This Fall, I'm Teaching My Latina Daughter Her Worth Isn't Tied to Being Pretty

Growing up, I wasn't considered conventionally pretty like my two younger sisters, who constantly received compliments on their looks. Instead, I was often told that I was smart, funny, and had a pretty smile. Back then, I didn't understand the value of being told I was a smart and funny girl because I understood from a young age that being considered attractive came with power. In all the shows I watched and in all the books I read, the women protagonists were often thin, light-skinned, and conventionally beautiful — traits that seemed to guarantee them the handsome boy, numerous friends, and happiness. Naturally, I desired the same. At that time, I wasn't aware of the concept of "pretty privilege," but it was constantly being promoted to me. Everywhere I turned, I was sold the idea that to have a good life and be happy, I needed to be pretty and thin. That's why I gravitated toward the popular, pretty girls at school and chose the most beautiful dolls to play with. I was seeking a life where beauty seemed to be the cornerstone of happiness, and I actively moved toward that ideal.

If you grew up in the '90s, you might recall a famous Staples back-to-school commercial that features a dad happily navigating store aisles while the song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" plays in the background. Two unhappy kids watch their dad, realizing summer is almost over. Whenever this commercial came on, my sisters and I knew our carefree summer days were winding down. For me, it also signaled the dreaded back-to-school clothes shopping season.

While most kids looked forward to their new fall wardrobes, getting new clothes was something I quickly began to dread. It meant trying on clothes, which often revealed the secrets of the summer — snacks eaten behind my mother's back, second helpings taken unnoticed, and perhaps a few too many of my dad's beloved Entenmann's chocolate doughnuts. If I actually weighed less by the fall, it often meant that I spent the summer starving myself in an attempt to drop a size. These thoughts filled my mind every end of summer. Shopping itself was rarely enjoyable. My sisters, who ranged from size 0 to 4, could shop together in the standard sections, while I, typically a size 9 to 11, always found myself relegated to the women's business casual section with my mom.

Those shopping trips weren't always kind to larger bodies. Sometimes, I'd discover trendy clothes in my size and would feel content, but often, I struggled in the dressing room with my frustrated mother, who had spent the summer trying to help me slim down. She tried everything: elliptical workouts with my dad while watching "Entertainment Tonight," the ab roller and its eight-minute video, Billy Blanks Tae Bo videos, and more. I would spend my 30-minute workout sessions hearing my sisters play or watch TV, seemingly oblivious to the pressure of needing to lose weight. They could eat whatever they wanted without it showing on their bodies while I navigated a very different reality.

My mother insisted that we straighten our hair. She never wore her own curly hair natural, and neither did we. Saturday nights were dreaded because they meant the entire evening was devoted to the three of us getting our hair washed, set with rollers to sit under the hooded dryer, and blow-dried straight by my mom. If you were the last one, you were out of luck because by then, she was so tired of it that she'd take it out on your tender scalp.

My mother had a complex relationship with her Dominican and Latina identity. When she and her family came to the United States in the early '70s, she quickly adapted to Western American culture.  My grandmother used to take my mother and her sisters to the salon every weekend for their hair to be done.  In our family, curly hair was referred to as "pelo malo," which translates to bad hair. Natural hair was not something we took pride in. Instead of embracing our culture, we were trying to distance ourselves from it. Naturally, I grew up feeling the same way. I also had a complex relationship with my Latina identity. I didn't speak the language and didn't connect with many cultural influences. I was raised by a Puerto Rican father who was born and raised in New York and a Dominican mother who left her heritage when she fled her home, so I felt culturally lost. It took me years to fully embrace my Latina identity. One day, it just clicked — I felt undeniably Latina. I began to appreciate my olive skin and how beautifully it tanned in the sun. I learned to love my thick brown hair and embraced my curves, even though society often promoted thinner ideals.

