According to Men: I’m Pretty. Not Hot.

Scrapbook Entry 10

Before anyone jumps in with “Alivia, you’re gorgeous” or “no one is saying that,” let me stop you right there. You can say all of that after ... I like affirmation. I’m not immune. We’ll circle back.

This past week, I was getting Chipotle by myself. My mind was on extra chicken and the book I was about to read. Living my quiet, independent-girl fantasy.

I’m moving down the line, making important life decisions like extra cheese, when I get to the register. The cashier looks slightly to my left and asks:

“Are you guys together?”

I hadn’t even clocked it, but there was a guy standing near me.. just another burrito-seeking civilian.

Before I could process the question, before I could even really blink, this man scoffs and says:

“Oh. Definitely not. No. No no no.”

Verbatim.

And I had exactly one thought:
Wow. What a jerk.

I pressed my lips together, bit my tongue, and said to the cashier,
“What he said.”

Then I took my food, sat down by myself, pulled out my book… and absolutely did not read a single word.

Because, to be fair, that stung.

So I did what any rational woman would do. I put the book away and pulled out my phone to assess the situation.

I’m not ugly. I know that. I even think I’m pretty. But under those Chipotle lights? I felt aggressively… plain.

Mascara was smudged under my eyes from a long day of filming, editing, and getting critiqued.
I was wearing Reporter-neutral clothes. Not the bright colors I usually love.
Hair that should’ve been big and curled or tucked behind one ear had fallen completely flat.
And my left eye would not stop twitching, which honestly felt rude.

I pushed my Chipotle bowl away. Didn’t finish it—which is how you know it was serious. I LOVE FOOD. Then I went home to stare at myself some more.

And of course, just to add salt to the wound, Backwoods Barbie was queued up in my car.

So. Great. Thanks, Dolly.

Normally, I’m upbeat. Comments like that roll right off. I tell myself the guy’s having a bad day, and I move on. I eat the burrito.

But this time, my brain decided to open the Unwanted Men’s Opinions Archive:

“You’re not fat… just thick, Alivia.”
That one really did a number on me junior year of high school.

“You’re the kind of girl you don’t date in high school, only in college.”
Not technically an insult, but also… what?

And my personal favorite, said by a sophomore during COVID at a Jimmy John’s:
“Can’t believe you get dates when you eat like that.”
I grew up with football-playing brothers—if you don’t eat fast, you don’t eat.

So I mentally filed the Chipotle comment right alongside all the others I don’t feel like writing down again.

And in that moment—me, the girl who supposedly doesn’t care what men think—I realized something uncomfortable.

I wanted to be a want.

Not for that guy. Not even for dating. Just… wanted?

The kind of girl guys look at and think, she’s a knockout.
The kind of girl who breaks necks walking past.

But that’s never really been me.

I’m a weird mix of loud and shy. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face. I get flustered easily. I’ve never felt skinny, even when I was working out every day. And when I do feel beautiful, it's never mainstream beautiful. It’s my own concoction. (Part of that is because I’ve never wanted to wear what’s mainstream—my mom has tried )

I always thought that made me kind of special, a little quirky and brave.

But in that moment, my stubborn refusal to conform felt childish instead.

I wrote a song about it ( —which, by the way, is a total knockout listen below)

Anyway… I wrote this blog post not for pity or sympathy (I really hate both), but because I know there’s another girl who feels like this too.

Sometimes as songwriters—and as people—you write about what makes you uncomfortable so someone else feels less alone.

But also, I’m writing this to just say sometimes… nights just suck. And that’s ok too.

Being vulnerable is good.

But next time… I’m definitely finishing my Chipotle.

Until Next Blog,