How do I look?

The last check in the mirror, after applying a soft layer of lipstick: I look cute. I like making an effort, for a change.

The teenage “ugly duckling” years come to mind. Not tall nor thin enough, conscious rather than proud of my boobs and stupidly convinced that I was unable to do anything with my body; I couldn't run, I couldn't play sports. I was convinced somehow that I had the grace of an elephant.

But age brought wisdom, and, talkin’ bout my generation,  I have acquainted a certain self-power a little later, when my twenties are slowly reaching the next decade, with those four grey hairs and a little wrinkle on my forehead. I even can run in a public place, thanks to the sports bra discovery!

Maybe as a woman, I am now beautiful.

Truth is, I feel OK about myself. I hate those self-pitiful conversations about OMG I would so give anything to look like...dunno...Rosie Huntington. I mean, I was the ugly duckling; it is good enough I turned out to be what I am!

So I put my heels on, and a few drops of my Chanel fragrance and I leave home, thinking how my mother taught me that the power of beauty was not as important as wit, intelligence and confidence. I try every day to attain independence, such a standard in magazines, but in reality a very rare conquest for women.

Independence from parents, my relationship, my man...but maybe even independence from that unreachable concept of beauty to which I am forced to compare myself. The empowering feeling I get from being what I have become by working hard is invaluable. I just look like a woman who stopped worrying too much about her looks. And in her contentment she finds beauty.