Beauty Mark

When I was in nursery school, I had a friend who had beauty marks. I had moles. It took me a long time to realize those were the same thing. 

My friend had a French name and went onto French immersion and even at the tender age of 4 seemed HIGHLY glamourous. They explained to me that each beauty mark made them more beautiful. And I was just sitting there like, “damn, I really wish some of these moles were beauty marks.”

I have many moles. One on my upper lip, a triangular trio of them on my left hand, one on each ring finger, and a big one on my lower back that had to be removed because my low-rise jeans kept rubbing on it. Truly a testament to the millennial mindset in the 00s and our fanatical dedication to a trend I would wish on no one.

Beyond my many moles, I have a birthmark in the centre of my chest that I quite like. I always believed it looked like a crown and was an obvious symbol of my queendom. My partner, Ricky, brought me back down to Earth when I pointed it out to him, and he said, “oh yeah, you’ve got a little cornflake there.” Bless him for keeping me humble.

All this is to say that perception is everything. While “beauty mark” is a much prettier name than “mole”, that shit is the same and, ultimately, they’re both probably caused by sun damage. So put on your SPF, view yourself and others in a kinder light, and simply rebrand anything that reminds you of a subterranean mammal.