I have never been concerned with looks.

Oh, I notice them, I'm a visual person after all, but I've never fixated on them like some people. Neither my own looks nor those of anyone else.

I have deep appreciation of different faces for different reasons. My sister once told me I'd given her whiplash because when I pointed out men I thought were attractive, there was no rhyme or reason to my choices. I never had a type. The faces of my partners former and current confirm this: not a single one looks like any other.

And I was never what anyone thought of as beautiful or pretty—I had never had that reflected back at me growing up. It seemed as if that wasn't something I could ever control, neither what I looked like nor what anyone thought of it. So I evolved to think of what was inside of me as being more important. More relevant. It was better to be intelligent and funny.

But I knew that brains were not what attracted people to you. Especially boys or men, not initially. Looks tended to be—as the saying goes, they're an introduction—being so much easier to access than your sparkling wit, your way with words, or your kind and gentle demeanour. Or even your fondness for profanity or bawdy jokes.

As I got older, I attracted more interest for how I looked, seemingly out of nowhere. It was sometimes spoken aloud, and it always took me by surprise, because it was often disconnected from the rest of me. Sometimes it would be intelligent men—men I think of as "neck up" i.e. all in their heads—who I was attracted to by that quality who would aim this tractor beam…and then it would feel like they thought I was a hollow shell. Or only good for looks. Which felt like a slap in the face!

I spent all this time cultivating myself—travelling, reading, learning—becoming more than a surface, and that's all you see? That's all you care about?

So, after easily getting over feeling inadequate for something I elementally could not control—barring cosmetic intervention—it was so fun to feel inadequate for the things I'd spent all of my time and heart and energy working toward. Like I could never be smart enough, or well-read enough, or anything enough.

Only pretty, and pretty fades.

Looks don't matter, but in one simple way: the face of a beloved is so because of its state of belonging to the one you love. And like a gift, what is precious is what is inside, not the wrapping.