Trapped in a Cage of Cuteness #JealousyFestival

You hate people who act cute, don't you?

When he asked me that, I couldn't bring myself to say, "No, I hate cute girls too."

Instead, I said, "I think I just hate the society that says being cute is an excuse for everything."

I figured I'd avoided a hit-by-pitch. I glanced sideways, quietly checking to see if I'd put him off.

***

The first time I realized I wasn't a classic princess was probably when I was four years old.

It was the height of the Disney craze, and my mother was desperate to make me learn chores and tidying up by saying things like, "If you're a princess..."

I was taking ballet lessons, and I learned that when I sat on my heels, my bare thighs looked like grains of rice.

That bulge was something delicate Asa-chan didn't have. Looking down at it, I remembered the photos from when I was a baby, when my relatives called me a sumo grand champion.

Asa-chan wore the costume I had secretly longed for when she danced her solo at the recital. It had wide, lacy sleeves that shimmered and sparkled like swan feathers when she stretched out her arms. I wore a leotard with a stiff tutu that didn't have wide sleeves, just like the other three girls, even though it was the same white.

Classic princesses are all thin, with double eyelids and big eyes.

I finally realized that, and quietly resented my mother for her single eyelids. If only I had inherited my mother's thin eyebrows instead of my father's thick ones, and my father's big double eyelids instead of my mother's single ones. I felt like God had made a mistake with just a centimeter of adjustment.

***

The most intense sense of alienation hit me after I became a university student, as a reaction to my time at an all-girls school.

On the first day of the entrance ceremony, facing the male students, I was literally trembling. In the six years of middle and high school, I had spoken to boys my own age only a handful of times. Standing in front of real, living creatures, my mind went blank, thinking, 'They're huge.'

Having quit my club activities to study for entrance exams, I was at my heaviest at eighteen. The suit my grandmother bought me as a celebration gift was a size L, which didn't fit my height. My first attempt at makeup was mismatched, and my single eyelids were buried in my chubby cheeks.

Two girls with no bangs, who spoke in exceptionally loud voices, were already forming a mixed group with the boys. I watched them from afar, feeling dazed.

Having spent my time at an all-girls school lost in delusions, I naturally longed for romance, and my drama-fueled brain naturally had high ideals. I wondered if those people in that group would start dating right away. Honestly, what a fantasy world.

On the other hand, because I couldn't act naturally, it was difficult for me to even make male friends, let alone find romance. My pride, which prevented me from admitting when I didn't understand something, and my self-consciousness, which made me blame everything on my appearance, accelerated, and I became increasingly twisted.

***

Complaints about boyfriends and one-night stands shared at cheap pubs eventually start to sound like bragging. It's nice to be called cute by someone. It's nice to be wanted. Behind the glamorous reactions expected at girls' nights, a dark, murky sludge swirls.

Even the consolation of 'You seem like you'd have a boyfriend' stung, as if there were some fatal flaw in me for not having one. If it's not about looks anymore, then I guess my personality isn't something anyone recognizes either.

Having been relied upon as the eldest daughter and in an all-girls school, I was also frustrated by the trend where men would take over if a girl just smiled and said, 'I can't do it.' No, no, no, you can do it too. Since I couldn't act spoiled, my envy turned into resentment.

I fell for a senior who patted my head and said 'Good girl' just because I handed him an umbrella after a drinking party. I thought it was fate when I was paired with a boy in Spanish class who took the same train to school.

My self-consciousness kept growing, yet I had no success stories to show for it. Before I knew it, I was over twenty, and I gained more weight from stress. Looking back, I was too self-deprecating.

I thought it was right to try to do everything myself. In our world of women, we've always solved everything on our own, haven't we? That's why I sometimes spit out venom at drinking parties.

'Guys are so easily fooled. In reality, every girl can do that kind of thing.'

Everyone wasn't just pretending to be cute; they were just experienced and good at living. They were probably playing house with guys like it was an easy credit course. I was the only one, covered in self-loathing for hating cuteness, who was earnestly resenting the world.

***

But maybe what I really couldn't forgive wasn't cute things, or a society that is overly tolerant of cute things, but the uniform standard of 'cuteness'.

You have to be thin. You should have big, double-lidded eyes. Your nose should be high, your skin fair, and you should have that 'I want to protect you' vibe. You should be cheerful and not timidly checking the room.

If you fell outside of that, I felt I couldn't complain even if a senior male high up in the school caste looked down on me for not being cute. I thought it was my fault for not being able to laugh it off.

But thinking about it now, it's not like I wanted to be cute like an idol. The popular girl in class was always someone I admired, but before that, I just wanted to be someone I could be proud of. I didn't know it would be this difficult, or that my ego would become this stubborn.

In my 28 years of life, no one has ever told me they wanted to protect me. The strength to stand on my own, gritting my teeth, was the armor I wore to protect myself, and the fortress where I could finally acknowledge myself.

***

One day, a boy appeared who hugged me and said, 'I really think you're beautiful.'

It pierced the defenseless heart of my 21-year-old self. The resentment and bravado I had desperately built up were completely ineffective. I cried and cried at those words, but thanks to them, the world, while still unreasonable, was no longer my enemy.

I just wanted someone to tell me, 'You are special.' I didn't want to be a 'good girl' to everyone; I wanted to be someone's beloved. I wanted to be recognized, just once, by someone who had no obligation to think I was cute—not a parent who would praise even a monkey-like baby. It wasn't about society's standards at all.

I'm 28, and I might never see that guy again. And I'm still not exactly kind to the world. But I can breathe easier than before, and I quite like myself, including my distorted parts.

Everyone says 'be yourself' so easily, but it's not that simple. By accepting the part of me that wanted to be recognized by someone, I was able to move forward a little.

Now, I can go out wearing the clothes I like. Although I don't feel happy looking at female idols yet, I know that being able to voice my insecurities is proof that I have taken a step out of the whirlpool of jealousy.

This article is a piece written for the Jealousy Festival, a project promoting Nami Saito's new series.

I never thought I would end up spilling my insecurities about cuteness in such a short period of time. I had just written down my messy, deep-seated emotions in earnest only a week ago. By chance.

However, since I wrote that piece specifically for something I wanted to support at the time and didn't want to reuse it, I decided to write about a new jealousy. Haha.

I am enjoying the festival. Thank you for reading.