Why Don't I Look Like Her?

Isabella Gattamorta

Growing up in Miami, Florida was a blessing and a curse. 

A blessing because I was around my culture and roots at all times—allowing me to be my true self ethnically. A curse because there were body standards within the culture that I, and many others, were expected to achieve.

Growing up, I would watch telenovelas with my grandmother and would see tan-skinned, tall women with curves in all the right places. I would look at myself after watching these and think:

Why don’t I look like them? 

Going to school didn’t help either. There were many girls who were tanner than me, thinner than me, and overall fit the image of the Latina women I would see on television: the image everyone thinks of. These girls could also speak Spanish just a bit better than me. Needless to say, my insecurities were through the roof.

As I got older, I began to see these expectations on social media, which is hard to avoid no matter who you are. I would not only see actresses with a similar background not look like me, but friends of mine look completely different—better. They had thick dark hair and nice lines all along their bodies, something I can’t achieve.

Being around them made me feel very different. We looked nothing alike, most of them fit the Latina look, but I didn’t feel like I did. No matter what I did, I never felt like I fit the look of my culture. I was wider in the wrong places and was hairier than most girls. Of course, genetics plays a huge part in my look, but as a kid that’s the last thing you think about.

It didn’t help that a lot of the older women in my life would make me feel like I didn’t belong because of how I looked either. This happened because they were also of a bigger build, and wanted to make sure that I avoided getting to that point myself. I never understood why though—they were all beautiful. They would compare my build to the girls around me, saying I needed to be thinner and look more like them. I would exercise as much as I could, but it was never enough.

I of course appreciated their overall message, but I do wish I could just have lived a life without those cares. Moving north for college didn’t end these insecurities, unfortunately, but it did get better. The Latina women I would meet would still fit the image I had seen on TV all those years ago, but this time I didn’t care as much. 

I have learned to embrace who I am and accept that I don’t look like those women, but that doesn’t make me any less Latina. I am proud of my culture and as I grow older, I am proud of my look.

Edited by Elisabeth Kay and Kate Castello