46. Self confidence isn't real

Also, where did CosmoGIRL! go?!

If I close my eyes, I can still see it:

A stack of magazines, 30-40 high, nestled on the side of my bed — covers featuring Hilary Duff and Amanda Bynes and Whitney Port and Ashlee Simpson — dog-eared the whole way, rifled through, memorized.

If you had picked up those magazines and opened to a random page, you’d probably have seen that I marked some quote in an interview or some ad that I really, really loved. 

(The words and I have always been pals, ya know?)

And if you opened up the pages – which would probably all vaguely carry the scent of Sweet Pea from Bath & Body Works or Love Spell from Victoria’s Secret — you’d see that I had probably underlined or dog-eared an article talking about how I could “get toned,” or a multi-page spread on giving myself a “back-to-school-makeover,” or a quiz with a title like “does he like you?!”

Those magazines were EVERYTHING to me — the manual to being a cuter, more pulled-together, more knows-what-she’s-doing kind of gal.

And, as I’d flip through those magazines, I’d find myself balancing through this mix of messages that I could never, really, well… figure out.

First, this was peak-2000s magazine culture, and every image was Photoshopped to all hell. 

At that time, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was a religious experience.

People like Jessica Simpson were considered plus-size (?!).

Weight Watchers took up a crazy amount of ad space.

Bridget Jones became a quintessential dumpy, single girl, life-is-a-mess icon… but her character was only supposed to weigh 136 pounds (...)

However, this was right around the time that companies like Dove were starting to publish ads that showed so-called real bodies — specifically, featuring people who weren’t professional models.

Articles on things like body image and beauty standards started to find their way into the pages of my beloved Seventeens and CosmoGIRL!s.

Real-life stories from teenagers about actual, REAL LIFE things started popping up as feature stories. (I weirdly very specifically remember a Seventeen magazine article about a girl who was a cheerleader and had sweaty hands?!)

And so it started…

The continuous see-saw between specific beauty standards and “real body” messaging. 

On one hand, you were supposed to love your body — every inch of it.

But on the other, you were only REAAAALLLLLY supposed to have a body that fit perfectly into a pair of low-rise Hollister jeans (and you were supposed to have a chest small enough for a PINK brand bra, too).

On one hand, you were supposed to be confident and proud of yourself, but you were also supposed to be *absolutely* sure that the body you were carrying around looked as close to perfect as you could get it.

On one hand, “dieting” was a dirty word — but there was also nothing wrong with surviving on Slimfast shakes, Yoplait yogurts, and Lean Cuisines. (That was FOOD, after all… you weren’t starving yourself!)

This led me — and, um, a whole generation of women AND men — into having a really, really complicated relationship with self-confidence.

(Also, when confidence articles in magazines quite literally only show people who look CONVENTIONALLY great in a bikini… it all makes sense.)

I would try (and try… and TRY) to be as comfortable in myself as I could (I mean, look at the Dove Real Beauty ads!), but at the end of the day, I still didn’t like things about myself.

I’d read the magazines at night, trying to read myself into a “better” version of me, but I’d spend my day thinking about the things I wished I could change.

I didn’t enjoy looking at the stretch marks all over my hips (and, eventually, all over me).

After all, the only articles I ever found about stretch marks were geared towards new moms.

I didn’t like the way my hair laid, no matter how much CHI oil I used on the ends.

After all, the girls in the magazine ads never had frizzy pieces all over the top.

I could go on, and on, and on.

And, as I got older — and much more generally comfortable with myself — I’d find myself wrestling with the same things, just on a different level.

I’d gaslight myself into forcing fake confidence in a dress I bought online, only to find myself zooming in on pictures of the same dress on a much thinner influencer — and tearing myself apart for it.

I’d see the TikToks from Hailey Bieber talking about “normalizing adult acne” (also, I love HB, but……. her version of adult acne is different than mine), only to still stare so intently at mine in the mirror that I’d cry.

I could go on, and on, and on.

Basically, I felt like I was chasing the “self confidence” I’d seen splashed across Dove ads and Seventeen articles and viral TikToks…

…and I was never able to find it. It felt like this elusive thing that only REALLY bold people had.

But then I started being honest — with my friends, and with myself, and with my therapist.

I started hearing the same thing from EVERYONE, no matter what size their jeans were or how smooth their skin was.

They didn’t feel that self-confidence either. They didn’t look in the mirror and always love every inch of what they saw either. They were confused as hell by the million and five messages they saw in the media and online, too.

All of us, basically.

And that’s when I started to realize something:

Self-confidence, at its core, isn’t really… real.

At the end of the day, it’s a marketing ploy. (No matter how precious the Dove ads were, they existed — and exist — to sell.)

I mean, think about it. You’re targeted to buy things — moisturizer, magnesium powder, jeans, greens, perfume, protein powders, bras, supplements, fitness trackers — in pursuit of a more healthy, vibrant, CONFIDENT you.

Confidence MIGHT be a by-product at the end, sure… but it’s not as much of a by-product as revenue is.

But there’s something that is real — and it can’t be bought, or hydrolyzed into a greens powder, or filtered into a serum.

That thing is self-assuredness.

It’s being overwhelmingly SURE of yourself.

It’s being steadfastly, powerfully, AWARE of your own value (even when you don’t like the way you look in a dress).

It’s being deeply CERTAIN that you have a place, even though you don’t know where that place is just yet.

It’s being ANCHORED into the idea that your humanity matters. That you’re a person with a million different opinions, and a million different feelings, and a million different opportunities to think and be.

It’s, well, BEING.

It’s knowing that, as a real-life PERSON, you won’t always love the way your shirts fit, or the way your skin looks, or the way you’re grumpy as hell until at least 11 AM.

You won’t always love that you struggle with things that other people find easy.

You won’t always love that you’re not wearing the same size jeans as you did last summer.

You won’t always love that your timeline doesn’t seem to be matching up to the rest of the people you went to school with.

But, at the same time, it’s knowing that you’re allowed to take up space anyways.

To grow.

To try.

To figure things out.

And I think that’s the secret to all of this:

To work towards being a little less “confident,” and a lot more SURE.

🤍🤍🤍