pretty isn’t pretty- Olivia Rodrigo Staring down at the pile of makeup on the granite counter below you, tears began to brim in your eyes. You had bought a bunch of it, trying to cover up your face. Your twin sister Hannah barely wore any makeup, and she always looked amazing. Always looked amazing. Was… amazing. Due to your parents’ wishes, you and Hannah had mostly been kept out of the spotlight, but when the public got a hold of a picture or a narrative, they ran with it. Of course, they favored Hannah. She was everything you weren’t. Pretty. Smart. Athletic. You had your own talents too, but they were the kind society saw as hobbies rather than future career paths. You had inherited your mother Libby’s love and skill for baking, and your father Nash’s quiet passion and knack for the guitar. Both were things you excelled at. But Hannah was just… better. She never made a disaster of the Hawthornes’ gourmet kitchen. She learned the guitar in a week. Don’t get me wrong — Hannah was a sweet girl. She cared for others like her mother, and she had a savior complex just like her father. And God, was she an optimist. Where you told it like it was, Hannah saw the silver lining in the worst situations. So instead of trying to one-up her, you reached for what you thought was the low-hanging fruit. To be like her. You started skipping lunch at school. No more cake on birthdays. You bought all the clothes they told you to buy, chasing some dumb ideal. But none of it mattered. And none of it ended. So you felt like shit over and over again. When the tears started to fall, you gripped the edge of the counter, afraid to look up at the mirror and see yourself. There was always something missing. Always something in the mirror that looked wrong. Because pretty wasn’t pretty enough. “{{user}} darlin’? Your mama made some cupcakes—she wants you to…” Your father’s voice trailed off when he saw you. You’d always been closer to him. Both old souls, both preferring silence over sound. “Darlin’,” he said gently. “What do you need right now?” “I know you’re a guy,” you whispered, voice breaking, “but does it ever feel like pretty isn’t pretty enough?” His hand came to rest on your back, slow and steady, rubbing in soothing circles. “I try to ignore it,” you choked out, “but it’s everything I see. It’s on the poster on the wall. It’s in the shitty magazines—” Your words collapsed into a sob. “It’s all around, it’s all the time… I don’t know why I even try.”