What do I do with my hands?

Appearances, womanhood, and expectations.

"What do I do with my hands?" is the first thought I have in most scenarios. Whether it be taking a picture, meeting someone for the first time, or while waiting for drinks to be dropped off at our table. There's some deep ingrained fear that doing the "wrong" thing with my hands will expose my awkwardness or alert people that I'm not as put together as I pretend to be. A few weeks back, I mentioned in my newsletter that I was feeling insecure, which is very much where I'm still living. And since I love to live inside of my head, I've been trying to dissect those feelings, which descended overnight like an avalanche that I'm still trying to dig my way out of.

Appearances

Appearances are typically dismissed as superficial, but they undeniably hold significant sway over our lives. Whether physical or non-physical, how we present ourselves and how others perceive us significantly shape our interactions and self-perception. From an evolutionary standpoint, we assess others as a way to categorize and understand potential threats. That makes sense to me. Even though these observations aren't always right, I understand where they come from. What makes far less sense to me is how our brains can transform us into the cartoon version of ourselves. I mean, how often have any of us felt like we're performing a sketch on SNL while doing something totally banal? The best that I can come up with is that appearances, both on the surface and beneath, come from that pack mentality that was once crucial to our survival. I mean, it still is, but for different reasons. Having our pack, I mean.

Growing up, I was always the new girl in school. My hair was an untamable ball of frizz, and I was on a constant mission to adapt to my surroundings. I wanted to blend in, but not so much that I faded into the background. So, fitting in meant observing the kids around me, discovering their interests, and finding some common ground. By seventh grade, I wasn't just navigating a new school in a new country; I was suddenly hyper-aware of my body. My frizz needed to be tamed—straightened or curled—because the wild look was no longer cutting it. My eyebrows? They were too bushy for the current trend, and I was mortified as a result. And as I watched girls around me start to develop curves, I found myself silently wishing for mine to arrive soon, hoping to be the kind of pretty that turned heads without crossing into "trashy" territory. These were the thoughts swirling in my head at the tender ages of twelve and thirteen.

I think that everything I just mentioned is pretty common, but so is the idea that we'll eventually outgrow that mindset. While I don't obsess over it like I used to, I still find myself spiraling down Instagram rabbit holes, spending way too much time on the profiles of people I find intriguing or, let's be honest, ridiculously attractive. And as much as I hate to admit it, I'm often searching for clues on how they became who they are—not just out of curiosity, but because I feel lacking in certain areas and hope to stumble upon a miracle cure that'll boost my self-esteem. Maybe if I crack this code, I'll transform into a more fascinating person with flawless skin. In fact, this is my preferred method of hurting my own feelings when I'm already feeling down!

Womanhood

Identifying as a woman, I constantly grapple with the challenge of defining what womanhood means to me. It feels a lot like a never-ending tug-of-war between my beliefs and the harsh reality of what I see around me. The media bombards us with images of the "ideal" woman—perfect hair, flawless skin, those coveted measurements, and an effortless chic vibe that seems to be a full-time job. In the seventh grade, I practically prayed for curves, a wish that got lost in the mail. Some days, when I look in the mirror, I still see a child staring back at me. Other days, my complete lack of hair and makeup skills makes me think I skipped a crucial stop on the road to adulthood. My experiences with beauty standards have led me to wonder if there's room for women who see beauty the way I do and act like me. Mostly, others who wish they had a smidge of interest in experimenting with new makeup and who overshare like it's a competitive sport.