What Happens When You Outgrow Your Fantasy Self?

I was in Japan when this new song called “Money is Everything” came out, and for reasons I can’t quite explain, it touched me in a quiet, introspective way. I tend to overanalyze things, especially media, but there was something kind of existential about it. Not in the same way that Blaise Pascal’s writing is, but it definitely stirred something in me. It holds a lyric that echoed softly but severely in my head the entire time I was in Japan:

“And the girl I used to be is still the girl inside of me.”

She sort of yells-sings that line. And from the tone and timbre throughout the song, it’s the lyric where the song feels the happiest. It’s not a very serious song, at all, but there was just something sort of life-affirming about that lyric and the way she says it that I can’t quite put my finger on. It briefly felt like the noise cut out, and I really saw myself, not just as I am now, but as I’ve been in the past and who I might be in the future. Which, of course, is exactly what I imagined would happen in Japan, because I’ve watched Lost in Translation too many times to pretend otherwise.

I’m fascinated by the idea that your past self doesn’t just disappear but lingers in who you are now. It crossed my mind when I tried on a skirt in a thrift store in Tokyo and remembered that until I was five, I refused to wear any pants (only skirts and dresses) until my mom bought me rhinestone unicorn jeans that I wore on my first day of kindergarten. I paired the jeans with a tie-dye My Little Pony tank top, and it was a really cool outfit. I remember feeling like the jeans were too hot for recess in September, and my mom gave me a belt and had to roll them up at the bottom a lot because they were too big. But I still loved them because they reassured me I could still feel like myself, even without wearing a dress or a skirt. That was also the year I stopped wearing a crown every day and switched to a bejeweled headband every day. It was a really big year of change for me.

Whenever my family brings up how I refused to wear pants and insisted on crowns every day, I always laugh with them, because I was very bizarre as a kid. But there’s something a little haunting about it, too. I don’t know why I made so many rules about what I could or couldn’t wear. And I think that they were actually rules about what I thought it meant to be pretty. But I don’t know if I knew back in kindergarten that’s what I really meant. But I’m pretty sure it is. It’s strange to realize that at 5 years old, before I even learned how to add or subtract, I was already caught up in doing things that I thought would make me more beautiful. It’s kind of funny, too, but maybe that’s just me trying to cushion the fact that this has always been a weak spot for me. 

I’ll laugh it off and say something like, “I’m not like that anymore, I wear jeans, like, every day”. But the longer I think about it, I realize that’s not really true. Well, the jeans part is. 

I kept wearing over-the-top headbands until I was 10, when I got my ears pierced and started middle school. I got contact lenses at 13, because glasses and braces together didn’t feel like a good look. At 15, I started dyeing my hair blonde. By 20, I was obsessed with straightening it, trying to erase every natural wave I had. Basically, every five years, I’ve made a little switch, trying to feel as physically presentable as possible. I’ve wondered why I’m like that, and why it’s been that way since I was really little. I’ve realized that from age 15 on, most people I meet have no idea my hair is very dark brown and that I need to wear glasses with a really strong prescription. I can’t remember the last time I went out without my contact lenses. Probably because I haven’t bought new glasses since I was 13. 

But I don’t want to judge myself too harshly for chasing some sort of superficial beauty standard since childhood, because I know it's probably all my fault. I played with Barbie dolls and had almost all the Barbie movies on DVD. I was obsessed with Disney princesses. I did ballet classes from the ages of 3 to 18. Sometimes I used to sneak onto my Mom’s computer to read Perez Hilton when it was still cool. Maybe if I were one of those girls who played with swords, watched and liked the movie Cars, was a superhero for Halloween, and did team sports on the weekends, I’d be different. But I wasn’t interested in those things. So maybe when I’m 25, I’ll go under the knife. But, I don’t know. That seems more like a thing to do at 30.

I know I’m not special or unique for dyeing my hair or wearing contact lenses; millions of people do that. But I wonder what their reasons are for slightly tweaking their appearance, and if those reasons are anything like mine. I wonder if they liked Barbies and ballet when they were kids, too, or if they ever had to be sent to a therapist who specializes in body image and eating disorders. But I’ve heard curiosity killed the cat. And that ignorance is bliss.

I don’t think it was random that I connected with that lyric. I just graduated from college, and I’m really trying to figure out who I am and what kind of life I want. That version of me, the one who only wanted to wear dresses and skirts, still lives inside of me somewhere. I feel it every time I don’t go to the gym without a little mascara, or when I try on a million shirts just to end up with one I picked in the first place.

Recently, I told my dad that I thought I was obese, and he said, “You really have to start loving yourself more. And you’re not obese.” And he’s right. I know he’s right. But it’s hard to know where to start. It’s not that I hate myself, but I need and want to start being kinder to myself. I’m tired of chasing this overly polished version of myself that I created in my head, who is not real, that I’ll never actually catch up to. But at the same time, I don’t want to hate the part of me that cared in the first place, because I know I can do it. I’m not going to let some anxieties I have hold me back from the things I want to do. I love putting my energy into what actually matters; I just want that to feel more like second nature.

I’m still figuring out where the old version of me ends and where I begin. I want to be more patient with myself while I sort that out, because it’s not really about looks. Maybe it’s not even vanity. Maybe it’s just me, trying my best to show up as the person I want to become.