I’ve never been a summer girl, which could come as a surprise to many of you considering I was born and raised in San Diego and am now living in LA.

Most of my memories of summer involve a recurrence of insecurities and a pile of feelings, wondering if anyone else could see them, or sense this with my presence. In a city where the sun always shines, the stereotypical fantasy that women are objects of beauty, desire, and perfection, has been turned into an expectation. I don’t know what it is about growing up in a place where women are sexualized and expected to be “beach babes,” but it caused me to feel out of place and uncomfortable, like I didn't belong. Body image was constantly a topic of conversation, and most girls suffered from that.

So to the young girls out there who I hope are reading this, know that perfection is stale, inauthentic, and a completely unattainable idea that someone else created. There is nothing true or real about perfection.

With time, I’ve found beauty in the imperfect, a new way of looking at what I once thought was a flaw. There is art in the imperfect, individuality and thoughtful creation, making that imperfect thing, one of a kind.

The gap in her smile, freckles sprinkled across her nose, dimples in her cheeks, a scar in her eyebrow or maybe her lip, the curves of her hips, or the roundness of her face. Imperfections often seen as flaws, are in reality, giving us character and a beautifully unique existence.

Imperfections are pure, colorful, and simple if we let them be. As women, we should embrace our individuality, and know that beauty isn’t labeled by numbers on scales, bikini sizes, perfectly sculpted legs, glowing bronze skin, or whatever else might be considered “perfect.” Confidently carrying our individuality and seeking imperfections makes for a much more exciting and liberating life.