Perfect is the enemy of…

One person’s definition of “perfect beauty”, as rendered in Stable Diffusion, an artificial intelligence program.

You are not perfect.

More than that, you will never be perfect.

Some of you might find these statements sad.

But don’t be sad. This is actually a good thing.

You are not perfect. Which means you are free to be imperfect. You are free to be you. And that’s far more interesting.

Perfect, they say, is the enemy of good.

But the quest for perfection is far more than that.

Perfect is the enemy of joy.

Perfect is the enemy of self-confidence.

Perfection is the enemy of mental health.

Perfect is the enemy of being human.

More than that, perfection is subjective. Take a second and think about your definition of perfect physical beauty.

Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Got a picture in your mind? What colour is this person’s hair? Eyes? What age are they? What sex? How big are their boobs (assuming this person is even female)? How about their hips? Are they built like a dancer? A bodybuilder? A model? Marilyn Monroe? Sophia Loren? Do they look like the ai generated image above? Now, go ask a friend the same question. Chances are the image they create is different than yours. So what is perfect, if two people can’t agree?

And here’s the kicker. Even if you managed to agree on what perfection was, and even if you ever managed to achieve perfection, someone would move the goalposts.

100 years ago, the perfect beauty was the flapper girl: strong but androgynous. 70 years ago, it was the siren, with their voluptuous curves and missile-shaped boobs. Ten years later, it was the slim, boyish figure of Twiggy.

In the 80s, it was back to voluptuous, but athletic. In the 90s, perfection was the waif. In the 2000s, it was athletic, 2010s? Bootylicious.

And that’s the thing. We pursue a cultural ideal of perfection and as soon as we achieve it, the pendulum swings the other way and what is considered to be perfect is suddenly outdated and old fashioned.

Perfect? Doesn’t exist. So let’s stop chasing ideals like somehow that will make us better people. Let’s stop pretending that cellulite isn’t normal. Let’s stop pretending that butts are supposed to be universally smooth. Let’s stop pretending that breasts don’t sag after the age of … well, 14 for some people. Let’s stop pretending that stretch marks aren’t a thing and that wrinkles somehow mean you are no longer worthy or sexy or whatever.

Yes, it’s okay to be healthy, however you define it. It’s okay to get dolled up and look great, however you define it. But don’t let that rule your life. Don’t become a victim of the myth of perfection. Perfection is found in those tiny moments where everything comes together for just an instant: a summer’s sunset, that first sip of coffee on a winter’s morning

Don’t try to be perfect. Perfection is an end result, and life is a journey. Instead, be happy. Be good. Be loving and kind and gregarious and forgiving. Laugh much, live life to the fullest. Be the best you you can be. Be imperfect. Be real. Be interesting. Be you.

(Some light reading on the problems with perfection.)