I stood in the bathroom staring into the mirror. Since I started high school, this mirror took up more and more of my time. And all the while it became less and less of a friend. I pinched the extra weight around my belly and leaned in to examine my complexion.
“Clean-scrubbed and robust” was how Grandma described me. That meant plain and chubby to me. I’ll never look like the popular girls at school, I thought, turning this way and that.
Perched on the edge of the bathtub, I flipped through some Seventeen magazines. I’ll never be that skinny, I thought, studying a picture of the supermodel Twiggy. The next page featured a model who looked just like one of the junior varsity cheerleaders at school. My hair will never be that shiny.
None of the girls in the magazines looked anything like me. Except…
I dug down near the bottom of the magazine stack and pulled out my favorite issue. The one that held my secret. I flipped right to the page I wanted: a Yardley cosmetics ad with Jean Shrimpton.
Known in the modeling world as “The Shrimp” or “The Face,” Jean was an “It Girl” who had helped launch the miniskirt. She was famous for her doe eyes, long lashes and arched brows. There was no question: She was pretty.
Like I’d done a hundred times, I held the picture of Jean in the ad next to my own face in the mirror. My eyes and brows are exactly the same shape as hers, I thought.
I’d never told anyone else about the resemblance. Of course they’d laugh. But whenever I felt particularly self-conscious I would hold Jean’s picture up in the mirror and remind myself that at least something about my appearance was pretty.
But that day even Jean Shrimpton couldn’t pep me up. I’m the only one who believes my eyes look like Jean Shrimpton’s. And maybe it was just wishful thinking. I carried my magazines back to my room. That’s enough of this foolishness.
That night I was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. Grandma and Grandpa were in the living room reading. Through the half-open door I heard Grandpa call out, “Dorothy, come look at this!” I peeked in to see what the fuss was about.
Grandma got up from the sofa and walked over to Grandpa’s armchair. There was a rustling of pages, and then a loud poke at one of them from Grandpa’s finger. “Our Kathie looks just like this model in the paper!” he said.
“Why, you’re right!” Grandma said. “I think it’s the eyes.”
“It’s uncanny,” Grandpa went on. “Kathie looks just like her.”
My face burned and I tried to hide a smile. I knew exactly which model he was talking about. Maybe I couldn’t see the guardian angel who stood with me at the mirror, but she’d found the perfect way to give this teenager some confidence.
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