Defying Vanity

On the third day of the first month, Tishri, in the year 5783 (according to the Jewish calendar), a cluster of pimples appeared around one side of my mouth. My birthday was a few days later but I knew my pro make-up artiste would sort me out with very little product. Somehow, these spots dried up and became coal black dots that spread across my face randomly. Just a few. Dotted on the apple of my right cheek. Two, materialised out of thin air and decided to camp out on the other side of my lips. Needless to say, my make-up was
done to perfection and we frolicked to our heart’s content.

Cut to a week later; for several days, a minuscule part of me, was filled with dread at the thought of hanging out with my male bestie at a local haunt in Ikoyi. Putting any sort of foundation or concealer was out of the question. What people do not realise is, the more product used as a cover-up, the worse your skin gets. So, I made sure my eyebrows, kajal and liquid eyeliner, mascara, faux beauty spot and a mix of Ruby Woo and Bridgerton Rouge, that lit up my lips like the name of a hotel along the Vegas Strip on a clear night, were all done as perfectly as possible. My signature jet black trilby hat perched stylishly on my head, completed the look and just so you know, I had a glorious time.

After this non-traumatic ordeal; during one of my introspective, ruminative sessions where I examine my emotions, reactions and thought-processes, a question arose. Why do I care so much about my appearance?
Narcissism is a word, oft thrown around in the world of film, television and real life. Usually, the lead character is experiencing a semi-profound breakthrough in a therapy session. Their therapist gives a diagnosis centred around their vanity. A recent episode of one of the million TV shows I watch, re-imagined that scene. This actually got me thinking. This may be an unpopular opinion but if you look closely, most lead characters are actually quite self-centred and blissfully unaware of their lack of introspection. Another cliché in the rom-com world (where narcissism is mentioned often) is the scene where the couple have a massive break- up and the scorned party is ranting at the carefree, quirky best friend about how their ex- lover was so selfish, self-centered and egotistical to an alarming degree.

In Greek mythology, Narcissus was known for his beauty. Echo, a nymph tried to seduce him one day and he rejected her. According to the Encyclopaedia Britannica 1 , as punishment from the gods, Narcissus was so mesmerised with his own reflection in the waters of a spring, that he fell into it and drowned. According to the lore, the flower that bears his name sprang up where he died. Many historians do have divergent theories about what drove him to the water but I think it definitely is a warning to all to ensure that one does not have a pathological degree of self-absorption which in the world of psychoanalysis, is a sign of emotional immaturity.

Over the last few years, how you look seems to be more important than anything. The unruly, hypercritical beast also known as social media suggests several images of beautiful people in perfect lighting, manufactured poses that are meant to be “casual,” showing off their “nonchalant” angles, with the ideal backdrop; displaying their build-a-bodies (a phrase coined by a friend, explaining how people get cosmetic procedures to assemble their bodies). Studies show that young people scroll through these heavily edited pictures and develop imposter syndrome, FOMO and consistently compare themselves to a level of faux perfection 2 . As soon as they can, they race to the plastic surgeon and get cosmetic surgery – a facelift, brow lift, jaw sculpting, Botox, cheek and lip fillers, boob jobs, BBLs, liposuction, you name it, before they turn 25 years old. Ruminate on that for a second – Twenty-Five. Years. Old.

The level of insecurity has been heightened, depression and isolation sets in because the hours they spent in the gym suffering through high interval training, wearing a waist band slash modern-day restrictive corset, has not yielded the unrealistic results they expect. Kate Winslet famously said in a recent interview how her children have no social media, not even FInstas, because the number of teen and YA suicide rates have increased dramatically, not only due to the pandemic and the subsequent advent of a global mental health crisis, but scientists have published journal articles linking social media platforms to early onset depressive disorders and the anxiety-inducing fear of FOMO.

The capitalistic machinery of advertising has also developed ways to keep consumers chasing after the ever-elusive “fountain of youth.” They are carefully calculated ploys to keep people insecure so all the so-called youthful regeneration products sell out. Even in the adverts, they deliberately employ younger actors to show the “efficacy,” of the magic serum filled with hyaluronic acid, vitamins A and E, peptides, collagen; all mixed together in a secret formula that somehow ages you backwards. The critical narrative being pushed by these corporations is wrinkles, laugh lines, and grey hair are the enemy and must be dealt with as soon as possible.

Hence, why a 21-year-old is having regular Botox sessions scheduled every few months, as a pre-emptive strike, people in their 30s are plumping their lips and investing in expensive eye creams and individuals in their 40s rush to the salon to dye, highlight and lowlight; to cover the graceful, beautiful strands of grey that dared to grow. The unfortunately ironic thing is that too much cosmetic surgery, after a while, actually and
eventually ages the person in question. Let me add some clarity, I am not judging a person’s choice to get cosmetic procedures done. A lot of people need corrective surgeries for various reasons. And I totally understand, the desire to change body parts. This piece is merely trying to peel back the layers and offer different perspectives.

People have told me during the span of my lifetime, that I am pretty, beautiful, fine and cute. What these incredibly kind and complimentary persons may not know, I was extremely self-loathing and deeply unconfident for my formative years, right up to my uni days. Even when I had the sculpted body, from frequent hot yoga sessions and long-distance running, the seeds of doubt were deep in my thought-process, psyche and my soul. In my life-history, the age of 21 was the vainest I had and hopefully, will ever be. I spent hours getting ready for every occasion, whether it be a casual lunch with family at Eko Meridien or a night out at a bar in Ikoyi.

My weave had to be perfectly coiffed like my hair inspo at the time, the gorge Kate Beckinsale and my size 8 outfits were colourful, short and quite sensual. My long eyelashes were false; professionally done by dipping the lash inserts in glue and placing them on my lash line (Forgive me for the use of the word lash so liberally. There was no adequate synonym for the description). My nails were always gel French manicure and I got my eyebrows expertly threaded on search of the perfect arch. Needless to say, my appearance was of paramount importance. For the life of me, I cannot remember why. All I know, is the armour of “beauty,” that I meticulously curated and crafted was as essential as breathing air. Clearly, there was a lot of focus on ego.

The Efena of today looks back and finds the extremeness of my vain ways so silly, trivial, ridiculous and laughable but when the catastrophic spinal cord injury happened, I took some steps backwards and truly disliked my new body. One day, I was wearing a cute halter sundress, showing off my tiny waist and petite curves and then the next day, post-accident, my tummy is sticking out to there because the muscles are virtually non-existent and are no longer taut. The psychologist on my team at the Wellie (my pet name for the hospital I spent 4 months in after the accident), talked me through intimacy, physical touch and the differences in how my body will respond to my future partner. They encouraged me to do my own research as well. Imagining someone wanting me in my new, ugly, paralysed and broken body. It was something I could not fathom.

The first time I put on make-up and dressed cute, was memorialised but I still did not feel whole. It took a few years till I stopped taking only selfies and in 2017, I posed for a professional boudoir photographer (the inimitable and brilliant, Stormy Sloane) as part of my personal #No Fear campaign. Going from the individual to a societal scope for a minute, it seems we are constantly being told that we are meant to disguise all signs of ageing. With the rise in popularity of social media and content creation as a viable and possibly very lucrative avenue of revenue stream; we are conditioned to think that younger and more toned is always better. The influencer has to look appealing in the products and attract followers, likes and views which hopefully translates to more endorsements and sales.

Creating visually pleasing content to hold the attention of the viewer forces people to take themselves out of the moment, living their lives on a technological contraption (one’s phone) so it seems that everything is glam,
fabulous and exciting. Instead of having a catch-up dinner with your friends, the world sees the food and drinks consumed, the fit check in the bathroom before and after you get to the restaurant, the “impromptu,” performance, singing along to the live music at higher decibels, till you are noticed and asked to play a piece on the piano. There are ring lights that can now be attached to your phone so your face can be perfectly lit anytime you want. People find it very hard to be present, in the moment. As a result – a certain philosophy is formed; that if it was not seen, then it did not happen.

