When I was in high school, I had so much confidence I could fuel a car on it. I went to a small high school so there weren’t exactly many romantic options for anyone. I had all of my limbs and was able to function in a social gathering - that was good enough for most high school suitors.
And then… college.
Making the jump from small town hero to little fish in a big pond was shocking for a multitude of reasons. I got lost (a lot), didn’t know everyone in all of my classes and I was now up against prom queens and cheer captains from 100+ different schools.
After just a few weekends in the big bad college dating pool, my confidence was knocked down to the point where I seriously contemplated how my life would fare if I was single forever.
Why? How? I would ask myself. I would spend hours staring at myself in the mirror before I went out analyzing everything. Hair? Frizzy, but fine. Makeup? Pimple covered. Clothes? Better than a garbage bag. So what was wrong with me? Why would a guy constantly choose other girls over me?
Then the realization - I’m not the hot friend.
I don’t wake up with #flawless makeup. My clothes aren’t designer. Sometimes, I spend all day in sweatpants with no makeup on, eat an entire box of Oreos and watch an entire series on Netflix.
But then the next realization - thank God I’m not the hot friend.
The hot friend spends at least an hour and a half on her makeup to go to the gym. The hot friend dresses to go out for an 8 am class. The hot friend commits to being the hot friend and I cannot commit to that kind of lifestyle.
My hot friends taught me something my small high school couldn’t - that not every guy will be interested in me, but also that I shouldn’t take it personally. The guys that do choose me choose my sweatpants and makeup-less face as well.
Will I always be jealous of my hot friends? Probably. They never pay for drinks, never worry about having a date to multiple formals. But I’m sure my hot friends are jealous of me, too. I have no issues doing a Dunkin run in my “Saturday morning uniform” (read - sweatpants and last night’s makeup sans a shower) and I don’t obsess about the number on the tag of my jeans.
So what’s the moral here? If you’re the hot friend - own it. But if you’re not? Own it too. Own your perfectly plumped lips that would make Kylie Jenner jealous. Own every drink those boys buy you. But also own the sweatpants days (you all know what I’m talking about). Own the empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Find the fine line between superstar model and homeless beggar and own being the normal girl because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being yourself.
And that may be cheesy, but I’m sticking to that as I sit in my bed, with sweats on, eating leftover pizza.
I’ll choose superstar model tomorrow.