Beyond Beauty

A Refugee’s Journey in Pursuit of Happiness

FERIAL YOUAKIM

Copyright © 2017 Ferial Youakim

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-71738-851-3 (Paperback)

Printed in the United States of America

First and foremost, I thank my Lord for all the blessings that he has given me.

I dedicate this book to the two most important men in my life:

My father, Bishara, who revealed to me that beauty does come from within.

My husband, my habibi, Nabeel, who continues, every day and year, to demonstrate what love is capable of and how it can transform so many lives.

I love you both.

Acknowledgments

Preface

Refugee

Samaritan

A House Divided

Twice Removed

The Riddle

O Lebanon, My Lebanon

The Curve in Learning

A New World

A House Reunited

Beyond Beauty

Breaking Bad Habits

The Complete Image

Turning Fifty

Sisters of the Sash

Conclusion

About Ferial Youakim

About ByFerial

About Mum’s On A Mission

Praise for Ferial Youakim

About the Author

Acknowledgments

SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE BLESSED me with their generosity in bringing this book into existence. I have been encouraged and humbled by their kindness, from reading drafts, suggesting revisions, and reviewing copies.

My heartfelt thanks to my beta readers: Keith Anderson, Courtney Bogdan, Samyama Gates, Susan Ostrem, Soraya Raju, Stephanie Reise, Stech Joyce, Frank Stuart, Jonathan Ware, Deb Well, and Elizabeth Weinstein.

I’m grateful for the love and support of my three beautiful children: Georgette, George, Phillip, and my magnificent son-in-law, Luke, whom I love as a son, for making me feel beautiful. My children stood with me from day one in a new line of work, picked up the pieces when I couldn’t, and amazed me with their strength of character and compassion.

Thank you to Gabriel Valjan for his excellent editorial advice and encouragement in this journey.

I am indebted to Amanda MacMaster of MacManda Media for her continued passion and support in promoting and marketing this book.

I love you all, and thank you.

Preface

MY NAME IS FERIAL YOUAKIM. I don’t make people feel beautiful because I am an image consultant. I remind them of their beauty.

Simple statement: you are a masterpiece of creation. The mere act of walking, holding this book, reading this page requires millions of actions and reactions, chemical and electrical. Sensors in your feet send hundreds of thousands of messages to your brain so that you remain upright. Your brain, on receipt of that information, has sent just as many replies while you stand there and read this very sentence. Photoreceptors in the retina of your eyes, which give your eyes their color, translate wavelengths of light into color so you can see the font on the page. Another complex mechanism within your head, which is unique to you, enables you to read words, translate them from marks on a page to meaning just as fast as a computer. You are a living organism of exclusive singularity. There is nobody exactly like you, even if you have an identical twin. We are all different. You breathe air and feel hot and cold like no other. You have emotions. You have a personality. Is that not extraordinary? You are alive. Is that not magnificent?

A curious thing happens when some women hear, “You are beautiful.” Some will smile. There are women who do feel beautiful. They exude it; they are vibrant, confident, and determined. They work hard to improve themselves. They exercise. They eat well. They mentor other women and pursue academic degrees and professional certifications to advance their careers. They are ambitious.

Then, there are the other women. They hesitate. They’ll smile at first, but then, their faces will register consternation, doubt. They may have done everything their peers have done, but something has happened to them in life, something that has left them skeptical. I see it in their eyes, in their body language: mistrust has set in like insidious ivy. The walls have been built, and this ivy has climbed in, blended in, and then one day, without any thought, has become accepted as part of the scenery.

I can see it when they look down or away from me. Their humiliation is that not only were they knocked down, but also they wanted to stay down, if only to recover, as if they were a boxer in the ring. They second-guess their abilities and their appearance.

I know that look because I was once one of them. There were events—yes, difficult times in my life—but even after I had made peace with them, even after I had formed a successful company and a charity, I felt insecure. Let me say it again:

You are beautiful.

Do you believe it, or is there resistance, a momentary distrust? Yes, or sometimes, it depends. Perhaps you are one of the women from that first group or one from the second group. Perhaps the fitness “thing” is a source of empowerment, but there is uncertainty. Sometimes no matter how much you diet and exercise, you still do not feel comfortable in your own skin and do not feel beautiful. Perhaps you are in the middle of the row, uncertain, not sure.

You have watched popular makeover shows, but concluded that that girl isn’t quite you. Pop lyrics speak to your state of mind and internal dialogue. Life, love, and a whole bunch of other mishaps along the way don’t help, but you bounced back, for the most part. You realized that you are not that bad off or hopeless. You did all right. You have personality and a little panache. You tell yourself that you are fit, pretty in a particular dress, that you can color-coordinate your clothes, that your hair is not a public hazard, and that your makeup does not cause raccoons to have an existential crisis.

