Unapologetic Femininity

Kathryn Zahorak dives into her bicoastal beauty identity

My thirties welcomed an extensive level of personal change. And so much of that growth was in relation to my self-image. When I was younger, and first arrived to LA, I found myself on an endless cycle of nitpicking. I relentlessly scolded my body for its deemed imperfections. Previously, I had attended a prestigious acting conservatory on the east coast, that lead me to believe the only way to be a successful was to be hyper-critical. So, I became my worst enemy. My nose was too large. I hated my crooked side profile in audition tapes. My hair was too frizzy. I constantly reached for a hair straightener to fight my unruly waves. My body needed to be smaller and smaller and smaller. And as I shrank, I did receive glorious praise. But that self-inflicted ridicule came to an abrupt stop at the start of my thirties. I found myself unexpectedly single a few a months before my wedding date. The energy I once resourced for my pursuit of perfection was now needed elsewhere. All I could do was be present. All I had to do was care for myself.

After a couple months, I realized my body and mind needed a change. The familiarities of palm trees and bougainvillea made my stomach turn. And in my new-found quiet, I decided to move to New York City.

This might read as dramatic, but the city undoubtedly saved my life. And part of that was satiating the unquenchable beauty standards I set for myself at such a young age. Each day, waking up in this new place, alone in my tiny studio apartment, I began to see my flaws as shades of beauty. Looking in the mirror, my eyes were painted in a new shade of blue. I was a woman with nerve. And I liked, who was becoming. I began to love the shape of my nose. It reminded me of my Sicilian family. I didn’t fight my natural hair texture. The messy waves were coaxed out from the humid subway air. I gained back the weight everyone complimented me for losing. I looked like a thirty-year old woman. That felt like a triumph. I was strong and soft all at once.

In a world that is selling sameness- I offer up the opposite. What if the histories of our pasts, allow for the possibility to embrace our own authentic beauty? I don’t want to see the same faces in movies, and social media and billboards. I want to see faces with their own stories. I feel more beautiful, the more life I have lived.

Now that I am back in California, I don’t feel tempted by restrictive standards of self-image. I live in my vintage apartment in Los Feliz. Every day, I wake up and get ready in a pink art deco bathroom. The vintage tiles become an unabashedly feminine backdrop for my self-care rituals. Light a candle, sip an americano, apply my skincare. This space has welcomed a softness. Self regard replaces self critique. I know that this is such a fleeting moment in time-to live alone in my thirties. I know that this is a temporary chapter. That one day I won’t have this pink bathroom, and I wont be living by myself. And for once in my life, I don’t feel like I am trying to rush into the future or longing for younger versions of the past. This apartment has brought many thoughts around womanhood and aging. And this chapter of unapologetic femininity feels profound. I love this moment in my thirties. Even if it looks nothing like I expected. And I am not afraid of getting older. When I look in the mirror, I find pleasure in the maturity, in the subtle lines and gray hair. My lips a shade of chateau rose to match my space. It’s such a strange thing to me, to not enjoy aging. Because each year, only means I am closer to myself.