Quotes About Self-image

I'll tell you how sensible Arthur is: he doesn't even mind being bald.

At the age of fifty-five you will get a saggy roll just above your waist even if you are painfully thin. This saggy roll just above your waist will be especially visible from the back and will force you to reevaluate half the clothes in your closet, especially the white shirts.

Where hair dye is concerned, being blond is practically a career.

There's a reason why forty, fifty, and sixty don't look the way they used to, and it's not because of feminism, or better living through exercise. It's because of hair dye.

Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age of thirty-five you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty-five. At the age of fifty-five you will get a saggy roll just above your waist even if you are painfully thin. This saggy roll just above your waist will be especially visible from the back and will force you to reevaluate half the clothes in your closet, especially the white shirts.

You can put makeup on your face and concealer under your eyes and dye on your hair, you can shoot collagen and Botox and Restylane into your wrinkles and creases, but short of surgery, there's not a damn thing you can do about your neck. The neck is a dead giveaway. Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. You have to cut open a redwood tree to see how old it is, but you wouldn't have to if it had a neck.

Why do people always have to have new hair? If you didn't like the old hair, why did you have the old hair? Then you won't like the new hair, and you'll have to have new new hair.

I'm better than I look and I look fabulous.

Sampson wanted to be "a seven-foot-four guard." He was too pretty to be a soldier. Against the profoundly overmatched Chaminade, he took just nine shots and let his unbeatable team lose to a bunch of beach bum nobodies. He was the greatest, but he wasn't that great.

The difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people. And maybe the reason vampires don't die is because they can never see themselves in photographs or mirrors.

The problem in this case was you can't be a middle-aged virgin in America without something being wrong with you. People can't conceive of a virtue in someone else that they can't conceive in themselves. Instead of believing you're stronger, it's so much easier to imagine you're weaker.

It's all mirror, mirror on the wall because beauty is power, the same way money is power, the same way a gun is power.

Kill me if I ever look that Bad . . . Dude, what are you saying? . . . On the TV? That is you, dude. From like five years ago.

How she looks is watered-down. How she looks is disappearing. How she looks is erased. Don't stress, she says. This is just me not wearing any makeup.

Even if I overcompensate, nobody will ever want me. Not Seth. Not my folks. You can't kiss someone who has no lips. Oh, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me. I'll be anybody you want me to be.

You can't be beautiful until you feel beautiful.

You can't be beautiful, Brandy says about a thousand times, until you feel beautiful.

People don't practice their smiles nearly enough, so when they most need to look happy they're not fooling anyone.

The gyms you go to are crowded with guys trying to look like men, as if being a man means looking the way a sculptor or art director says. Like Tyler says, even a souffle looks pumped.

If I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible.

Ya que no puedo ser hermosa, quiero ser invisible.

I had a system, too, though I was pretty sure I'd ever acknowledged it before, even to myself. My closet was arranged by size: Now, Not That Long Ago, Once Upon a Time, Never Again, and In Your Dreams. I didn't even have to check the tags to verify the humiliating range of ever-increasing numerals displayed on them. I wondered what size I'd be when I'd finally had enough.

And it explains much about me, too, about the limits of my experience, about the fact that the person I am in my head is so far from the person I am in the world. Nobody would know me from my own description of myself.

Yes, he knew his face was finely made, his forehead broad, his gaze haunting, his lips sculpted so that even a sneer looked fetching on them, but he needed a living mirror to tell him so.