That is okay. You may have glanced at the sleeve, perused my biographical sketch, looked at the photograph of me, and mumbled to yourself, “Easy for you to say. You’re beautiful. What’s your name again?”

My name is Ferial Youakim. I am the founder of ByFerial, an image-consulting firm. I created a color system called 4×4 Color Analysis 16 Seasons™. I have helped thousands of people around the world with their self-image, from the United Arab Emirates to my hometown of Sydney, Australia, to cities all around Asia, Europe, and the United States. “Image consultant?” you ask. “What is that?”

An image consultant is a stylist who assists a client with fashion and makeup appropriate to their body shape and their budget in order to create the best professional and personal result. An image consultant also teaches communication, body language, and etiquette so a client can achieve the best impression in any situation, while remaining true to their personality.

I have heard a recurring theme in the stories from women around the world. The versions I have heard have varied some: I am homely, my arms are too long, my bum is big, my hips are monstrous, I have a terrible complexion, my body has never been the same since I had children, there are no clothes that fit my figure, fashion designers around the world and the racks in department stores have conspired against me. I have seen the worn expressions, the looks of defeat. Then, the words will change, and I’m offered a brief smile, a polite apology to excuse the momentary lapse.

Listen carefully: you, standing there, are already a masterpiece of creation.

You shake your head; perhaps you’re thinking that what you have just read is all very posh and rubbish, about as practical as a campfire on the beach at high tide. You might say, “That’s all very nice and pleasant, Ferial, but there is the real world,” or “You don’t know my circumstances, my particular details.” You are right. I don’t know. And what of the real world? We are in this together.

Each of us has a story, and some of us, who appear to have it all, have had difficult journeys, while others have had a charmed existence, but I would shout it from the rooftops if I could—that if I can make it, so can you. The “it” of course is specific to you and is yours to determine. The “it” for me has been to help others feel better about themselves, give them the tools to chart their journey from the helm with confidence so they can maintain their course.

The long view, the hoped-for destination, is a better world that starts with changing one life.

Beauty is not about creating illusion and deception. True, there are tricks of the trade, where the use of color, the choice of fabric, and a strategic cut can draw the eyes away from imperfections, but that is not this book. There are many affordable books and guides out there on what not to wear, written by capable authors, but nothing will make you feel beautiful if you don’t feel it from the inside. Nothing. The pride that you felt after scoring a smart piece of your wardrobe at a bargain sale will fade fast, disappear to the back of your closet to be forgotten, along with all the other casualties of past shopping expeditions. There are no quick-fix solutions if your mind is at war with your body.

I struggled with my sense of self. I doubted myself, in every sense of the word. The odds were against me, for reasons I will explain soon. I have written this book because often, after I have spoken at my seminars and mentioned specific details and incidents drawn from my life for illustrative purposes for some salient point at hand, someone would always approach me and tell me that my story needs to be told, if not for others, then for my family as a legacy. The first few times this happened, I would have a momentary twinge of doubt, thinking to myself that to do such a thing would come across as egotistical, but now that my children are adults, and both my business and my charity, Mum’s On A Mission, are sound, the time is right. I should tell my story. As a mother, as a parent, I believe that we demonstrate our character by example.

Before I started ByFerial in 2002, before I conducted hundreds of image-consultant training sessions and seminars, I had worked in a bridal boutique and, later, at a makeup counter. I had been promoted, given business awards and recognition. My job was to help brides and bridal parties select their dresses. I would also suggest makeup and coordinate the necessary logistics for weddings. I learned that I had an eye for color and for style, but more importantly, I listened and overheard conversations. I detected a disturbing trend.

A woman in front of a mirror will zero in on a flaw in the reflection without fail. I understand that their wedding day is an important day in their lives, but this observation is not exclusive to wedding dresses. Women will belittle and berate themselves, sometimes in silence, sometimes out loud. They apologize, sometimes joke, and agonize. If and when they seem satisfied with what they see, they’ll seek reassurance with, “Are you sure?”

I have interacted with women of all sizes and shapes from all corners of the globe, and I can tell you that this dissatisfaction with physical appearance is epidemic. No wonder we have eating disorders such as anorexia nervosa and bulimia. Although these illnesses have been reported in boys, the overwhelming statistics indicate that it is most often found in young girls and women, regardless of race, religion, and income.

I should make a comment about men. Here is the difference between men and women: men accept their imperfections and carry on. Women do not permit themselves that option. Image for men is somewhat simplified because fashion choices are more limited in comparison. The ancestor of the modern business suit for men, particularly the double-breasted suit, is medieval armor. The modern necktie is descended from the cravat, which was worn in battle to identify mercenaries from regular troops. The point is that men dress for business during the week and in casual clothes for relaxation on the weekend. Women do not.

