Maryam has an excellent post up about beauty on the outside vs. real beauty on the inside. It reminded me of my first visit to Morocco, where I experienced the heady glee of suddenly being a goddess – for the first time in my life, pretty much every man within shouting distance swore I was Aphrodite’s reincarnation, and I loved it.
Then I woke up, but not entirely – I realized that while most of these men were after one thing, they were right, in a way – I am beautiful, even though I’m not blonde, my butt is too big, and my features have been likened to those of a kewpie doll. [exaggerated, too big for my face] When I met an Irish girl who had the same complaints about her hair as I do [not straight, not curly, pretty much does whatever it wants], I thought, Thank God, I’m normal. Forget all this straightening/perming/processing, I’m just going to go with it, and get a blowout if I really have to have it straight. I only wish I could make young Moroccan girls realize the same thing – if I see another one whose gorgeous black hair has been streaked with some sort of ashy fake blond, I’m going to have a fit. My sister-in-law wanted to put henna on her hair so she’d “have red in it!” like mine, and I was horrified. I’m not against hair dying by any means, but when you have the most lovely hair ever, is it not the ultimate hubris to try to improve on it? Her hair is the kind that you imagine Scheherazade would have had – like a silky black river, just a little wavy, with a natural shine.
So today, my wish is for all women to recognize their innate beauty. Let’s revel in our uniqueness, not struggle with impossible standards.
My other wish is for Moroccan men to treat all women with respect, as if they were talking to a sister – but I’m not holding my breath.
See that hair? Would YOU try to fight it? 
As some of you may have heard, Barbaro was euthanized this morning. What makes it even sadder is this statement from his owner: