I grew up a tomboy with a strong aversion to makeup. I resisted learning how to apply makeup until I became an actor, and by then it was too late. The learning curve on that art form is steep. The number of products and steps is overwhelming. I’ve watched a million makeup tutorials, purchasing products and following guidelines, only to find out I’m not even using the right color foundation for my face. It took me six years and endless research to master the cat eye, which is why I have it in every photo. I say it’s my signature look, but in all honesty, I just can’t do anything else.
When you live in Los Angeles, you’re surrounded by the most beautiful people in the world. I’ve worked on sets with eighteen-year-olds who are tall goddesses with big breasts and perky butts. I’ll look up at their perfect faces and wistfully wonder why puberty is a cruel god who did nothing for me. I’m in my late twenties still playing flat-chested teenagers on TV. I’ve spent hours on celebrity gossip sites about stars who’ve had plastic surgery, looking for reassurance that no one could look that good naturally.
I used to get depressed about the way I looked. I’d see the leading ladies of the world and know that I would never look like them. I’d stalk celebrity Instagram accounts and try my best to mimic their style or makeup. But this only served to make me more unhappy because I didn’t feel like myself. I felt like a hand-me-down version of someone else.
The pressure to be beautiful is enormous. Not only in the entertainment industry, but for all women. We’re supposed to be beautiful, but we’re not supposed to try too hard to look beautiful, or appreciate our own beauty, or we risk being called vain or shallow. It’s impossible. You can’t win. Either you’re wearing too much makeup or you’re not wearing enough. Either your outfit is trying too hard or you didn’t even bother to try.
As someone who has been forced to edit my own videos, watch my stand-up performances, and sit through movies or TV shows I’m in to review my performance, I can honestly tell you: I know every flaw on my face. I know that my nostrils are different sizes and I have an upturned nose. The left side of my face is stronger than my right, so my smiles are often crooked. My upper lip muscle, for some reason, is so strong that it curls my lip inward when I’m smiling genuinely, showing off all my gums. My eyebrows are distant cousins. I have to consciously hold my eyes open to make them “look alive” on camera (a note I’ve received often from directors and publicists).
But I know what my best features are too: My skin is flawless. My cheekbones are high, and every makeup artist I’ve sat in front of compliments my bone structure. I can make almost any hair length and hairline part work. Bangs or no bangs, I’m solid.
In 2014, I made a video called How to Put On Your Face. It was a satirical makeup tutorial that focused on inner beauty. As I put on eye shadow, I talked about viewing the world with optimism. I’d apply my lipstick and remind viewers to speak kindly. I’d had the idea for a long time, but I’d always thought it was dumb. But then I had a week where I was feeling particularly depressed about my appearance and I decided to just do it. I wanted to reinforce the idea that the inside matters as much as the outside, and somehow making a video with a lesson always helps me stick to my guns. There’s a pressure to practice what you preach. And I didn’t want to be a hypocrite—I wanted to follow my own example.
How to Put On Your Face went viral. It got picked up by the Huffington Post and Upworthy, and at nearly four million views, it’s my most-viewed video to date. It reached people. It spoke to women everywhere who were just as tired of hating their faces as I was. Women are taught to place so much value on the way they look. We tell young girls that they look cute or pretty instead of telling them they’re funny and smart. And pretty privilege is real. On days when I dressed up at my waitressing gig, I would receive twice the amount of tips as on the days when I didn’t. Beautiful people are given more attention, more leniency, more compliments, more everything. With the whole world judging the way a woman looks, it’s no wonder we judge ourselves just as harshly.
A few years ago, there was a huge controversy online about whether or not makeup guru Michelle Phan had gotten a chin implant. From looking at photos, it was obvious that something had been done. Though Michelle got some push back from fans who were angry about these enhancements, I thought she looked good. Her chin had always been her weakest feature (something she said, not me) and I’m sure it gave her quite a bit of anxiety. Being in the public eye means everyone and anyone feels that they have the right to comment on your appearance. Women are particularly prone to criticism of their face and body. And trust me: the constant criticism gets to you. Especially if you agree with it.
Seeing the backlash Michelle (and many other women) received for getting cosmetic enhancements and given the success of How to Put On Your Face, I was nervous about going there. But another part of me was curious. I’d wanted lip fillers long before the Kylie Jenner trend started. I hated how my top lip curled inward when I smiled. I’m sure no one else notices it, but it bothered me. It made me feel self-conscious every time I laughed or smiled. I kept trying to control it in photos or on camera, which would look strange and forced.
So finally I said, fuck it. I’m gonna try it. There’s a lot of shame and stigma surrounding the idea of cosmetic enhancements, but ultimately I’m not ashamed of my decision because I did it for me. I love it. It’s subtle, and only a few people have even asked me about it. My friends and family say it’s not even noticeable. But when I smile, I have 50 percent less top gum showing. For me, that’s success. I can laugh freely without covering up my mouth with my hand or actively trying to keep my lip down. I’m no longer wasting time with facial exercises to strengthen my lip muscles. I no longer feel insecure.
More important, I feel more beautiful. And that’s okay. It’s okay to want to feel beautiful, as long as it’s your definition of beauty. I want to look my best so I can feel my best.
I want to be clear: I’m not saying lip fillers or plastic surgery is something everyone should get. I’m not saying give in to your every insecurity. I thought long and hard about whether or not it was something I wanted to do, if I was doing it for the right reasons, and if it was worth the money (it’s a lot of money for just a slightly better smile). I did it for the same reason I got braces. The same reason I use moisturizer every night. I want to take care of myself to the best of my ability, inside and out. Will I ever do it again? Probably not. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money to pay for a slightly better smile. But I’m glad I tried it. There’s no harm in figuring out what makes you feel best.
The best beauty advice I ever got was “Enhance your strengths. Tweak the weaknesses.” Beauty isn’t about trying to look like someone else—the new It girl or the model who is having her turn in the spotlight. Beauty is not about conforming. It’s about making yourself feel good and confident, and there’s nothing wrong with that. People will judge us no matter what—if we get plastic surgery, if we’re too skinny or too fat, if we wear too much makeup or not enough. It’s important to figure out what matters to you and make choices that will make YOU feel good. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the only beholder that matters is you.