I think women start accepting their bodies when they start shaving their bikini area. Because that takes fucking upkeep. If you’re going to get a Brazilian wax, the prickles that occur a week later just aren’t worth it. At least for me, short painful hairs poking at my nether regions were enough to realize that my body, particularly my vaginal area, is attractive just the way it is, even if that means its covered in Bigfoot’s winter coat. Plus, some people are into that. I have yet to find someone who admits it, but hey, they do exist. I’m a fucking hippy. I should know.
That’s not to say I think I’m beautiful. It takes a lot for me to think anyone’s beautiful. A person has to be a ten and then some for me to consciously say to myself “wow, that person’s beautiful”. More than likely, I won’t notice unless they’re giving out free food. I don’t think I’m beautiful; I think I’m fine. I’m a bit on the heavier side, but I have no aesthetic issues with my body. When I started considering health and personality over looks in potential romantic partners, I started using the same to gage my self-worth. It’s a very nice perspective.
Ever had the experience where an ugly acquaintance (we all have them) suddenly becomes less of an eyesore because they demonstrate that they’re a decent person? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I fully believe that an aesthetically ugly person can negate any their looks based on personality traits. This is why comedians get laid often enough to talk to about it in stand up routines. They’re funny. People will go to bed with them. (Or they’re just prophesizing about the “theory of sex”, which, come to think of it, is more likely).
Then, of course, there’s Tinder, which makes money by putting people into a weird dating game of judging other people. It boils datability down to a mere left or right swipe. I do it. It’s a great release from being a morally upright and nonjudgmental person, which takes more control than I’d like to admit. I love being able to let go and viciously judge the facial structure of random internet strangers. Because maybe my whole “personality trumps looks” thing is just a complicated way of dealing with the fact that I need to settle on a less-than-perfect romantic partner (hint, they don’t exist, especially for me.)
For those who aren’t interested in drunken hook-ups with strangers, but still want to engage in the endorsed judgement of select photos, there’s Hot or Not, an app that mirrors Tinder in every way, but fore-gos the hooking up portion. It ranks the hottest people in your area, so you can feel compare them to yourself and feel like shit. A childhood story would end with the protagonist realizing that they alone are their toughest critic, but when it comes to Hot or Not, your arch enemy couldn’t criticize your snaggle-tooth harder than random internet people.
So yeah, beauty is subjective. But it’s a cutthroat world of judgement anyway.