You know that little voice that relentlessly berates you whenever you look in the mirror, the one that makes you wince every time your appearance falls short of some impossible ideal? Enough! Valerie Monroe cuts a tyrant down to size.

“My God, you are beautiful.” Has anyone ever said that to you? Yes? No? Whatever: Imagine it now. Imagine someone looking into your eyes and saying, “My God, my God, you are beautiful.” What would it mean to hear that? Would it mean that you had the face of the Madonna? The body of Madonna? Would it mean that the person who was saying it was delusional? Or in love?

One morning not long ago at the O magazine offices, 14 of us sat around the heavy conference room table, another 12 of us in a second circle of chairs behind the first. The subject was beauty. We’re a pretty vocal group, mostly outspoken and forthright, and by anyone’s standards, we are also a pretty pretty group—even (I think) a pretty beautiful group. To wit, Beauty A: luxuriously thick, dark curls; a clear, pink complexion; deep chocolate brown eyes; delicate nose; full, generous mouth. Beauty B: a towhead; fair, poreless skin; sky blue eyes; Cupid’s bow, ruby lips. Beauty C: a life-size Barbie doll, hour­glass figure; huge brown eyes; ski-jump nose; perfect teeth. Beauty D...well, you get the idea. Each of these women is asked whether, in her heart, she knows she’s beautiful. And beauty after beauty reveals her secret: Me, beautiful? Never! I’m plain! Even, sometimes, ugly! Don’t look at me without makeup! One of the women, with creamy skin, wild dark hair, blue eyes, an athletic build, and ajo March personality—which is to say she plunges ahead in most endeavors with great, aston­ishing aplomb—claps her hands smartly over her ears at the mere suggestion that she might be even the slightest, tiniest bit attractive.

And so there we all were, staring at one another, stupefied, and asking, “How can you not see how beautiful you are? Where is your critical voice coming from?”

We got an answer of downright mythical proportion from Beauty A, who long considered her luxuriously thick, dark curls the bane of her existence, a glaring, unfortunate beacon of her awkward unruliness, her inability to fit in with the prevailing ideal of womanhood. She traces her discomfort to her grandmother, a grande dame whose rigid notions about beauty were deeply entrenched in Southern tradition. There was only one way for a woman to look—discreet, well groomed, polished, ladylike. Stray from it in anyway (which included wild curls) and you became a kind of pariah, judged to be unmannered, slothful, poorly raised, and maybe loose; conforming was away to hide anything that might threaten your station in society.

Her grandmother was a forceful woman whose notions snaked perniciously through the generations, gripping Beauty A and her sisters. It was only recently that they discovered the root of her abnegation and, consequently, their own. As a young woman, their grandmother, considered quite a beauty in her day, had descended the staircase in her family home dressed and made-up for a big dance, only to be met by her own grandmother in the parlor. “Go back upstairs and fix yourself!” her grandmother had cried. “You look awful!” Bad enough. How had she transgressed? Makeup overdone? Dress too revealing? A hair out of place? She could have asked her grandmother. But how would the old woman have known? Her grandmother was blind. Which begs the question, What was she reacting to? What deep, unsettling fear could have inspired such an outburst? Whatever it was, the fact remains that five generations later Beauty A still struggles over her lovely mess of curls.

Shaking our heads, we asked ourselves the most important question: How can we end this deadening, compulsive self-criticism and begin to talk to ourselves about beauty in a kinder, more compassionate and appreciative, less punishing way?

If you stop to think about it—and let’s do that, right now—you’ll realize that most of the messages we get about the way we look have to do with denial and withholding (avoid looking older, eat less) and imperfection and loss (conceal your flaws, regain your firm complexion). Can you recall the last thing you read or heard that suggested you celebrate or even acknowledge the positive aspects of the way you look? (I can; it’s “Here’s Looking at You, Kid!” by Martha Beck, on page 266, but stay with me for a minute.) Instead, we’re bombarded with images of the young, the skinny, the oversexualized, the computer idealized. The effect on our self-image and self-esteem is even deeper than you might imagine. Psychologists call it normative discontent: It’s considered normal for women to be unhappy with the way we look. Follow this line of thinking: If it’s normal, then for us to fulfill our role as women, we’re supposed to be displeased with our appearance. Does this resonate with you? Are you afraid to admit that—one day, for a few minutes, stepping out of the shower or into the bath—you actually do look okay, or maybe even (God forbid) pretty good?

