Appearance. Self-image. Perfection. Absolute vanity. These are all things that teenage girls lust after and strive to obtain. They wake up before dawn to shower, apply make-up, and cover up flaws that may or may not be there. They squeeze into clothes that are almost corset-like and tear at their hair until it’s deemed worthy of being on their head. They scrub at their faces with special soaps that they almost wish was acidic to burn away any imperfection.

I wondered, what if I tried to care about my appearance for a few days? Would anything really be all that different? Would I look any better or just be normal? Would I become obsessive like so many other girls? Was it even possible to care about my appearance without stumbling into all the pitfalls that went with it? What better week to start caring about my appearance than spirit week at school, when the students were allowed to wear all sorts of crazy stuff.

Day 1 started before day 1. The night before the first day, I had to put out my clothes. After careful deliberation with myself I decided on an outfit. The verdict was a dull green shirt, with a black pleated skirt (above the knees, of course!) and patterned tights.

Then it was bedtime. Just fall into bed, right? Not on your life, baby! There is a correct procedure to this. The procedure goes like this: remove make-up (gently, we don’t want to cause wrinkles), wash face (with bubbling soap specifically for your skin type), and cleanse (with intense cleanser, if you please).

I looked in the mirror and thought in the infinite vanity of a young girl, “Well, I’d say I look pretty damn good.”

Then, I was allowed to fall into bed. After about 45 minutes of caring I was released into sleep, which is also important to beauty as it turns out.
Day 1: The next morning, I woke early. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Perfection was what I was aiming for after all. Everything was in place for me. All that needed done now was the application of beauty.

First stop, bathroom, where the same routine as the night before goes except this time I was applying the make-up which took longer than removing. Also in the bathroom, the hair was done. My hair was painfully pulled into two adorable, high pigtails. If anyone’s curious, yes the pain did last most of the day until my scalp went numb.

Then dressing takes more time. I had to hop into tights and secure the skirt under the shirt. I looked in the mirror. I decided my hair was cute, my face was acceptable, but the skirt under the shirt made me look fat! It was too late to change. I had spent my allotted half hour primping and preening this outfit, so now I had to go through with it. I had only enough time to choke down some Honey Nut Cheerios before catching the bus.

School was nice, I guess, I got compliments from my friends and looks from the boys. Attracting the opposite sex has been the point of appearance since ancient times, so I’d say this was a win. Then I started to feel self-conscious under the looks about halfway through the day. Were they thinking I look nice or were they laughing? Did they see that my shirt made me look fat? Did they see a blemish through my makeup? Were they looking past the gaudiness to see me? I shied away.

End of Day 1: in the shower – OK, don’t worry nothing too terrible in this section, just a shower. Trust me, it’s important. I did my normal routine: shampoo and cream rinse my hair, wash my face, shave, lather, rinse, repeat, you know the drill. But there was something I added, body wash. I wanted my skin to be nice since I was wearing dresses and all, plus it was scented so it would smell nice. I lathered the body wash and while I rinsed my critical eye caught something. That something was my belly. I didn’t like it. I roughly grabbed a roll of fat and squeezed angrily as if that would make it go away. I was dissatisfied with my body image.

Day 2: Now, of course, I laid out my clothes and went through the same rituals. Today though I wore a black and blue gypsy- style dress that fit like a corset, and my hair loose. I thought what could go wrong with a dress that practically restricts breathing? It forced you to be perfect. Guess who was wrong about the almost-corset dress? Me! I was sitting on the bus on the way to school. I was reading so, of course, I was looking down at my lap where the book was. And I swear, I looked fat even in the corset. I had a whole day ahead of me feeling I looked fat. That lead to a lot of looking down and avoiding people or pretending I was better than I really was. Neither option really helped that much.

Day 3: I wore a red dress, above the knees, covered in black lace. It was really a pretty dress. It was a size 5 though. I had watched The Devil Wears Prada, the movie about New York fashion starring Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway. Throughout the whole movie they made fun of Anne Hathaway for being a size 6 and in the end she became a size 4. I was a size bigger than Anne Hathaway. That wasn’t good; I wanted to be like Anne Hathaway. Who doesn’t?
So throughout the whole day I was thinking of ways I could throw my ribs into sharper relief. Of course, exercise and healthy eating came to mind, but so did anorexia. Just quit eating and eliminate the problem. It seems simple enough, but I love food. I wouldn’t have enough willpower to quit food even if I wanted to. So I quickly ate my lunch.

Now, as I’m sitting on a bus on the way home from Day 3, still in the red dress, I’m reflecting. Three days was all it took. Three days for the poison to spread. Three days before I was absolutely certain I wasn’t pretty or thin. Three days and I was asking, “Was it enough?” Was all the makeup and pretty clothes enough? Was I enough or should I just keep walking with my head down?

I have to stop to wonder: How many girls have succumbed to society’s poison? How many look in the mirror and can’t stand the sight of themselves? How many miss the beauty and only see wrinkles and blemishes? What happens to the ones who spend more than three days in this state? This is my generation. A generation that is never satisfied, whether it’s beauty or academics or sports. We keep pushing to be the best. Why? Look what we are doing to ourselves.