In The Eye of the Beholder

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Matt and I were watching House last night, one of my favourite shows, and not just because Hugh Laurie dominates my sexy thoughts file. The writing is genius, the cases are interesting and I love the character development.

And I love Hugh Laurie.

In the middle of last nights episode (we're catching up on season 5), Matt says something along the lines of, "Ugh, I don't know why they keep her on the show, she's not pretty at all."

He said this referring to the character "Thirteen" played by the gorgeous Olivia Wilde.

  

Thirteen (left), Cameron (right) 

Me: Is there something wrong with you? She's gorgeous! I love Olivia Wilde.
Matt: I don't get it.
Me: I think she's at least prettier than Cameron.
Matt: Not at all! Cameron was hot! Thirteen is hideous in comparison.

I'm puzzled still.

It made me think a lot about how I see myself.

I've never thought I was gorgeous. Pretty on occasion, maybe. Beautiful here and there, certainly, like on my wedding day for instance. But that sexy, drop dead diva type gorgeous? Well maybe when I was in High School, but I didn't believe it back then for one second.

A few years ago, Josh and I were looking through old High School pictures. He came across one of me and said, "Man, you were so hot." I did the typical "What do you mean 'were'" reply that we women are pre-programmed with in order to deflect a compliment while still appearing confident despite our utter lack of self esteem.

But really, the comment confused me.
I was hot?

It didn't make sense. My best friend Megaera in High School was hot. I hid with acceptance in her shadow for two years never once even beginning to compare because really, what was the use? I was never hot. I was the girl that the guys settled for. I was the girl that was funny. Sweet. Flirty. All the wonderful attributes to make up for the fact that she just was not pretty enough.

And yet over the last few years Matt (and other friends of the male persuasion) insisted that back in the day, they preferred me physically to her. Mentioning physical qualities of her that I admired, they found too harsh, strange, and unappealing. She was tall, slim, with gorgeous big eyes, olive toned skin and long brown hair. She was a model. She was Thirteen.

I was a short, full figured, pale skinned red head. I was Cameron. And I was certainly no model.
And yet, I was the preference?

For years I've had self esteem issues and never really understood how other people saw me. I don't get it.
But then again, isn't that the definition of low self esteem? You just don't see what everyone else does.

Last year on Facebook there was a "Celebrity Lookalike Week" where you posted a picture of a celebrity that you look like and kept that as your profile photo for a week. I was amazed as my friends stood out as obvious Kristen Dunst, Rachel McAdams and Christina Applegate doppelgangers. Aside from saying, "Maybe if Amy Adams or Isla Fisher got fat.." I had no celebrity I could look at and say, "Wow . . . she's beautiful and I look just like her."

Matt of course came to the rescue. "Are you kidding? You're the spitting image of Lauren Ambrose. I've been saying that for years." And he has.
But I never saw it.

For some reason, I just never saw the resemblance. No idea why.

After all, Lauren Ambrose is gorgeous!
She's short but she's beautiful.
She has pale skin, but it really works for her.
And that red hair . . . well, not everyone can pull off the greatest shade in the world.

How on earth could he think anyone like me . . .

Could look anything like her?

 Huh.

Maybe beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.
Maybe I am a little too hard on myself.
Maybe instead of comparing myself to the tall, skinny, brunette models . . .
I could start reminding myself that I am a little more unique in beauty like other famous redheads.
Maybe.

Maybe this post should have included a shirtless picture of Hugh Laurie.