People considered me ugly as a child. Now, I know they were wrong

From “Ugly” to Beautiful: A Daughter’s Journey of Self-Acceptance

When the World First Told Me I Wasn’t Pretty

People considered me ugly as a child – Stephanie Fairyington, a Brooklyn-based journalist and author of the recently published memoir “Ugly: A Letter to My Daughter,” shares a deeply personal narrative about growing up with the belief that she was unattractive. Her story, drawn from her book, explores how cultural perceptions of beauty shaped her identity from childhood through her late teens.

The pivotal moment arrived when she was ten years old. Following a swim at her family’s pool, she raced along Cord Avenue in Downey, California, alongside neighborhood children in their cul-de-sac. A passing woman paused, wrinkled her nose, and posed a pointed question to another mother: “Who’s that?” Upon learning the child was Chrysi’s daughter, the woman responded with visible disbelief: “That’s Chrysi’s daughter?” Though Fairyington missed the reply, she distinctly recalls withdrawing from the group of laughing, pool-drenched children. She claimed she needed to use the restroom and hurried home, carrying with her a new understanding that the gap between her mother’s conventional beauty and her own appearance was far greater than she had realized.

A Mother’s Beauty, a Daughter’s Struggle

The contrast between mother and daughter was striking. Fairyington’s mother—described as having blue eyes, blond hair, full lips, and high cheekbones—possessed the kind of features that seemed destined for a 1980s fashion advertisement. With her feathered hairstyle, moderate makeup, and bright fitted clothing, she embodied the era’s ideal of femininity. During her own teenage years, Chrysi had been celebrated as having the best figure, being the biggest flirt, and earning runner-up status for prom queen.

While her mother’s youth was filled with parties, cigarettes, and romantic encounters with the most sought-after boys at school, Fairyington’s experience was markedly different. She spent lunch periods in the library, wore bulky garments that minimized her sexuality, and felt a profound sense of social invisibility. Her tomboy wardrobe—consisting of worn T-shirts, surfer shorts, scuffed Chuck Taylor sneakers, and knees marked by skateboard accidents—drew curious glances from passersby.

By this time, Fairyington had already entered puberty. She dealt with a full face of acne, prominent buckteeth, and a larger bust than her peers. She had long attributed their divergent social experiences to what she perceived as her mother’s genetic fortune and her own inability to “perform” beauty according to cultural standards. When people discovered she was Chrysi’s daughter, their expressions often revealed something akin to distaste, as if the connection itself was surprising or even disappointing.

Being Called “Lesbian” Was Being Called “Ugly”

What made Fairyington particularly noticeable wasn’t merely her appearance. Her boyish clothing and mannerisms, which might have been endearing on prepubescent girls, seemed incongruous on someone who looked like a grown woman. She felt like a “gender outlaw,” someone who didn’t quite fit into expected categories.

Even in elementary school, her peers sensed something different about her. Walking behind a friend in fifth grade, she overheard that girl tell a mutual acquaintance she believed Fairyington was a lesbian. Fairyington wondered what had given her away—was it her goofy behavior around girls, her unconventional relationship with femininity, or perhaps the way she moved through the world?

In that era, being labeled a lesbian carried the same weight as being called ugly. Historian Lillian Faderman has chronicled how society historically used the term “lesbian” as shorthand for “masculine” or “abnormal woman,” effectively equating queerness with unattractiveness. This connection between being queer and being considered ugly became a persistent shadow throughout Fairyington’s adolescence, much like a relentless bully.

Finding Community and Confidence

Things began to transform when Fairyington came out at nineteen years old. She started spending time in San Diego’s Hillcrest neighborhood, an LGBTQ community where she finally found belonging. For the first time in her life, she felt genuinely attractive—not because her appearance had changed, but because the people around her saw her differently.

Every time a college student shares their story of coming out with her now, Fairyington continues to learn new lessons about pride and self-acceptance. Her journey from a ten-year-old girl retreating home after being questioned about her looks to a woman who understands that beauty is not solely defined by conventional standards remains a testament to the power of community and the courage it takes to embrace one’s authentic self.

“I was 10 years old the first time I was basically told I was ugly.”

“That’s Chrysi’s daughter?”