No, really – CALL ME!
As a follow up to my earlier post on beauty/attractiveness, I thought I’d share the results of my experiment… (if you didn’t read that post…check it out here.)
While I was waiting to hear if I made the cut or not, I got several e-mails telling me various men around the world were “checking out my profile.” Cool!
I clicked on them out of curiosity, and sure enough….VERY handsome.
I mean….the stuff of magazines.
Well-groomed, muscular and fit, heart-melting smiles full of perfectly aligned white teeth…the kind of teeth that say, “I never lie and I’ll rub your feet while we watch cheesy TV…”
…what? Don’t teeth ever speak to you?
But their profile essays… were hilariously less than gripping.
They’d say things like… “I like to do things.” Thanks, boo…that really fills in the gaps for me.
So, I’d already decided that if I made it in – I’d have a good laugh, possibly brag about if for the next few years and then move on. Ok…no “possibly”…I’d definitely brag about that.
But I knew I wouldn’t really DO anything with it. I don’t want to meet a man on a site like that… a site entirely focused on the external. As much as I love decorating the outside (accessories, scarfs, fun makeup, cute shoes…all great fun), it’s so fleeting. And at the end of the day, I’ll gladly cuddle up on the couch with a 6.9 who’s intelligent, funny and thoughtful – long before I’d hitch my wagon to a vapid 9.
I’d also decided that if I DIDN’T make it… I would be ok with that – because only 20% of people do. So – I should be content with hanging with the other 4 outta 5… right?? RIGHT?
And hey – the REST of the world-wide-web thinks me an 8.333…and that ain’t bad…?
But what happened was…. well – two things. Two responses to my beauty or lack thereof. And oh, what a difference the second one made.
Yup… I, along with 80% of all those who try …did NOT make it into BeautifulPeople.com. Alas….’tis true.
Their rejection e-mail let me down gently, but still. Ouch.
But that same day… I got another piece of ‘mail’
…from my six-year-old daughter – completely unbidden.
This was on the inside of her birthday card to me:
I love everything about this.
I love that she had no idea that I was gunning to get into the beauty pageant of online dating.
I love that she got the order right….first the character – THEN the beauty.
And I love that she KNOWS me…and thinks I’m beautiful.
The website doesn’t know me. The men who “checked” me out can only see one thing – my face. My daughter can see everything. Kids can even see beyond pretense and fake smiles. They sense it all. They know when I’m flying at half-mast and when I’m frustrated…when I’m sad… when I need a hug. My 6-year old knows the real Sarah…and she thinks I’m beautiful. And – even to my own surprise – that’s enough for me.
So, I guess beauty really IS in the eye of the beholder…and that brings me a great deal of comfort. I WANT the man I’m with to think I’m the most gorgeous woman in the world….because of who I am. I want my sassy energy and irreverent sense of humor and huge heart to win me his adoration…not my winning smile (though I’m hoping that’ll help…).
Don’t hear me say that looks don’t count. I mean, heck…this all started because I’ve found myself being vain in this regard. The only reason my friend even asked me what I thought my number was, was because I told him I am quick (too quick?) to turn men down because I don’t find them attractive.
Looks matter…they just don’t matter MOST.
In the end… as much as it’s become trite to say so… beauty really isn’t just what’s on the outside. Sure, I’m gonna keep wearing sparkly lip gloss and picking out cute outfits and looking my best on the exterior. But, the things I value most in a man are qualities like – intelligence, sense of humor, thoughtfulness, etc. …I want him to be handsome, of course, but that finds itself much lower on the list. And if that’s true for who I date… I suppose it has to be true for whoever dates me. You’ll be getting an imperfect body… but a pretty sweet deal on the rest.
So – the members of BeautifulPeople.com can have each other. I don’t want ’em.
I want people who see me the way my daughter does.