The well-known routine: dimmed lights in front of your mirror, the heat from the hair straightener warming your makeup table while you’re putting on mascara, struggling with the tiny lumps it’s creating – no one will see them, but you’ll know they’re there. Then you notice the flaws in your foundation, revealing a few pores. The blush is somehow not laying properly, and to yourself, you look like a clown. Chapped lips are making the lipstick look like it was applied hours ago. You take it all off.  

 You’ll start again after you take a breather. Maybe do your hair while you compose yourself, trying not to burst into tears? No, the hair is even more uncooperative than your face. Each lock going its own way, getting frizzy and dry. You don’t want to touch it too much, it will just end up looking dirty. Fine. Let’s get dressed, and we’ll start again. That’s when everything seems to fall apart – nothing fits just right. Were your arms this big when you bought that dress? Wasn’t it a bit more flattering in the back? And you could swear that the belly pouch wasn’t as noticeable the last time you tried it on. Suddenly, your whole closet seems useless – literally not a single thing is appropriate for the occasion. So, you give up and put on whatever you lay your hand on, your hair still a mess, and your makeup consisting of whatever could be done in five minutes. There’s no point in putting effort into any of that, because it’s never going to feel quite right. Putting lipstick on a pig, some may say.  

I call it the ugly duckling syndrome. The constant feeling of not being able to fulfil the beauty standards you set for yourself. The feeling you get when you look around and realise you’re the least attractive one in that moment – no matter if you’re in a club, at a house party or simply getting coffee with friends. Even if you took your time and carefully planned out everything from hair accessories to the shoes, something feels off. It’s not that you’re ugly – that might actually be much simpler. It’s the in-between that haunts you: the constant murmur of not quite. Not quite radiant. Not quite effortless. Not quite enough. And then you catch glimpses of others, with their clothes that all fit like a glove, hair straight from a shampoo commercial and shiny porcelain skin. It’s not envy, at least not exactly, but a kind of loneliness. The kind that creeps in between compliments. The kind that whispers, you’re still not the one people look at first.   

The ugly duckling syndrome is not loud or noticeable. It lingers in the small details. In the way you cover yourself with your coat or bury yourself in oversized clothes. In the way you pretend to be doing something else while your friend is getting hit on, so you can comfort yourself by saying no one approached you because you seemed uninterested. In the way you quiet down in big groups, as you’re constantly being talked over, and no one seems to care enough to notice it. In the way you’re always the listener and rarely the talker – you know that you have to make yourself feel valuable in your own eyes, so being the person your friends turn to for advice is a way to do that. After all, being seen and heard is something all of us crave.  

And so, when you’ve spent enough time feeling not quite enough, you start searching for value elsewhere. Not in cheekbones, eyeliner symmetry, or any other perfectionism, but in presence. In the way you make others feel. In the small things – the compliments you give genuinely, the effort you put into making someone laugh, the warmth you offer without expecting it back. Because if you can’t always feel beautiful, maybe you can help others feel that they are – and in that, find a different kind of meaning. And maybe that counts for more.  

I heard this quote when I was fifteen years old, and from that day on it’s been engraved in my brain:  
 

“You may not always be the prettiest girl in the room, but you can be the kindest girl in the room. And that’s okay, because having a pretty heart is far better than having a pretty face.”  

And maybe that’s enough.