Ask any of the people in my close orbit, I truly believe that grey hair is elegant and chic. One of my dreams is to have back-length, naturally grey locs – pretty much the same shade as Wole Soyinka’s stunning afro. No joke. Getting older is a privilege, in my humble opinion. If my life had ended in the car accident, I would not have had my adventures in SoCal where I met all my fave creatives from Dick Wolf to Jensen Ackles to Kristen Bell to Jeffrey Dean Morgan. If I had ended my life earlier than scheduled, my blog pieces would not have touched readers’ lives. My words would not have resonated with people that are going through a crisis of faith, depression, doubting their incredible inner strength and educating them about the realities of the disability world. If I had closed myself off to new experiences because I did not have confidence in my looks, I would not have toured Universal Studios and Warner Bros in Los Angeles and experienced a sweet moment of clarity and revelation – I knew in my soul, that screenwriting is what I have to do. As I dream about the day, I hold an Oscar in my hands.

Loving my new body has been a part of my healing journey. Learning to appreciate that it is still beautiful, has certainly not been easy. Real talk – many days, those insecurities creep through and people tell me that I look outstanding which helps to quieten down those deprecatory voices. The pages seem to be turning and a new era has begun where people want to cut through the noise, the negativity online and try and find the real, within the shiteshow that is often the Twitter timeline (y’all know I’m right). There seems to be a paradigm shift in other directions where audiences are attracted to vulnerability and raw captions. Victoria’s Secret were forced to nix their fashion shows with models that are contractually obligated to diet and exercise to get the ideal VS body, that essentially translated to toned and skinny. In recent times, curvy models like Ashley Graham are celebrated for having healthy, realistic, beautiful bodies. If I could bottle Lizzo’s confidence in a bottle of transformative perfume, best believe I would.

Turning 35 altered a lot of misconceptions about myself. Self-acceptance became one of my mantras. Somehow, I became the embodiment of self-love which may sound cringey but is actually pretty liberating. There is a deep appreciation of the foundational components of my emotional, physical and mental being. Despite the occasional moments of diffidence that plagues my psyche, I know that I like and love who I am. A lot of people usually experience this kind of acute awareness of their imperfections and embrace them as part of self-approval, when they turn 40, 50 and so on; or after a life-changing moment. Understanding my strengths and limitations, and accepting myself completely has been absolutely life-changing. My skin may be going through a not-so-pretty phase right now, but it will definitely not stop me from leaving the house. Especially, without layers of foundation or concealer.

In the true spirit of a phrase, I heard recently from a podcast, ego is not your amigo (the Spanish word for friend). I set my vanity aside because in the grand scheme of things, it just does not matter. Obviously, I am aware that I come from a place of “pretty girl” privilege, but being a kind, thoughtful, empathetic, compassionate and supportive sister, daughter and friend, that is lovingly intentional, is infinitely more important. A beautiful spirit and a positive aura attracts other people with awesome, pleasant personalities. My friends have often said that I seem to have surrounded myself with an inner circle of incredible people that are stunning on both the inside and outside. Who you are as person and how you treat others is infinitely more important than who your family is. Your last name or level of generational wealth is totes inconsequential to me.

So, even though my face is not as clear, my weight loss is still ongoing, my life will continue being lived fully, open to new culinary and non-food related experiences. Being emotionally honest, accepting my whole self (warts and all) and intentionally leaving room for evolution of thought and pursuit of knowledge. Strength of character, integrity, self-questioning, kindliness, magnanimity – qualities and traits like these are of the most import. Take selfies without a filter and artificial lighting, embrace the freckles, beauty spots and the birthmarks. Recognize it is an immense privilege to get older and never let external opinions dictate how you choose to age. The cellulite, dimples, grey hair, scars, stretch marks are natural, human and beautiful. They tell your story. Be cognizant of the fact that you are perfectly imperfect. As the exquisite, enlightened Mrs Sophia Bush Hughes once said, that one can be both a masterpiece and a work in progress. And that’s what we all are – works in progress.

P.S. This piece is an objective analysis of and biased social commentary about certain trends in modern times, and essentially holding up a mirror. A mirror that was and is not intended to shame anyone who does cosmetic procedures. Thank you so much. The title of this piece is a playful homage to the song, “Defying Gravity,” in the musical theatre production – Wicked. This musical is on Broadway, NYC (since October 2003) and on The West End, London (since September 2006).

Sources
1 https://www.britannica.com/topic/Narcissus-Greek-mythology
2 https://childmind.org/article/is-social-media-use-causing-depression/