But, Your Neck Said Otherwise

 

Someone needs to stop this.

We’ve got faces out here three shades lighter than the necks holding them up—and everyone’s pretending it’s stunning.

Like we don’t see the makeup line of demarcation bold as a border wall.

Like we didn’t all grow up learning how to match socks but forgot how to match skin.

We’re calling it contour.

Calling it glow.

But let’s be real:

We’ve normalized patchwork beauty, stitched together with tinted moisturizer and denial.

And here’s what I don’t get—

If a woman or man has a stunning face

—naturally or otherwise—but they’re

obese?

Suddenly the body is fair game.

People get real observant.

They’ll say:

“You’d be so pretty if you lost weight.”

“He has such a handsome face, shame about the stomach.”

—Meanwhile, Becky out here looking like two people in a trench coat—but she contoured, so it’s fine.

So don’t tell me you can’t see the contrast between someone’s brightened forehead and their sun-loved chest.

You see it.

You just decided that lighter = prettier, so the patchwork gets a pass.

Colorism has become a selfie filter.

It used to be systemic, societal, overt.

Now it’s quietly repackaged as a look—something that begins and ends at the face.

Forget harmony. Forget truth.

If the face is glowing and the cheekbones are carved, people will squint past every other inconsistency like their vision took a lunch break.

But ask yourself—if the face were darker than the neck?

Would it still be called beautiful?

Would people still scroll past it with hearts and fire emojis?

Or would they call it “off,” “ashy,” “muddy,” “tired”?

Because that’s the other side of this lie.

We don’t reward beauty.

We reward compliance.

Compliance with an image, a tone, a standard no one voted on but everyone enforces.

You can’t say it’s “just makeup” when everything else—bodies, scars, fat, texture, disability—gets put under a microscope.

You don’t get to suddenly go soft-focus when the mismatch is aesthetic instead of physical.

You see the patchwork.

You just decided it was beautiful anyway.

So let's not twist this:

This isn’t about dragging anyone for how they show up.

It’s about asking why some

contradictions get celebrated

while others get erased.

Because the patchwork itself isn’t the crime.

Bodies are patchwork.

Sun-kissed arms.

Winter-pale legs.

Stretch marks.

Melanin maps.

Acne scars.

Razor bumps.

Vitiligo.

Pigment shifts that read like poetry.

We are walking mosaics of weather, history, and bloodline.

But somehow, only some patchwork gets romanticized.

The “right” kind.

The curated, covergirl kind.

The type that fits inside a trend.

Brightened faces with bronzed shoulders? Beautiful.

Lighter under-eyes with caramel décolletage? Stunning.

But let a fat person wear a crop top and suddenly the public has opinions.

Let someone skip the concealer and show up with uneven skin?

Now we’re talking “brave” instead of “beautiful.”

Nah.

The patchwork was never the problem.

The problem is how we assign value to which pieces get seen—and which ones get forgiven.

We love contrast when it flatters.

We love uniqueness when it performs.

But let someone show up fully unfiltered—without the illusion, without the erasure—and it makes people uncomfortable.

Because truth doesn’t blend the way highlighter does.

I’m not asking for fake harmony.

I’m asking for honest beauty.

The kind that doesn’t rely on optical illusions or selective celebration.

The kind that doesn’t punish fat while worshipping symmetry.

The kind that doesn’t praise one kind of patchwork while pathologizing another.

Because your body is not a problem to be corrected.

Your skin is not a glitch.

And your neck—yes, your neck—is not a liability.

It’s just part of the truth you carry.

So if we’re gonna romanticize patchwork,

let’s at least stop pretending some of us don’t see it.

And let’s stop pretending some of us aren’t beautiful because of it.

For the search bar warriors:

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