Goddamned Beautiful

This Valentine's Day, Jennifer Niesslein, 49, catches her own eye.

Jennifer Niesslein at 49.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how goddamned beautiful I am.

I think it’s safe to write it out loud now. I’m 49 years old with enough life behind me to disabuse anyone of the notion that I’m shallow. To be frank, I’ve never even acknowledged how goddamned beautiful I am. I’ve wanted my brain or my personality or whatever non-visual essence of me to take center stage in how people perceive me. It’s wishful thinking for an American woman, but I’ve managed it well enough, I guess.

To be frank, I’ve never even acknowledged how goddamned beautiful I am. I’ve wanted my brain or my personality or whatever non-visual essence of me to take center stage in how people perceive me.

I think the pandemic finally did it for me. The isolation. The lack of humans in my orbit. All those masks, all that face covering meant that the only faces I saw in real life belonged to my family. I already found my husband and son goddamned beautiful so the only live person’s beauty I had left to consider was my own. I didn’t do it consciously, but here we are.

I love my lopsided lips. When I bother to catch my own eye while I’m washing my hands in the bathroom, I think that no one in the world has a mouth like mine and it makes me happy. Somewhere along the way, I lost my nice fat ass, but I’ve developed some pads of fat on my upper hips that are like shelves for small, nearly weightless items like guitar picks, and I get a kick out of thinking they’re there for evolutionary purposes. Also, I love my thick eyebrows and the tendons in my feet and the freckles on my shoulders.

The thing about appreciating how goddamned beautiful you are is that it leads to appreciating how goddamned beautiful other people are.

The thing about appreciating how goddamned beautiful you are is that it leads to appreciating how goddamned beautiful other people are. I love when someone has what I think of as “merry eyes.” Think of the late Sherman Hemsley’s face—didn’t he always seem like he was having fun? My friend Robin, a doctor, has them, too. When she’s not smiling, her eyes look kind and I imagine those eyes are a comfort to her patients. Another friend has a way of holding her mouth like her teeth are jewels that she’s a little shy to show off, and I adore watching her talk.

Last summer when my family all went on vacation, my mom came out in her bathing suit. She’s 72 now, and I was astounded that I’d forgotten how goddamned beautiful her long, bare legs are. And don’t even get me started on my sisters. I’m goddamned beautiful, sure, but I’m the least goddamned beautiful of the four of us.

Last summer when my family all went on vacation, my mom came out in her bathing suit. She’s 72 now, and I was astounded that I’d forgotten how goddamned beautiful her long, bare legs are.

I love soft bellies and big hands, the vulnerability of bare napes, hair with texture and curl to it, the look of a big, chunky nose, the tender expressions most people have when they think no one’s paying attention to them, how we can recognize each other just by the particular way we each move our bodies in the world, the fact that an unexpected laugh both crumples and expands a face which seems like it would be the opposite of beautiful but is really the most goddamned beautiful thing there ever was.

This is all a secret between you and me, though. When we talk, please don’t mention anything about my appearance and I won’t say anything about yours. We’re both more than that. Still, please know that when I look at you, I see beauty.