From the moment we appear in the mirror in the morning, we are face-to-face with our inner critic—call her Judge Beauty—the one who presides over the viciously unforgiving Court of Egregious Imperfections. The interrogation begins: Are you thin enough? Is your complexion bright enough? Your bottom firm enough? Smile white enough? Flair shiny enough? Are your lips too thin or too full? Your eyes too small? Your nose too big? And what’s your defense? Haven’t been taking care of yourself? Not paying attention? Or saddest of all, were you simply born that way? This line of questioning is supported by a constant stream of messages nearly everywhere we look that we could be more attractive if only we wore this or drove that, ate this and not that. In ways subtle and not so subtle, culture teaches us to look cruelly upon ourselves. We’re raised to pay attention to these messages—improvement being an essential element of the American dream— and to take them to heart. Ask yourself: Do you equate being pretty with being happy? Have you ever thought that if you were prettier, you might be happier?

In case you’re thinking that this kind of severe self-judgment isn’t all that common, here is a first peek at some interesting statistics from a soon-to-be released global study commissioned by Dove, the company that created a sensation with photographs of real women of different sizes in its Campaign for Real Beauty:

■ Only 7 percent of American women (15 to 64) have never been concerned about their overall physical appearance.

■ Ninety-two percent of American women (15 to 64) want to change some aspect of their physical appearance, mostly body weight and shape.

■ Almost two-thirds of American women agree that when they feel bad about themselves, it usually has to do with their looks or weight.

■ Living with beauty ideals leads almost seven in ten women globally to withdraw from important, self-actualizing activities, such as going to school or work or a job interview, because they feel bad about their looks.

These feelings of inadequacy, the striving for perfection, the competing, the comparing—with others or with younger versions of ourselves—is all a fool’s game. No one ever wins, not even the most conventionally beautiful. As Rita Freedman, PhD, clinical psychologist and author of Bodylove, points out, if you think you’re not pretty, you spend your life regretting that, and if you think you are, you spend your life in fear of losing your looks. Then one day, you do lose them. (You want something to cry about? We’ll give you something to cry about!)

We’re not supposed to be excessively concerned with the way we look; it’s unseemly, prideful, immodest, vain. Vanity stems from competitiveness, says Freedman; it even suggests evil impulses (Mirror, mirror, on the wall...). But here’s the rub: As women our sense of self is inextricably bound up in our appearance, and so we tread a very fine line between concern and overconcern or obsession. Freedman reports that in a classic research study, psychotherapists were asked to rate the personality traits of a healthy woman, a healthy man, and a healthy person. “Preoccupation with appearance” (vanity) was rated normal for a healthy woman but abnormal for a healthy man and for healthy people. That leaves us stuck in a damned if we do, damned if we don’t dilemma, she points out: aware that we’re judged by our attractiveness but ashamed to admit how deeply we value looking good, because that would mean we’re...vain.

That seems like a lot of bad news. But there is a slight trend toward a more forgiving attitude: the Dove advertisements, showing robust women comfortable in their bodies; Nike ads suggesting that we focus on what our bodies can do rather than on how they look. These messages can remind us that we need to see ourselves through kinder eyes. Maybe you’ve already learned how to do that, if you’ve been looked at kindly—by a parent, a friend, or a lover. If not, you can learn it now. A while ago I discovered a photo of a little girl at age 5 or 6, not at all a pretty child. Her demeanor is more Alfred E. Neuman than anything else. Her smile is wide and real, but what you notice most—after her seismic optimism—is that she has only one tooth on the top, one huge, white tooth, and it’s taking a detour, too, a hard right when it should be going straight. Even so, she thinks she is a fine-looking child, and who (she wonders) in their right mind wouldn’t agree? She’s vulnerable, open, engaged with the world, a lively (if ingenuous) presence. When I catch a glimpse of myself on a bad day, not looking the way I wish, rather than turn away from my reflection in disappointment or even disgust, I keep looking till I can see that child, that happy girl who knew that, in spite of her freckles and skinny arms and foolish, scrappy smile, she was beautiful enough. Can you see that innocent kid in yourself? Once you do, you will see her in everyone. Because real beauty isn’t about symmetry or weight or makeup; it’s about looking life right in the face and seeing all its magnificence reflected in your own.

