Acceptance of others begins with accepting yourself. The second chapter of See Yourself, See Each Other by Allure and Ulta Beauty, spotlights personal journeys from self-consciousness to self-acceptance. In publishing these powerful stories, Allure and Ulta Beauty continue their movement celebrating respect, empathy, and limitless beauty.
Dear Shammara,
Self-perception is an interesting thing. No matter who you are or how you look, we all have our hang-ups — even the celebrities and people we idolize on social media as the pinnacle of beauty. For as long as I can remember, my nose was one of my mine.
When I was growing up, I was obsessed with my reflection for all the wrong reasons. I’d stare at myself every chance I got. Whether it was a pool of water, a car mirror, or mirrors in my own home, if it had a reflective surface, I’d be looking right into it, sizing up every inch of my body, bit by bit, making a mental note of all of the ways I perceive myself to be lesser than: my cellulite-laden thighs; my flabby arms that shake with my every move; and most of all, my wide, meaty nose.
We’re finally getting to a place in our society where black people are being uplifted and celebrated for their unique beauty, but that hasn’t always been the case. For centuries, we’ve been ridiculed and mocked for our natural features, such as the pronounced nose and lips many sub-Saharan Africans have — I have both.
For years, my nose made me feel deeply insecure. It couldn’t be any more different than all of the images I saw of beautiful women in magazines and beauty ads. I envied so many of the black celebrities I admired as a child, like Beyoncé and Aaliyah, who were held up in our society as paragons of beauty. They had conventionally attractive facial features, including slim, petite noses, which is considered the ideal in America. And then there was me with the big, pronounced bulbous nose. I longed for the day I would change it with plastic surgery. It didn’t matter how much I hated the thought of going under the knife.
But my poor nose didn’t deserve that. Even through my animosity and deep hatred, it never gave up on me. Not once. No matter how sick I got, it never quit on me. Sure, there were moments when it wasn’t working to its full capacity, clogged because of a bad cold or the flu, but it would always bounce back so quickly. I can’t imagine never being able to smell beautiful fragrances or delicious food that I love, all made possible by my nose.
When Aunt Joy died three years ago, I developed a new appreciation for it. Her passing rocked me to the core, and I finally realized how precious life truly is. I also became profoundly grateful to be alive, thankful for my body and even my nose. As morbid as the thought is, having that nose is a way to keep my lineage alive.
When I look at my mom, I see a part of me in her nose and how similar hers is to mine. It has character and a powerful presence, just like mine. When people look at me, they immediately see my nose in all of its glory.
These days when I look in the mirror, it’s no longer with disgust but with appreciation and love. My nose makes me feel proud to be black. It’s thick and wide and uniquely mine — and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Love you immensely,
