An intricately designed mask, carefully crafted with precision. A work of art. Beautiful, yet delicate. Seemingly perfect. The likes of which is perceived as perfect. This mask I am speaking of is not one that may easily be seen through- Vanity. Defined as, “Excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievements.” I’ve adapted this mask through years of practice, attempting to distract others from my most shallow insecurities.
The first time I felt the need to put on this charade of false pride, and attempted perfection, was in the fall of my freshman year of high school. I had begun to notice how differently everyone else dressed, and acted compared to me. Others seemed to be on a completely different level than me, with their Abercrombie clothing, and their ripped up True Religion jeans. Never had I taken the time to care about what I wore, or even what others thought about my appearance and finally my friend, one of the few that I knew back then, had told me that I would look so much better if I dressed more nicely. That weekend my mom decided to take me shopping for clothes, and for the first time, I stepped into a seemingly complex world of overly-priced shirts, with nothing other than a simple name sewn onto them to separate them from others practically identical to them. Hollister. Hollister is the simple word that made these average shirts, jeans, and jackets price two, even three, times higher than those that I would normally wear.
The following week I slipped on my first name brand outfit, and when I walked into school there was a noticeably different reaction people had towards me, and I liked it. After several days of adjusting my complete wardrobe to fit into the new style that everyone else was wearing, I found myself hanging out with a completely new group of friends. Shortly after, I was noticing every little flaw in the mirror, every pimple seemed to be ten times bigger than before, any scar seemed to scream out for attention, and even a simple hair our of place would drive me up a wall. My standards for what was acceptable had become outrageous, several of my old friends had begun to avoid me, and even tell me that I was fake.
It never really bothered me that I had lost almost all of my old friends because I had adapted completely new ones. In actuality, it was not until my senior year that I had finally realized how pointless all the effort I was putting into this charade was. Gradually, I found myself spending much less time trying to make every little detail of myself as close to perfection as possible. Instead, I found myself focusing more on those who I knew were my real friends, and my grades in class. This change was brought upon me by a friend that I met my senior year of high school. I figured that she was just so original, and nonchalant as to what others opinions of her were that it started rubbing off onto me. Surprisingly, when I stopped acting like I was completely perfect and above anyone else, and stopped trying to be as picture-perfect as possible, I found myself much more content with life in general. I quit noticing every single imperfection presented to me within the mirror. Every blemish, and every misplaced hair, did not seem to bother me anymore.
A simple yet beautiful mask, an original, non-replaceable by any other. It is not perfect, by any means, nor does it try to be. One that is only revealed when all others are lifted, one which may quickly slip in to replace the corrupt and crooked mask of Vanity. A mask that is pure and beautiful, that is in fact no mask at all, it is you. Simply you.