What It’s Like to Be Average-Looking in St Andrews

No one really bothers me.

In response to the confessions of an ugly individual and of an attractive individual


I’m average.

You wouldn’t look twice at me in Pret, but you wouldn’t take a snapchat to roast me in your group chat.

You might hesitate before swiping left on Tinder.

You’d go home with me if your first choice were taken – but you wouldn’t feel ashamed about it.

I am an average-looking woman.

Photo: babe.net

It’s not a bad life. I accrue some compliments when I dress up, but not so many that it becomes the norm. And people don’t hate me on sight, because I’m the kind of lass you can empathise with. “Boy, don’t you wish we looked like her?” girls have whispered to me in a conspiratorial sort of way, having noticed some Amazon wandering down Market Street. As far as they’re concerned, I’m in the same boat as everybody else.

I’m non-threatening. You wouldn’t mind if your boyfriend were friends with me. In yoga class you can put your mat next to mine without worrying about looking worse by comparison. On nights out we’ll both get hit on equally. I am the attractiveness level of whoever I am with.

Photo: giphy.com

I wouldn’t get scouted to model for a fashion show, but I wouldn’t be laughed out of auditions. I’ll get polite cat calls from construction workers, but no one is really looking twice at me on the street. Boys ask me out under the influence of alcohol, but not so much during the day. I get Tinder matches, but not so many that it becomes unwieldy. The occasional booty call lands in my inbox, but it’s a rare event. We might have been in a tutorial together, but you wouldn’t remember.

I am an average-looking woman.

Life is very average for me.

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