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Beauty Girl Wallpaper Biography

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A Beautiful Girl We are living in a society where everything is being criticizes starting from where people live to how they look physically. In the United States there has been about one hundred thousand girls diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and six thousand girls have died from it within a year. In Marge Piercy’s “Barbie Doll,” she gives the public of how offensive it can be to a girl when someone criticizes a certain part of her body. Some girls may take meaningless comment said to them in a bad way. May be it could have been a good criticism, but teenage girls are very sensitive at this age. I think, that you know what pretty girls are. You know the taste of their scent, the smile of their laugh, the magic of their voice. You know their face in the second before it smiles, in the moment before it laughs, and you think you know heaven given human form when she touches your skin – soft and gentle, smooth and electric – stretched taut across your tingling arm. You will look at eyes coloured deepest blue, or skin so pale that she shimmers as if a ghost on foreign isles – but she is not a ghost, she is there, flesh and blood, an angel given lease to dwell upon the earth, a siren let loose upon the world, because surely she couldn’t be anything else, because only myths have that stunning face and glorious form, only goddesses possess that scent that is at once the most beautiful and delectable sensation wafting off her skin. You will look at her, and call her tall, and thin, and beautiful, and in the heart of your mind you would label her pretty and dwell, in your dreams, upon the set of her eyes and the curl of her lips.

But then you are probably a fool, because you do not know what beautiful girls are. You would think them a grotesque mockery of everything that makes girl beautiful, a gross travesty of everything that women are to men. You would demean them, and belittle them simply by equating looks with prettiness, to genetic chance and random fate with beauty. You know nothing – nothing – of just how pretty women can be.

Contrary to popular supposition, looks do not always make a woman beautiful. A beautiful girl need not be six feet tall, with cherry-red lips and startlingly dazzling smiles. A beautiful girl could have eyes that are the brown of earth, or the green of evergreen trees swaying softly in the wind. She could have hair that is long and unkempt, glasses on her eyes and braces on her teeth, and yet she would still be pretty, even to the lowest, most common being upon the earth. Dust and soot may coat her skin, rain soak through her clothes and make her shiver and shudder in the fury of the storm that engulfs her, and still only a fool and a heartless demon could dare call her unbeautiful.

But perhaps I digress. I intended to write an essay on beautiful girls, pure and objective and impartial, and already I have called my reader a fool and lambasted them for their ignorance of true feminine beauty – certainly I have digressed from the point. No matter. I will begin again.

You may wonder what the point of this exercise is: what I intend to establish, to dissect and argue. That is a valid question, and it has a valid answer: to try to explain what, exactly, makes girl beautiful from boy’s point of view, and that is a difficult thing.

Where to begin? It is no secret that men like women who come close to their ideal of perfection: tall, buxom blondes, perhaps, with wide, narrowing curves that roll as they walk. Perhaps a feisty redhead, or a pale, raven-haired girl would satisfy our criteria nicely, but the important part is not the colour of their hair. What makes a woman pretty is not something so superficial as hair colour; nor do we look for deep philosophical observations on the universe and the cosmos to conclude that a girl is pretty. Yes, the shape of her face matters, the way her eyes and her nose and her lips and her hair come together to create what would be inspiration for an artist matters, but these – these are secondary considerations, these are nothing to what really makes them beautiful. Counter to popular conception, we look, quite frankly, at character.

Ah, but you laugh. You roll in your seat, snorting and shaking with laughter, positively howling at what must be the most ludicrous statement of all time, but it is true. Men, whom society has vilified as indifferent, heartless cold bastards who want only one thing, look at the soul and not the face; we judge, as critics might a masterpiece, certainly by hue and colour and tone, but just as much by subject and rendition, as much by passion, as much by sheer force of will as we may brightness and intensity. We may be attracted, yes, to looks, but to steal and captivate our hearts, we require the soul; we must know what women are like, in the deepest, darkest corners of their heart. Only then do we deem a women pretty, or a girl beautiful; in the meantime, they’re just hot, or sexy, or sultry, or one of a hundred other names that serve to pronounce them under judgment.