My Two Best Friends Are Beautiful, And I’m So Jealous It Could Ruin Our Friendship

We’re moving in together soon, and shining, unachievable beauty will become the norm. I’ll be the ugly one.

Jan 29, 2013 at 1:00pm | Leave a comment

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One of those idealised, Photoshopped images I was talking about...

Every girl thinks her friends are beautiful. But trust me, mine, Alice and Charlotte, really are. They are the type of girls who cause boys’ mouths to hang slack and drool.

I once walked into a club with Alice and a young gentleman turned to his friend, pointed at her and repeated ‘she’s just so fucking hot she’s just so fucking hot she’s just so fucking hot’ losing all sentence-making skills until I pointedly barged past him to the bar.

I’m constantly being sidled up to, and asked furtively, ‘sooo…is your friend single?’ to which sometimes I snap and lie furiously ‘she’s GAY and she’s MINE’ and then sadly chew the straw in my vodka coke.

They are both stunningly photogenic, size eights, clear skinned, well dressed, big-eyed goddesses and perhaps most infuriatingly they are both impossibly cool and great people as well. Grrr.

Charlotte came to visit me at home one Christmas and she was introduced to my childhood friend and her new boyfriend. The boyfriend, three minutes after meeting her instantly admitted his sudden crush and when I heard I felt totally desolate.

It was his first time meeting us both, I was so excited and tried really hard to be super charming, and all he could feedback to my friend was how great Charlotte’s arse was.

All my male friends (no exaggeration…all, even the gay ones) have admitted to lusting after one or both of them and sometimes drop in a casual question asking exactly what I’ve managed to see in a changing room. Even my female friends wax lyrical about how nice Alice’s hair is or how sexy Charlotte’s shoulders look today.

The three of us are going to be living together in a couple of months, and someone said to me ‘wow! You’ll have a queue at your door, that flat will have the two hottest girls in the city!’ A sudden cloud of teenage anguish fell on me.

Having one fit friend is manageable, two makes it more intense. Shining, unachievable beauty becomes the norm. I’m going to be the ugly one. Jealousy is a totally unattractive, useless emotion, I KNOW that, and to think it could damage a friendship with two of the absolute loveliest, kindest, funniest people I know is a horrible thought.

This goes against everything I believe about sisterhood and feminism; it’s a ridiculous level of totally irrelevant superficiality. Surely, SURELY I should be able to put pointless insecurities behind me and just have a great time with two of the most fun girls around?

The thing is, I know myself, and all my flaws, and I don’t really think I will.

I’m terrified it will start to get to me; I’ll start jumping on every innocent comment I hear, I’ll remember every silly thing a boy says (already evidenced by this angsty article) and I might start to really resent them both.

Once, when Alice had a wardrobe crisis and desperately asked my opinion, I actually told her to go for the outfit that looked worse and felt a horrid, spiteful sense of glee.

I don’t have serious body-hating issues, but I do sometimes I get a bit sad over the state of my muffin top. For the most part I do my best to forget about it, often by eating a muffin. But I’m worried that, if we live together, I will start constantly comparing myself to them - and I will always lose.

We are told that impressionable young women are constantly trying to live up Photoshopped, idealised, false image of beauty in advertising, the media and TV. But actually, I’m constantly looking at the image that’s sitting next to me on the sofa, not on the screen opposite us. And it isn’t Photoshopped.

One of the most annoying things is, I can’t TALK to them about it! Anything that would upset me this much would usually be discussed at length, but the very thought of a conversation where I say, “errr…the problem is… you’re too pretty…” makes me want to slap myself round the face with my own, ugly hands.

It makes me feel miserable and a little hopeless when I think about going out for a night on the town knowing, with almost complete certainty, that any boy I try and flutter my eyelashes at will have already noticed Al and Char pouting happily next to me. I would be a last resort.

Even as as type this I realise how whiney it sounds. I obviously realise that looks aren’t everything. I can be wonderfully charismatic, an amazing dancer with cat-like agility, know more facts about giraffes than both of them put together, have perfected ‘the smoky eye’, can name all the members of the Cabinet, can sing the alphabet backwards, and could drink them both under the table and neither of them can cook.

But sometimes, at a UV foam party, you want the boy approaching you to be asking for your number, not looking over your shoulder for the girls, who you just know, on first glance, are better.

 
 

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