Eye of the Beholder

by Dawn Brushammar

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That same beholder sometimes determines our self-worth, when we should be doing that for ourselves. Who we are comes from within, not from what other people think of our appearance. It took me almost 30 years to learn that important lesson, so I'd like to pass it on.

I've always had trouble being seen for who I am. From pre-school until about the sixth grade, I was often mistaken for a boy. At the age of four I was invited to a male classmate's birthday party, and when I arrived in my frilly party dress, I was the only girl. Both mothers were surprised, and the boys were shocked to see their pal "Don" in a dress. Apparently my friend and his mother had thought they were inviting a boy. I got to stay for the party anyway. Years followed of waitresses asking, "What does he want?" and strange looks when I went into women's restrooms. I learned to wear my soccer jacket everywhere. It had the words "Girls' Soccer" prominently printed on it, but even that was not a sure bet. The fact that I was a tomboy and refused to wear anything pink probably didn't help matters much.

Once I sprouted a chest, there was no question that I was Dawn and not Don. But my problems in the first impressions category were not over. I don't think I have physically aged since about age sixteen. I look at a family portrait taken about that time, and my face is the same face I have now. In fact, I look older in my passport picture from ten years ago than I do now. The same goes for my wedding pictures from seven years ago. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about my own personal Picture of Dorian Gray phenomenon; I know it won't go on forever and I should enjoy it while it lasts. It does make things complicated though. At age twenty I was offered a children's menu at a restaurant. I get carded everywhere, and when I was twenty-four I was asked for ID to enter an "R" rated movie. When people find out I am married they always say that we must be newlyweds. I've had cashiers say "but you look just like a baby!" after checking my driver's license. It gets old after a hundred or so comments. I have often thought that I would make an excellent undercover cop in a high school somewhere, if only I could force myself to wear the clothes teenagers wear today. Some people are crushed when the first gray hairs start to pop up on their heads. I welcomed mine in my mid-20's because I hoped they would finally help me look my age.

Couple my eternal youth with the fact that on paper I seem a lot older than I am, and you get quite a strange mix. By my early twenties I had two master's degrees. This apparently made my resume seem like the resume of a much older woman. Several job interviewers followed their hellos with, "I thought you'd be much older." This continued throughout my early career. When I was head of research at a large consulting company I sometimes delivered my research results in person. On several occasions I was told to thank Dawn for her work. It seems that the person they saw in front of them was not the one that they had imagined when I had telephone and email contact with them.

I've decided that other people's misperceptions of me are unimportant. I've learned to accept the fact that I don't look my age. I will most likely grow out of it at some point. After all, I did grow out of my boyishness. I don't dwell on my appearance as much as I used to either. I often think about what my mother used to say to me in junior high, when appearance seemed to be a life or death situation. "Nobody will notice (clothes, pimples, bad hair day, etc.), they are too busy worrying about themselves". I've found that to be true. Maybe if we all could remember that we'd be a lot less insecure about our appearance.