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Inner Beauty: The Shining

You know it when you see it, but it's difficult to describe: inner beauty. It transcends the impression of a woman's physical traits. Feature by feature there may be nothing special about her—she may even be plain—but something about her attracts you in the most profound way. Something radiates from within.

What is it?

"You're responding to empathy, compassion, an openness to others," says Matthieu Ricard, former genetic researcher, now Buddhist monk and author of Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life's Most important Skill (noted in Reading Room, page 218). "You see it on someone's face when she feels in harmony with our deepest nature as human beings, which is basically peaceful and loving."

But how does that harmony manifest itself physically? Through subtle expressions, says Ricard, which we pick up both consciously and unconsciously. Hundreds of almost imperceptible muscular movements constantly communicate our feelings. Think of how a classically beautiful face changes when it's transformed by contempt; less beautiful, right? Maybe even ugly? Unconditional love transforms a face, too, says Ricard. We identify with that look, it brings up in us a yearning to be loved and to be loving; and it reminds us of the best we can be, which we may have forgotten or sublimated. And so, inspired, we wind up looking out at the world through more loving eyes, passing the harmony along. That's the thing about inner beauty: Unlike physical beauty, which grabs the spotlight for itself, inner beauty shines on everyone, catching them, holding them in its embrace, making them more beautiful, too.

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Stop Right There!

Five Things You Should Never Do If You Want to Feel Beautiful

1. Don't use a magnifying mirror, except for tweezing your brows. If you've ever studied your face in one, you probably don't need an explanation as to why it's not a great idea. But Francesca Fusco, MD, assistant clinical professor of dermatology at Mt. Sinai Medical Center in New York City, offers a few good reasons. A magnifier will make you focus on things that can't be seen with the naked eye, so what's the point of knowing they're there? Also, because everything on your face looks wildly out of proportion in a magnifying mirror, you may get inappropriate ideas about what you actually need. For example, a woman focusing on the little lines above her upper lip might say "Supersize me" to the doctor holding the collagen. (And that, O Best Beloved, is how the lady got her trout lips.)

2. Don't use fluorescent lightbulbs around the bathroom mirror. They emit a flat, white, harsh light that makes everyone look as if she were sick. Better: halogen bulbs with a glass frost filter—MR16 are good ones, says New York City lighting designer Ira Levy, because they emit a clean, even light. In general, the prettiest, most flattering light is warm, incandescent, and dimmable.

3. Don't participate in any kind of skin analysis that involves a machine. By using a probe on your face, these devices (often found in department stores) measure pore size, oil levels, dryness, the number and depth of wrinkles, etc., and give you a printed readout, including bar graphs, on the condition of your skin. For some reason—could it have to do with marketing?—the news is never "Nothing could possibly enhance your flawless complexion."

4. Avoid being lit from below—unless you want to scare the heck out of your kids. You know those little canisters of lights that sit on the floor and shine up into a room? Move away from them. Light, in nature, comes from above, and so we're accustomed to seeing the world this way, points out Stephen Dantzig, author of Lighting Techniques for Fashion and Glamour Photography. But light that's shining directly down on your face can be equally unflattering (which is why it's imperative to inform the paparazzi that you must not be photographed outside at high noon on a sunny day). Balanced lighting—for example, one ceiling light directly centered over the bathroom sink and one on either side—will eliminate unflattering shadows, says Levy.

5. Don't compare yourself to women you see in magazines or movies. If you had 15 handlers making sure your hair and makeup were perfect, you'd look pretty glamorous, too.