Why I love my flaws, and you should too

Consistent with my obvious obsession with all things French, we at Beige Renegade declare ‘Vive la revolution!’ as we wage war on all manner of uncomfortable footwear (aka cruel and unusual torture devices) and campaign for bedhead-chic and the morning routine of 10 minutes or less. The underlying ethos, being a rejection of silly societal notions that make us do silly things (i.e. a return to basics and simplicity), also proclaims that perfection is fiction, and that our flaws – from the wrong shaped nose to the wrong shaped thought – are not weaknesses, but strengths. However, learning to love ones flaws is easier said than done.

As for me, I had always fancied myself as having been dealt all the ugly cards. Growing up in China as the most tanned Chinese kid in her neighbourhood, attaining fair skin via religious sun avoidance and patronage of questionable (and sometimes alarming) ‘whitening’ skin products has been a fact of life for most of my early years. Then, thinking I had found the silver bullet to all my Asian beauty inadequacies, I was wearing foundation a few shades lighter, Asian contact lenses of various unrealistic colours, and false eyelashes with names like ‘Dolly Wink’ and ‘Cutie Eye’ – all to make my skin look fairer and eyes enormous (as chronicled on Facebook via the perfect selfie angle).

Later, deciding the Asian doll look was embarrassingly immature, I decided to switch my subscription to western beauty ideals instead. But, feeling no more luck on that side of the fence either, I tried many schemes to make my nose appear longer and pointier, my cheeks more carved, and at one stage seriously contemplated breast implants.

True to the transient nature of body issues, I went through one phase of being ashamed of my huge unfeminine feet, immediately followed by another of lamenting that my tiny feet didn’t look good in heels; while at one stage I held out hope that I might yet grow a little bit taller, at another, I became convinced that boys didn’t want to date me because I was too tall.

It took me many years to understand that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are points of view, and context changes everything. While I periodically sink into a mood of wishing I was born more beautiful, life makes you see the concept of ‘appearance’ for all its complex implications – giant eyes and paper white skin might look gorgeous on the cover of a Japanese magazine, but it would not make the best impression at a corporate job interview. Similarly, having voluptuous curves or being flat as a board are each in their own ways a blessing and a curse.

So, perfection is definitely fiction. But who would want perfection anyway? While I may not have all the classic elements of (a certain view of) beauty, like long eyelashes, dimpled cheeks, or straight white teeth, this does not stop me from loving what I see in the mirror. My high cheek bones which made me the butt of Pocahontas jokes in school, my tanned skin which is equally as desirable in western culture as they are undesirable in eastern culture, my naturally dark lips which preclude about 90% of lippies on earth; my completely random eyebrows which I had given up plucking years ago – these are all things which make me uniquely me, and I would choose uniqueness over perfection every time.

Wearing:
Monogrammed Shirt – Anna Quan | Boyfriend Jeans – J Brand (similar) | Three Strap Heels – Senso | Bralette – For Love and Lemons | Classic Watch – Daniel Wellington

Incredibly important minimal style tips to your inbox? Join the mailing list!