Women are always vigilant, always aware that they are held to a standard. 24/7/365. Women will decide what to wear for the day, which means choices in clothes, shoes, and makeup, calibrated to the social situation—business, friends, or romance. Evening may involve yet another change for casual dining or dinner out or guests entertained at home. Sleep is potentially sleepless, fraught with yet more decisions, because there are choices in intimate apparel.

Low self-esteem is the tenacious weed in the garden. I’ve seen countless beautiful women subject themselves to negative self-talk. Do not think that this behavior discriminates, that it is the province of what magazines call plus-sized women or petites or the tall and large. I have read confounding statements in popular magazines by beautiful actresses who dislike aspects of their appearance. Some successful corporate women I have met think they are impostors, but the world has not found them out.

All this disturbs me, and I want to change it because there was a time when I felt like these women. I saw myself as they see themselves in the mirror. It troubles me as a woman, as a successful businesswoman, as a mother of three children, and as a wife who has been married to a wonderful man for three decades, that anybody should not accept themselves for the masterpiece they are. Nobody should be denied his or her birthright: to feel authentic and attractive.

At first, I didn’t have a word for why the low self-esteem. I don’t think that it is so obvious as it seems. It’s too convenient to blame it all on culture and the media. A conversation with a nurse friend of mine gave me the insight I needed. He had been explaining to me what a contracture is, a condition he witnessed in the elderly. A contracture, he said, is a permanent shortening of the muscle or joint. This happens with misuse, often because a person experiences an injury—such as a fracture, but doesn’t know it—and they develop habits to avoid pain. Over time, the fascia, ligaments, tendons, and related tissues become tight, and the affected area becomes frozen. If the situation is not remedied with exercise or stretching, movement is compromised and lost, with invasive surgery the only recourse. I had my metaphor. In pain, in fear of rejection, or diminished confidence, we contract and wilt, avoid the positive affirming light.

Women are wounded and often don’t know it. Their sense of self is not of beauty, but of a scar, some inexplicable injury they acquired, but it has not healed properly, and there is a rigid callus in its place. My husband, who is in the software business, describes it in another way. He points to the recursive function: that piece of code that invokes itself and spits out data forever and forever. Is that not what negative self-talk and poor self-esteem do? The effect is a vortex, a downward spiral. Am I pretty? Am I smart enough? Will they find out that I am a fraud? The questions are endless. It is garbage in and garbage out. In the end, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

A good habit is a good thing, but a bad habit is toxic. The things we do to ourselves. I have seen it happen time and time again. I wish to put an end to it. My emphasis has been and always will be on the person you are, the person you are inside. You do not dress to feel better about yourself. Rather, you dress to reflect what is within you; the harmony is in the match between color and mood, between what is inside and outside.

We live in a world of images, of ready-made solutions and take-away creations, where fast-moving currents of cyberspace bring in urgent news along with lots of mindless nonsense. The trivial is sometimes magnified, and important matters are reduced if not dismissed outright as insignificant and irrelevant, replaced by the next buzzword or meme. Cosmetology and fashion are multibillion-dollar industries. There is no need for hundreds of hats and shoes, and row after row of blouses, jackets, and suits, when a few select high-quality choices that fit your budget will suffice.

Fashion, as does any business, has its prepackaged looks, retailed like paint-by-numbers paintings. This is formula, with a pretense to style. Seasons come and go, colors bubble up and then fade, hems fly north, migrate south, and lapels and shoulders narrow or widen. A woman’s self-esteem, her insecurities are kept on a low flame of steady anxiety, while her wallet is lightened. Through a proprietary color system that I developed, I help women understand their color palette and seasonal type in order to create a presentation that is harmonious with her skin tone and personality. That is one small step in empowerment because she is no longer a hostage to marketing campaigns.

What I teach is that style is personal, affordable, and reasonable, and that your personality is as unique as your thumbprint. Fads are nothing more than the karmic cycle of death and rebirth. Style, however, is timeless. Beauty is not elusive, amorphous, and mystical. You already have the major ingredient: you.

I know that not all women feel ugly, but that glance over the shoulder, the interrogation of the image reflected back at them from the mirror bother me because it tells me that they think they are in need of revision, have some problem area to correct, even if just a little. Beauty is none of those things.

Beauty is none of these things. Full stop.

It may shock some readers, but a great portion of my training seminars is focused on etiquette, specifically the lost art of manners. Now, I know that to most readers, this may conjure up a mental picture of Victorian ladies, place settings, and knowing the correct arrangement of knives and forks on the table, the when and how to use such utensils, or an absurdly comic image might come to mind, that of young ladies practicing comportment with books balanced on their heads. No, not that. Posture is important, yes, but the way we speak, the tone, and the body language we use are far more important. We are courteous to each other because good manners convey respect for self and others.

