Hooded eyes are eyes which have a very deep eyelid crease, sometimes to the extent that the fold of the eyelid comes all the way down to the lash line when the eyes are fully open. Hooded eyes can look small or puffy because there is so much skin from lash line to brow (think Renee Zellweger). Also, because the crease of the lid is so deep, eye shadows and eyeliners tend to be concealed, or "hooded," by the eyelid, making it difficult for people with hooded eyes to wear eye makeup well.
Before I saw these videos three weeks ago, the concept of hooded eyes--the very fact that there is a hooded eye delineation--was completely unknown to me. I had no idea that, all my life, makeup artists and perhaps others had been looking at me and my hooded eyes with pity, possibly scorn. Since this realization, I am having great difficulty seeing myself without also seeing "hooded eyes." Suddenly, this term is occupying far more of my cognitive space than I think it warrants or deserves.
When I was in the second grade, I sat beside a boy named Jeremy. One day, without warning, Jeremy looked down into my lap and remarked on the girth of my thighs. I don't remember his exact words, but I remember my reaction well. At first, I was stunned. At eight years old, it had not occurred to me to be concerned about the size or shape of my thighs. All I knew then was that I was strong--as strong as all the boys, and just as fast. I always held my own in wrestling matches or fights on the playground, and often won the footraces at recess. As the idea that the size of my thighs somehow mattered and that mine were too big began to sink in, I felt myself begin to fill with red-faced shame. Desperately, I placed a notebook over my lap to conceal my thighs before anyone else could have a chance to marvel at their enormity. When the time came to go home that afternoon, I tried to pulled my jacket down over my legs to cover up.
Jeremy's insensitive proclamation, however innocent it might have been, changed my life forever. Through this first tender wound, ideas like "wear dark colors because they're slimming" and "only thin girls look good in shorts" began to seep into my consciousness. Gradually, I began to scrutinize and question the attractiveness of every square inch of my body. My breasts were too small. My belly was too big. My arms were too thick and my hair was too curly. It became clear rather quickly that I was not pretty enough and that being an attractive person would require a lot of work--I would need to eat very little or purge somehow if I didn't have the self control. I would have to wear makeup every day to conceal the imperfections on my skin, and dress in carefully selected clothing to create the illusion of an attractive figure.
As I progressed through junior high and high school, the message that my value as an individual hung on these details became louder and more distinct. With so much of my mental energy swarming around my insecurities and appearance, there was little remaining at this important developmental stage to recognize the things that I was good at, to practice the things I truly loved, or experience the things that made me feel human. My growth was stunted by the burden of needing to be beautiful, my spirit crushed by the weight of worrying that I was not. Sadly, I would not be able to shed this weight for many years to come. Even more sadly, perhaps I never will. Here I am at nearly thirty years of age, stumbling upon new ways in which I am not good enough. Somehow, through all the years of paralyzing judgment, I had never found cause to dislike my facial features. Now, there's a term for my eyes.
Of course, the yoga has been a force of truth in my relationship to self and body. Through practice, I have shed so much illusion; I have learned that I am so much infinitely more than shape and size because I have observed within. In time, I will forget about my hooded eyes, but I will always remember this: The body is soil to the seed of my consciousness. I am reborn in the sweetness of body over and over again.