There has never been a shortage of other people having things to say about your looks: how acceptable they are, what cultural standards they tick off, how you should view yourself, or what you should say to yourself in the mirror. I come from a country where, for the most part, fat means ugly just as much as fair means beautiful, and as a child who was neither fair nor thin, I grew up doing a lot of thinking about how I looked in the mirror. I would always miss my school bus, not because I woke up late, but because I spent so long doing and re-doing my hair, changing my clothes, my shoes, even the color of my bag, until my mother had to drag me out of the house and drive me to school because the bus driver had long since learned our pattern and didn’t wait a second after two minutes.

In high school, much to my mother’s chagrin, I wanted to dye my hair a different color every month, pierce my nose, ears, and even my eyebrow. “Why do you always want to be different?” My mom often asked me. But I wasn’t looking for different, I was looking for me. I was looking for the comfort in my own body that I hadn’t found because of the environment I was in from an early age. Because of that boy who asked me if I was wearing my night clothes to my eighth birthday party, and to whom I didn’t have the confidence to say — “I look good and I know it.”

Perhaps it was only to be expected that my first semester away from home was especially jarring. I had seen diversity in body types and personal styles in India, but the wide acceptance in the community was something novel to me. I still vividly remember my first week, when I witnessed innumerably different types of clothing. There was a brown girl wearing a crop top that enhanced her pear-shaped figure instead of hiding it, a girl with a belly button piercing that would have definitely drawn uncomfortable stares in my town, and so many different shades of hair color I soon lost count. There ,they were all of them, trotting happily along, comfortable in what they were wearing and who they were. I’m sure I was staring, but I’m also sure they didn’t have a single care in the world that I was, because they were too comfortable in their skin to be bothered by how other people would see them.

Naturally, I too began experimenting with my clothes, my hair, and makeup. I dug out outfits that I had only packed because my parents said I looked nice in them, but that I had planned to keep in a box for the next four years. Most of my clothes didn’t look the way I wanted them to, and it was frustrating, but you know what, I learnt not to care. I planned my outfits out the night before as best I could and found a calming mindfulness in this: Preparing for the next day, feeling excited to dress up and look good, and walking into a room with my head held high. But I also learnt that planning my outfits and caring about how I look was no longer because of a lack of confidence, as it was when I was younger. Compared to that school girl who always got late for her bus, I now accepted myself even on the days that the clothes didn’t look the same on my body as they did on my bed, or on the days that I changed in and out of five different outfits to end up with something I still wasn’t satisfied with. I accepted that pants often look shorter on me because I have long legs, that I will always get dark circles before my period, and that there’s nothing wrong with the birthmark on my arm.

It obviously was not that easy; I took up therapy for the first time in my life, I went to the gym (where I sometimes let imposter syndrome win and left without working out), and on some days, I didn’t even leave my room because no matter how many times I reapplied my eyeliner, it still didn’t look right. But now, I’m a sophomore, and maybe time heals everything, or I’ve finally achieved some of the self-confidence that (Psych2Go)[https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkJEpR7JmS36tajD34Gp4VA] is always talking about, but the days where I have to assure myself of my looks have gotten fewer and fewer. This year, I’ve learnt to work with myself instead of against.

Now my wardrobe consists more of clothes I bought here than those I bought in India. Now, if I don’t feel like putting on makeup, I still feel comfortable walking out of my room. Now I don’t stress about cellulite and stretch marks and body hair all the time. Now, I dress how I want, and when I look in the mirror, I think I look pretty damn good.