Ah, beauty...

It occurs to me, while perusing various articles and blogs and so forth, that I am something of an anomaly when it comes to self-image. I exist alongside a culture where female sexuality is simultaneously lauded and degraded, and despite being able to see how that constant barrage of conflicting concepts could mess with the mind of a younger and impressionable girl--and less charitably, a weak-willed woman of any age--I just... don't hear it.

All that I can glean from that strange parallel world is misery and self-loathing, punctuated with the occasional desperate bit of hope that one has, perhaps, managed to live up to an ideal that she did not make on her own, or even tailor to her tastes.

As an aside, one thing that I absolutely adore about the proliferation of steampunk and neo-Victorian style is that they've done much to breathe a bit of class into the world and--I suspect--made at least a few ladies realise that one need not go the route of looking like a cheap prostitute in order to beguile onlookers. I mean, really; what manner of mate do these people think they're going to attract by showing as much flesh as they can get away with?

Anyway. My initial point was that all of that cultural garbage just seems to fly past my head with no effect beyond a raised eyebrow, and I am infinitely happier for it--and that seems to be a state that many mothers of young girls want their daughters to grow up in.

So, I'll say this much: Don't tell her she's pretty. Nurture and laud her brain, for crying out loud.


And occasionally wear studded leather bracers. I think that helps a bit, too.