I wake up in the morning, grab the newspaper from outside the door, and start getting freshened up for breakfast.
As my coffee brews, I flip the pages of the newspaper. Advertisements hit me like bricks. Each with gorgeous beautiful women, gorgeous beautiful men, with perfect bodies, flat stomachs, perfect heights, luscious hair, chiselled jaws.
I smile at my sister’s stomach rolls. I think she’s beautiful. Always thought so.
I look adoringly at my mother’s stretch marks. I never thought that ever interfered with her comeliness.
I touch, with so much love, my girlfriend, complete with body hair. I know it is natural. I know I love her for her, and not the lack of body hair.
I proudly look at world evolving. Women are beautiful, they don’t have to be held down by beauty standards spread out across by the media, or the society. Women are so much more than just airbrushed features.
And then, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair’s falling out. My beard always had that one bald spot. I’m of a little less than average height. I do not even have the beginning of a six-pack. I don’t have a chiselled jaw, or beautiful eyes, or the perfect smile. I’m just a regular guy. But, I’m not beautiful. Because, society is yet to say that it’s okay for me to be bulky, or have stomach rolls, or have stretch marks, or not have the perfect beard, or not have effortless bed hair.
I don’t feel beautiful.
Because I’m a man in a woman’s world.