Everyone always thinks that their children are cute, but my mom was not fraudulent – I was a beautiful baby. My rosy, chubby cheeks were squeezed and kissed, and folds on my arms and legs were cherished. But as I got older it became that once made me beautiful suddenly a question for everyone.
I was the middle child between two thin sisters, and while they were called Heartbreakers and beautiful girls I got “hopeful” compliments. These compliments were conditional – something I had to earn or at least wait for. The “flattering” comments that I got so sounded most like “When you lose all that baby weight you will be a stunner,” or “puberty will do wonders, and then you will be as beautiful as your sisters.” I realized that beauty was something others was born with but something I had to work hard to earn.
It would be years until I finally get over this obsession with beauty – and real inner trust would enable me to embrace all aspects of my identity, including my sexuality.
It would be years until I finally get over this obsession with beauty – and real inner trust would enable me to embrace all aspects of my identity, including my sexuality.
When I met puberty, my cheeks were still round and my body was similar to the shape of a child. But my hair grew long – black, thick and straight. That’s when I finally started getting compliments. I felt beautiful for the first time and realized that my hair helped me get the closest I would ever be to conventional beauty standards.
My hair became the only thing that strangers, friends and relatives complemented, so I kept it. I took care of my hair as if my life was addicted to it – because in a way it did. My self -esteem relied on validation from others. I soon realized that the length and thickness of my hair represented femininity and beauty in Latina society, and I wanted to be perceived in that way. I thought I wanted people to see me attractive at all costs. I started spending hundreds of dollars and countless sleepless nights on hair care products, treatments and routines. But like all superficial compliments, they eventually lost their spark.
When I matured, compliments did not affect me anymore in the same way. Life experiences – like dumped by a boyfriend to be fat – I learned that I couldn’t trust others for validation. I threw myself to create fashion content in plus size and learned to build my self-value through my actions, not just my appearance. I realized that my body was the least important part of me.
I learned to care for my self -value in the way I once loved my hair. What others believed in my fatty was no longer my question. Instead of giving after oppressive beauty standards, I began to challenge them. In fact, it was what pushed me recently to cut my hair.
This was not the first time I decided to cut my hair shorter. Six years ago, in a conversation with a relative, I mentioned that I was considering getting a Chic Bob. They immediately told me that I couldn’t “pull off” short hair because of the roundness in my face and the long hair was the “right thing” to have as a woman. That experience motivated me to cut my hair short even though I had a round face, and it was a strengthening moment for me.
Fast flushing until 2025, and my life looks much different than 2019. Now that I’m in the mid-30s I have agreed with my sexuality and realized that I am a lesbian. My newfound openness about my sexuality made me question how I saw myself and how I wanted to introduce myself to the world. Was I a Girly lesbian, a mask, a chapstick lesbian, slaughter or a power lesbian? Would I have to stop wearing the little bags I love? How could I be beautiful for the female gaze rather than the indoctrinated male look we are all conditioned to standard to from birth?
Since my last tangled hair transformation, I have started experimenting sporadically with how I want to be perceived through hair colors. This year I decided to take the step and go shorter than ever, this time with a French Bob.
The idea of going shorter again, despite the criticism I got the first time, had been buzzing through my mind for months, and while I death rolling on my phone, I came across a video of a woman who got a French bob. It immediately felt like a sign. I knew that cut my hair to the shortest it had ever been would be both an exercise and a new beginning to test my identity as a lesbian, but I also realized that it was time to challenge my personal beauty standards again.
My face was rounder than when I went short the first time, and my hair had grown to a length that made me feel protected and comfortable. Unlike before, the hairstyle did not immediately give me this time – it challenged how I saw my beauty. My double chin and vulnerability were exposed. I got hundreds of compliments, but the negative comment was the only one I could remember. I began to question whether I had pushed the boundaries of my trust and beauty too far.
The work I had already done on my identity kicked in, so that I can meet this new hairstyle safely, no matter what a stranger or someone in my life can say.
The intersections in my identity are examined continuously. Defining my physical self allows myself to feel in control while society and politicians debate my value.
Accepting these changes in my identity and appearance with kindness is the least I can do – especially when society drives us to chase an ideal that none of us will ever reach, simply because it does not exist. Now that I sport my hair in a way that feels genuine, I feel free to be unapologetically myself like a fat lesbian latina.
Jessica Torres is a writer, body positive advocate and impact on social media that is dedicated to challenging beauty standards. Previously, she worked as a writer, producer and talent on the camera for Revelist, who nominated her to a best beauty and style vertical award. Jessica has been presented in seventeen, teen Vogue, Nylon, Elle and more.