As a teenager, my mother placed a strong emphasis on my appearance. Already adhering to a beauty regimen, I was then introduced to makeup. Watching my mother skillfully apply eyeshadows remains one of my fondest memories. Learning to do the same became a new part of my routine. When my boyfriend visited, she encouraged me to "make myself pretty." His preferences for my nails and clothes felt like expectations I needed to meet to keep him interested. Feeling less attractive compared to my sisters due to my size, I felt compelled to conform to his desires. So, I styled my nails, hair, and makeup as my mother had taught me, all at the tender age of 15.  I often overheard my aunts and mother discussing the need to look good to maintain a happy relationship, warning of the consequences of an unhappy man straying. I absorbed the message that prettiness guaranteed relationship success. 

As I matured, the media further reinforced the idea that attractiveness could open doors not just romantically but also professionally and socially. The allure of a glamorous life similar to Carrie Bradshaw's — being beautiful, successful, with equally glamorous friends — was tempting for young women. Reality, however, taught me otherwise.

Many of my pretty and thin friends found themselves in relationships where they were used, mistreated, and left heartbroken. Opportunities were presented but never guaranteed. Moreover, biases in job opportunities persisted: being overweight could lead to being labeled lazy, while being thin often garnered assumptions of productivity. Good-looking individuals were often perceived as capable, charismatic, and polished, and were therefore more likely to receive promotions and opportunities. I found the pressure of maintaining a certain appearance exhausting and complicated. It was also something I stopped giving much thought to until I had my daughter.

When my daughter was born, she was perfect — not just through a parent's eyes, but objectively so. While most newborns are swollen and bulgy, she resembled a doll with her big, alert brown eyes, silky black hair, and porcelain skin. My mother fondly nicknamed her Snow White. Compliments poured in as I started sharing photos of her in various outfits. Even strangers stopped us in the streets to remark on her appearance. While I smiled and thanked them, inwardly, I felt conflicted. Was I placing too much emphasis on her looks? I did not want her to grow up depending on physical compliments like I had.

I raised my children to value compliments beyond appearance. As a child, I recalled receiving praise for my looks one day and then nothing the next, leaving me to question my worth: Had I gained weight? Was I no longer considered pretty? Obsessing over physical compliments felt like a mental prison, and I refused to impose it on my children. It burdens kids and fosters insecurity when their value is tied to others' opinions. As my daughter has gotten older, she is receiving fewer physical compliments. Her compliments started to sound like the ones I used to get. While she has not noticed this shift, I have. As she enters middle school in the fall, I am aware of the pressures of looking like everyone else. TikTok reels prompt the quintessential preteen to be shaved and plucked, wear makeup, and, of course, be thin. There is so much pressure on social media and IRL for young girls to meet certain beauty standards, and my heart shatters for the girls who don't fit into that mold.

My daughter already points out that she looks different than some of her peers because she is larger. So I have to remind her that we all come in different shapes and sizes, and that is what makes us special. I tell her we are all like flowers in a garden, some taller, some brighter, some fuller, but all of us are beautiful. I am teaching her to dress in what makes her feel good, a lesson I'm learning alongside her. For too long, I covered up to avoid attention, as if wearing what I wanted was wrong because of my body shape. I stuck to black clothes for slimming effects and avoided shorts due to self-consciousness about my thighs. But we are both learning that we dress for ourselves — not for others.

There is this video clip of Salma Hayek at the Time 100 Gala in April 2023 that constantly resurfaces on social media. In the video, a reporter asks her, "Selma, what's the most expensive thing you're wearing?" and she confidently replies, "My brain." Here stood a stunning Latina woman, capturing everyone's attention as they eagerly awaited to hear which designer dressed her. Instead of commenting on her appearance or gown, she spoke about her mind. While feeling beautiful is important, it's crucial to consider who you're feeling beautiful for. And when our beauty fades as it inevitably will, what legacy will we leave behind?

Before my daughter goes back to school this upcoming fall, I want to teach her that a legacy of kindness and intellect surpasses being the prettiest in the room. While "pretty privilege" may exist, I want my daughter to embrace her authentic self, which will attract everything she needs. It has taken me years to reach this point in my life. Privilege lies in the ability to age with confidence, and happiness is not tied to compromising who we are for others. True freedom and happiness lie in being unapologetically yourself and breaking free from societal expectations.

Liza Almodovar is a contributing writer for PS. Balancing her passion for writing and social media with a career in the medical profession, she is committed to helping others and sharing her experiences to inspire and connect with readers.