On Being Attractive

Just to start, I want to be clear that I’m not a conceited person. Generally, I don’t think super highly of myself and that’s something I’m working to change. I’m often confused as to why people like me, why they talk to me, why they love me. In my trying to understand that stuff, I have to be able to look at myself and my characteristics without my Subjectivity Lens. This is partly an exercise in that and partly just some random thoughts.

When I was little, people would tell me I was cute or pretty or something. After a couple years of this, I would respond somewhat impatiently with “I know” and all the adults around me would chuckle at my reply. Of course I was too young to understand that saying “I know” is not a gracious response to being complimented nor that it sounded conceited of me. I understood that there was something sort of wrong about it, something in the tone of the adults’ laughter that indicated I had made a social misstep.

But, really, seriously, I was just tired of hearing it. My physical appearance was not something I worried about until gender dysphoria hit me like a truck a few years ago. I didn’t really care what people thought about how I looked because I hadn’t really thought about how I looked. And it’s entirely possible that being constantly assured that I’m cute contributed to me not giving it much thought. It probably also helps that I was never made fun of for my physical appearance by my peers (or adults).

That short-lived habit of saying “I know” has shaped how I view my physical appearance.

I went from basically not caring at all about how I looked to begrudgingly acknowledging my overall attractiveness. I really started to care when I was presenting male–being told I was a cute boy was basically the best thing anyone could say. (It’s still a pretty awesome thing to say; in fact I’m sure I prefer compliments on my sexy masculine characteristics to my feminine ones.)

The only thing that’s consistently bothered me about my appearance over the last couple years is me having boobs. But I’ve talked about that a lot before. It’s not so much of an issue now because I plan on getting rid of them someday and knowing that makes dysphoria a lot easier to deal with. And anyway, the problem with my boobs doesn’t have a lot to do with other people looking at me. I mean, yeah, it’s related and matters a little, but for the most part it’s my psychological discomfort and personal preferences about my appearance.

Over the years, I’ve continued to get compliments on my looks. I’ve been pretty reassured the whole time that I’m attractive, even if I’ve never cared or bought into the notion.

So I’ve accepted it as more-or-less true. There certainly are days when I feel totally sexy and I’m okay with flaunting my femme characteristics because they’re there and they’re nice.

Okay, so if I weren’t the person living in the head of that body…. that would be sexy. It might be about time to admit that I’m actually pretty damn hot.


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