First, let me acknowledge that this post is totally inspired by a piece on Huffington Post by Jane Devin, author of the memoir Elephant Girl: A Human Story. She makes the case that it is unhealthy and unhelpful to insist that girls and women are (physically) “beautiful” regardless of their outward appearance. According to Devin, reassuring someone she’s “beautiful” when she know, and society tells her that she is not, does nothing but reinforce the notion that physical beauty is the most important thing in the world.

There is much real loveliness, dare I say “beauty” to be found in damaged, unconventionally attractive places. We can love the broken plate, since mended, because it has sentimental value. We can prefer the strange looking mutt with the height of a Dachshund and the face of a Pug because it is different, and evokes a protective emotional response. We can look on the face of a loved one who is not conventionally, physically attractive and find them genuinely, incredibly and stunningly beautiful because we know them. We care not a whit about acne, beer belly, under bite or lantern jaw because what we value is internal.

We find our children, our spouses, our family and friends to be beautiful as a matter of fact, but what if they aren’t, in the objective sense? What if we aren’t? We all know that in the great world there are standards for what is “beautiful,” and that while some of them vary by culture or decade, there will always be a place at the table for a girl or woman with clear skin, regularly spaced features, and glossy hair.

I grew up resolutely un-physically beautiful in a place where a very high value was placed on physical beauty. I heard people criticized by adults and children alike because they were fat, un-stylish, crooked of tooth or irregular of feature. Although my parents always told me I was beautiful, because I was their beloved child and they really saw beauty in me, I internalized the messages I received from the greater world. I knew that I was beautiful to my parents because they loved me, but that I was not a girl who would draw someone’s eye at a dance. All of the niceness, the carefulness, the well-meaning bucking up in the universe could not overcome what I knew to be true: it was good to be beautiful, and I was not.

Every time I was told that I was “beautiful,” and to ignore the labels like “thunder thighs” and “pizza face,” it contributed to the sense that I had to overcome not only my lack of beauty, but my selfish refusal to buy into the pleas to recognize my own beautifulness.  I felt ungrateful because I could not go into the world feeling like some radiant being whose inner beauty would shine from every pore and reel in the superficial infidels.

You can and should raise children not to be cruel about the non-beauty of others, but I don’t honestly think it’s possible to override every cultural and biological imperative. People are attracted to beauty, and the standards of beauty in our society are set largely by the media. While I admire the efforts to include larger models in magazines, I will say that when I see a woman my size in an editorial spread, I immediately notice her as the “token,” and find her less attractive than the “normal” models. It may be self-hatred, I may need therapy, but I live in this world and I have been taught the same lesson as every other woman living here with me.

The thing that needs to be done, as Devin points out, is to make it okay not to be physically beautiful, instead of telling women they are when they aren’t. Physical beauty needs to be put in its place in a pantheon of highly desirable attributes that are unevenly distributed among humankind.

Why not tell a girl that she is brilliant, that you admire her compassion towards others, that she always makes you laugh no matter how bad things are, and that she will always be able to attract the best kind of friends and lovers because they will get to know her and see beauty that can’t be shown in a magazine spread. Why can’t we say “you’re right.  You don’t look like Taylor Swift, but that’s totally okay because not many people look that way. And the ones that do may have an easier time getting people to like them, but it often has nothing to do with their real selves and everything to do with their long, tanned legs or their beautiful face.” Why can’t we be honest with our children from the beginning, and teach them that there are all kinds of beauty, and that the physical kind is easiest to see and admire, but no better than kindness, generosity, intelligence, honor, or wit?

I write this and know that it’s too late for me. I have regular “I’m ugly and I hate myself” fits. If my mother, my husband or my best friend responded by saying “you’re right, you aren’t conventionally beautiful, but your wit and goodness make you shine” I would be furious. I want to drink the Koolaid; I want to hear about what parts of me look good, not about my inner wonderfulness. I take all that internal stuff for granted; I’ve always had it. I’ve never been admired for my looks.

It’s too late for me, but there’s plenty of time to teach our children that physical beauty is just one of the things that counts as “beautiful” in this world. It is undeniably pleasant to look at someone or something that attracts us with its surface, and that is unlikely ever to change. It is equally pleasant, though, to be in the company of a friend who understands us completely, or to live with someone who lets us shout out “Jeopardy” answers or makes us laugh. It’s all beauty, and we should be raising women who are proud, confident and resilient no matter what they look like.

 Then we could stop lying about it, and supporting the perception that nothing really matters besides the way our outsides look to strangers.