I Posted A Rare Selfie On Substack And People Got Really Weird About It
Canva Creative Studio | Canva I spent the first 28 years of my life hiding who I was. Hiding my body in men’s bulky clothing. Hiding my face beneath liquid foundation and thick eyeliner. Hiding my pain under a numb armor of dissociation. Hiding my opinions and boundaries behind the guise of “The Good Girl.”
After years of intensive trauma therapy, I’m a lot more comfortable in my skin — though I’m still a massive introvert. I’ve been fully remote since 2016, and most of my employers have never even gotten me on a video call.
But now, in an ironic turn of events, if I want to be a successful writer (arguably the world’s most introspective career path), I have to put myself out there. I have to build a platform. I have to sell myself as a person before I can sell myself as an author.
So last month, I posted a rare selfie on Substack. For the record, I’ve never met a single woman without deep-seated physical insecurities. That includes models and movie stars.
But I’ve worked really hard to feel confident in the way I look and the person I am, and frankly, I’m tired of men’s lazy, unoriginal comments that any woman who writes about feminism must be ugly, masculine, and miserable.
While beauty is subjective, miserable and masculine are objectively false here. I just got a book deal and got engaged, so on a personal level, my life couldn’t be better. Also, I now mostly wear midi dresses with puffed sleeves, the preferred wardrobe of the elusive tradwife.
Should anyone’s face or femininity matter when we’re discussing human rights? Absolutely not — but our patriarchal culture values women for their looks above all else, so when these men couldn’t attack my argument, they attacked my presumed physical appearance instead.
This is such a common experience for women
Photo from Author
Compared to men, women are judged much more harshly for their looks. A quarter of women have had their appearance criticized at work, and on average, women who wear makeup earn 20% more money than women who don’t.
Behind the anonymity of a screen, the scrutiny becomes so much worse. I cannot tell you how many social media videos I’ve seen of a woman talking about something entirely unrelated to her looks, and the whole comment section is tearing apart her makeup. Her eyebrows. Her clothing. Her age.
Men (often men who aren’t exactly genetic marvels themselves) are especially critical of our bodies. Exhibit A: Candid photos of Sydney Sweeney in a purple bathing suit, which paparazzi captured in her own backyard.
Now, I’m not going to discuss Sydney Sweeney’s many controversies here — but I think most of us can agree that she’s the epitome of the male-gaze beauty standard, which is why she’s controversial to begin with. And yet, men’s comments on this post said things like:
“Meh.”
“Yikes.”
“She’s not that good looking.”
“Maybe a 4 on a scale of 10.”
“No way that’s her. Looks like a lion seal during breeding season.”
Men also discredit women’s intellect and qualifications solely because of their looks. In 2015, Donald Trump pointed to an image of Republican presidential candidate Carly Fiorina and said, “Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that?”
This orange, 238-pound man with a prominent double chin then went on to win the presidency (twice), and he has since called several female journalists and politicians “ugly.”
That selfie on Substack was my way of saying, “If you’re trying to undermine my confidence, find a better angle than my looks, because I’m done letting the world make me feel ugly, and nothing you say about my appearance can make me doubt my beliefs or my value.”
But apparently, being a confident woman is not okay, either.
People were so weird about my selfie
One guy mentioned my feet three separate times. Another guy accused me of “specifically [needing] validation from the demographic [I spend] all day talking down on” and wanting men to “notice me,” even though most of my audience is women.
And men weren’t the only ones who got weird about this post.
One woman asked, “You want to show us a photo of yourself in a cute dress? Go for it. But why do you?”
Then I got this comment, also from a woman (spelling errors intact):
“R u Ok? I was just about to subscribe but This post makes you look quite insecure. Yes you are pretty and im glad youve got your own unique style, I like da flip-flops but do we Have to do the whole divide along lines of who is apretty & who is an ugly woman? 🙄
So I agree with that kinda foul-mouthed dude’s comment above, that you are sending really mixed message here and maybe not your best look to show your true spirit.”
That woman then attached her own selfie, even though she’d just criticized me for posting one. (???)
Apparently, I have marketed myself as a bold, brainy feminist, so I am supposed to be formless and faceless, having transcended all physical embodiment. To celebrate who I am holistically or to acknowledge how I look seems insecure, so I should just crawl back into hiding; I should once again disconnect from my body to make other people comfortable.
Men are regularly rewarded for their confidence; women, not so much
Confident men have more friends, make more money, and are promoted more often. They win presidencies regardless of their looks and despite having zero political experience. They’re more likely to attract partners. In fact, women cite confidence as one of the most attractive qualities a man could have.
Confident women, on the other hand, are perceived as shallow, unlikable, bossy, and mean.
And god forbid a woman who meets most traditional beauty standards acknowledges that she benefits from pretty privilege. The moment you publicly admit that you don’t hate yourself, keyboard warriors flood in to point out all the things you should feel insecure about.
Women are criticized for being ugly, and we’re criticized for being beautiful. We’re punished for our insecurities, and we’re punished for our confidence. We’re expected to be attractive, disembodied, secure, and humble, all at the same time.
I’m reminded of America Ferrera’s iconic speech in the Barbie movie:
“We have to always be extraordinary, but somehow, we’re always doing it wrong. You have to be thin, but not too thin, and you can never say you want to be thin; you have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. […]
You’re supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much, or that you threaten other women, because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood, but always stand out.
And always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged, so find a way to acknowledge that. But also, always be grateful. […] I am so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so people will like us.”
This is why women dissociate at such high rates.
We’re pulled in so many different directions — told to be so many different things — and then we’re conditioned to hate all of those things, until disconnecting from our countless identities becomes the only way to resolve the cognitive dissonance.
As Ferrera says, it’s too hard. It’s too contradictory, and I am tired.
I am tired of spending my one life finding every reason to hate this one human body I was given, just so other people don’t hate me instead.
Maria Cassano is a writer, editor, and journalist whose work has appeared in HuffPost, NBC, Bustle, CNN, The Daily Beast, Food & Wine, and USA Today, among others.
