Today, I met a wonderful guy.
He’s an illustrator, as am I, and until now we’ve only communicated a little bit through social media, admiring each other’s work. Well, he asked me to be part of an exhibition he was helping to organize, and I was really excited; I was looking forward to getting to know someone like him, someone so talented and interesting, a little better.
I arrived at the event and set up my work, and finally met him. We got along really well – he kept telling me how amazing my art is and how he’s admired it for some time. While the exhibition was going on, we chatted for a really long time, and as some of my friends showed up to lend their support, I introduced them and they joined in the chatter. All in all, it was a successful event.
I started getting excited at the prospect of a new friend, possibly even a romantic attachment. I got home feeling rather chuffed with myself about everything, looking forward to future art projects with this interesting person. I even flattered myself by thinking he might be a little interested in me.
Then, tonight, I again saw one of the friends who came to the exhibition. We talked about the afternoon, and all the people we met, and she casually mentioned that he, the illustrator, messaged her pretty much immediately after she left. He told her that she was really pretty, and they should go out sometime.
This might sound silly, but hearing this was like a stab in the heart. It was a reminder that no matter how hard I work, no matter how much effort I put into others, no matter how much I work to improve my own personality, mind and talents, I will always be second best to the pretty girl.
That’s what it feels like to be an unattractive woman.