Etiquette is expression; it is deliberate action. There is no denying that first impressions are critical, and clothes do play a part, but consistent behavior implies integrity, and integrity suggests character. In my seminars, I emphasize that in today’s world, some people may stop with image alone, see it or not see it, care or not care, but they will always remember behavior. We may be humbled to know that a man who has looks and success suffers from depression. Appearance in his case conceals the tumult beneath the exterior, but see such a man spit in public, and our esteem for him suffers. Appearances have not salvaged the man. We may differ in our beliefs, our politics, and in other areas of life, but there is never any excuse for being rude and uncivil. Never.

You may think what you have just read is self-evident, even simplistic. It isn’t. Every year, hundreds of men and women seek me out; they attend my training seminars. An incredible responsibility is entrusted to us at ByFerial when clients come to us. I dislike the word “makeover” because it strikes me as nothing more than a temporary fix. Unfortunately, I have come to understand that this is what people think image consulting is, as if the client is on parole, and I am responsible for the client’s reintegration into society. Image consulting is not that kind of rehabilitation. I work on the outside, yes, but the real work is internal.

Change is not easy. I speak to the importance of breaking bad habits. Human beings resist change. Mental habits must be broken because they poison the body, mind, and the spirit. Bad habits are especially insidious because, as much as they are harmful, they provide comfort, a familiar place and feeling.

Life does get ugly at times, but it is imperative not to lose the total beauty of your humanity, inside and out. Pain is real. It can leave scars, but pain is instructive and therapeutic. I learned this firsthand when I attended a class on public speaking. At ByFerial, we teach voice, the art of speech for every occasion. After hours of instruction and skills taught and learned, I had my final test, which was to speak about something personal and private, something difficult. The experience was cathartic. I will tell you about that experience.

We should not shirk or shrink from the painful. There is darkness before there is light. The past is the past, and it can’t be changed, nor should it determine the future at the expense of the one precious thing we have: the present moment. There is no blame, no negativity; there is neither one nor the other precisely because you are beautiful, and I am here to remind you of that because it is a fact, a ferocious truth. By recognizing that you are beautiful, you will be able to journey beyond beauty and see once again, perhaps for the first time, what makes you unique, the unique brand of human being you are. For some, that recognition is a revelation.

I am Ferial Youakim.

I wish to tell you my story, of how, just as many other women, I didn’t always believe in myself; how, as a girl from a refugee camp in Lebanon, I found the beauty that was within.

Refugee

I USED TO LIVE IN A small corner of the city of Beirut, in a refugee camp called Mar Elias. It was smallest of the refugee camps. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNWRA) and other humanitarian organizations still rate it as the best of all the refugee camps in Lebanon.

My grandfather had left Haifa with the idea that he would return in a few weeks. He left behind two married daughters and their families. He had six children with him. My twelve-year-old father was one of them. My grandfather held my father’s hand when they both saw their home for the last time.

That was in 1948, and many more refugees would come into Lebanon that year. Palestinians refer to that year as the “the Catastrophe” or Nakba.

My grandfather carried his house keys in his pockets for the rest of his life. I have seen and read the deed to the house and property. My family had a home, but we had been locked out. We still have the keys. Grandfather and the children entered the refugee camp system and eventually settled in Mar Elias, which was exclusively a Christian Palestinian camp then.

Mar Elias was founded in 1952, and its very existence today, as is that of the other camps in Lebanon, proves that the situation was not momentary. Those of us in Mar Elias were the misplaced, the displaced, the castaways on what became a small island of poverty and despair. The affluent of Beirut surrounded us, as they lived and worked, moved about their lives, while we treaded water in place, stuck, maintaining hope amidst dust and deprivation.

Palestinian refugees, regardless of their religion or their camp, have no rights as citizens; they are stateless. I had travel papers once that stated that I was born in Lebanon, but I was not Lebanese. Palestinians are restricted from a variety of occupations. This list of prohibited jobs has grown smaller, but the figures still exist as denials in double digits. The pathway to higher education was blocked, either by policy or prohibitive costs. Self-determination in the camp was like a car without an ignition and the tires slashed.

The word “refugee” has the echo, to my ears, of “flee” in it, but a linguist friend of mine reminded me that the word originally meant “one who seeks shelter,” until the start of World War I, when the word came to mean “one fleeing home.” My family, just as so many others had at the time, had sought shelter in a storm, and the government and the people of Lebanon welcomed us. We had arrived believing that our stay would be only temporary; the Lebanese had thought the same, but history would prove otherwise. As I write this, a new wave of refugees is arriving, this time from Syria.