It is worth reading the full story here:: http://www.xojane.com/relationships/beauty-incarcerated
I always knew that jail wasn’t a good place to explore. Luckily, I’ve never had reason to visit one.
…for the first time since childhood, I stopped looking in the mirror every time I peed (in a metal toilet in full view of my cellmate, natch). I didn’t worry about my hair. Choosing an outfit was irrelevant. The eyeliner and mascara from that awful night had long since streamed down my face during the initial oh-my-god-I’m-in-jail waterworks and been wiped away. I hadn’t gone makeupless for years, but in there it didn’t matter. It was just a bunch of other women I’d never see again.
In fact, I’d practically forgotten that I even had a face until the catcaller, when suddenly I was reminded of my entirely ornamental purpose in life. The first thing I felt was flattered. Flattered. Wow, he thinks I’m beautiful even without any makeup. It took…
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