger, I used to think that brown eyes were utterly boring. Lots of people have them, they don't stand out in any way, they were SO typical of a south asian. That was the main thing. They were typical. They made me look like every other girl from India, Pakistan, or Bangladesh. (Just for the record, I think I've established already that I don't really think anyone is typical). And I wanted to be anything but typical. I wanted eyes that conveyed personality. That made me stand out. That made me different.
Grey contacts? Check. Cooler personality? ...
When I was in seventh grade, my mother finally allowed me to get contacts. But only color ones, and only for special occasions, she specified. Contacts were expensive! And if I was to get them, I might as well get the cool ones. THat was her reasoning. At the time, I was ecstatic. If I couldn't be born with beautiful eyes like my cousins:
then I could at least have them temporarily and see what it felt like to stand out. I guess I did stand out with those eyes. First of all, I confused people, getting reactions like: "You look different... are your eyes...? Wait... what?" Or, "Your eyes are beautiful!" To which my flustered response would be an immediate declaration of the truth to assuage my guilt for assuming a face that wasn't really mine "Thanks! But they're not real."
My mum would ask me in confusion why I'd say that. "Your eyes ARE real. THe color may not be, but your eyes are." I heard, but didn't really listen. Instead, I'd wonder why she wouldn't let me buy more contacts so I could wear them all the time, and then nobody would be confused. I could be The Grey-Eyed Girl. There was a whole range of traits that would be connected to that. The Free Spirit maybe? The Artist? The Oddball? However, once college began, I stopped wearing contacts altogether. First of all, because there weren't very many "special occasions" to wear them to, and secondly, I never know what time of night I'll be able to remove them, and lastly, because I'd made a pact with myself to make sure that whatever changes I'd go through in college, I'd make certain to stay absolutely, completely, undeniably true to myself. And I began to realize, whenever I DID put on the colored contacts, that that small change went against that decision. I'm not trying to say that color contacts are bad, or that they made me a fake or feel like a fake. However, that small difference made me remember that I thought my own eyes weren't good enough, that my face wasn't good enough, that my personality wasn't good enough. And honestly? They are. My eyes help me see the world, and helps those I interact with to see me. The real me. My face isn't perfect, but nobody's is. The imperfections in each and every face are endearing. They are identifiers. They make me Me, and you You. My personality? Well, all of the things I thought the grey eyes conveyed, I embody already, so the color of my eyes weren't at all what gave me strength.
That was all me.
Its strength that is beautiful. It's strength that is terrifying and enviable in its utter certainty and power. Dandelion heads represent strong people, and in this book strong women. Men definitely have ideals and standards to stand up to, but I only really know the female perspective. And the pressure is intense. There is always a standard (or a bajillion) that is impossible to meet. But why do we have to? Why does it matter? Why should a society create impossible standards and why should the populace waste a ton of energy on self-beautifying, or feeling negative thoughts about themselves, when that energy could be spent positively, making a difference, saving the world a little bit at a time? Putting out good energy rather than bad?
I think the above quote is wrong. It is not that nobody loves dandelion heads because of their strength. It is that people are too scared to dominate it, to try to eat it up. Because strength is intense. Strength will not back down. Strength is ironclad. And it is beautiful.
"They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up in a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds - cooled - and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path." (65)
When the boys mock and bully Pecola, they, like most bullies, are basically turning their inner frustrations onto an outside figure. All of the bitterness inside them, the acidic hatred burning their insides had turned inward, and rather than containing that toxic mix, they let it explode out onto Pecola.
That is what beauty standards are doing to people in this country. Actually, not even beauty standards, but all sorts of standards. There is a standard of what the American Dream is - if you are poor, or can't achieve it, you're "not good enough." There is a standard for what your weight should be. If you don't meet it, you're "not good enough." If you don't measure up in style, or physical appearance, in thought process, in personality, in possessions, you're "not good enough." And that's not exactly something unique to to this country. Its a pervasive thought process that has taken over the collective psyche of the world. I am not arguing against encouraging people to be healthy and fit, or to take care of themselves. I'm arguing against the idea of a standard. I'm arguing against the idea that there is a common idea of beauty (no matter what it is. They can be different in different countries, but they exist), because diversity is beauty.
This idea of an unattainable standard has begun to consume people. We have disgusting TV shows like Bridalplasty, in which soon-to-be-brides compete in challenges and and the winners are rewarded with plastic surgery. We have people spending thousands of dollars on diet fads that won't work, makeup that won't be a magic bullet, and many other things that simply aren't the magic spells that people wish they were. People are sucked into a toxic vortex of obsession over the miniscule - their physical appearance.
This is time and money that won't be returned. Time and money that could be spent on improving the world.
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