je ne sais quoi

what is beauty?

i look around. i follow fashion. i read magazines, i pore over images. almost every second of every day, there is an image in my mind. it is What Is Beautiful. and it's pressed upon from every side with all the visual information my brain is processing. i see celebrities - sometimes i love what they're wearing. sometimes i think it's horrid. (i see skinny people and i usually think that's beautiful. but what the heck? that's messed up.)

so what is beauty?

i ask the question, i wonder about it, the conundrum frustrates me, but i think deep down i don't want to define it. because if beauty is this and this and that, and i'm not this or this or that, then i'm not beautiful. but i think beyond that, i don't want to pin beauty down. beauty is a lot of things, and on a different day it's a different thing. like today, for instance. i didn't know this article of clothing existed before today. but now it (and things like it) are part of my working definition of what's beautiful.

sprinkle shell tank || anthropologie

the description of this garment is as follows: swags of wave-tumbled mollusks linger on a soft layer of eyelet-cut jersey long after the tide has gone out. isn't THAT beautiful? it makes me want this shirt, not just because it's beautiful to my eyes, but because the words inspire something in my imagination. there's a mysteriousness to it, a sea-tossed quality, like a pearl in the mouth of the ocean of the world.

one thing i know is that beauty is more than clothing and physical things that can be measured and touched. it is a swelling in the soul. it's the way my friends recognize me by the way i move through a crowd. it's the way the inside of my throat feels when i laugh --- like a harp being struck from one end to the other. it's her stance when she paints, it's her knowing green eyes, it's a look of concentration at her workbench.

and it's how our skin is raw after falling,
and how it bleeds,
and how it forces us to take care of ourselves,
and how it mends.
how after time, after the hours,
after the tears and long nights and years
it mends.




{ s h e }