Not to sound freaky, but I love people with scars. To me, it indicates two things:
The bearer of the scar is a human being, and therefore imperfect, and therefore, to me at least, infinitely more loveable and interesting
Confident enough in themselves not to attempt to hide their imperfections
Scars tell a story- even “boring” ones like stretch marks. They are the history of your life written on your skin. Painful scars like those from accidents, silly scars like those from doing dumb stuff, scary but good scars like those from heart surgery, endearing scars like those from childhood falls. I love people who are imperfect in noticeable ways. It makes them ever so much more interesting to me than people with flawless skin and perfect bodies. It makes them unique, in a way that just one’s features alone never can. People who’ve had their noses broken, kids with an obviously cleft palate, and people with strange unexplained scars on their forearms- these people obviously have a story, good or bad, painful or not, and it’s this story, which touched them enough to leave a mark on their skin, that fascinates me.
I don’t mind scars on either sex, they tell stories about what the person has gone through.
My friend broke her nose when she was younger and also had a small scar above her nose… she was really self concious of both and could never see herself as pretty. If only she knew, I had her picture at home and any guys who saw her would just stop dead in their tracks and stare… she was that drop dead gorgeous and I always thought her nose was lovely the way it was.
She eventually got her nose fixed and she was still drop dead gorgeous but… I missed the old nose. She was happier and that’s what was really important.
I have scars from various mishaps but am so pale they are hard to see until I get what passes for a tan, then they stand out. The one on my left wrist also looks like a suicide attempt gone wrong but it is getting so old it’s nearly invisible even when I’m tanned.
I love scars. I’m proud of most of mine, and they are great conversation pieces. Sure, there are a few that have stories I’d rather forget due to embarassment etc., but I’ve always been of the if you can’t laugh at yourself you can’t laugh at all school of thought.
I have one over my right eyebrow from a rollerblading accident a few years ago that took 12 stitches to close. It’s not all that noticible now, but for a few months after the accident, I couldn’t move my eyebrow up or down more than a couple of millimeters due to some minor nerve damage. That one had me scared for a while, but I trusted my dr. that it would get better. It was really cool looking while still pink, since it ran almost exactly parallel to the eyebrow itself.
I find scars interesting, and think they add character. I agree with Broomstick in that I have found the more massive scars and stuff a bit disturbing due to the pain the bearer must have suffered. But I never look at them and say , “Eww!”
If you DO have large and/or noticable scars, would you find it offensive if someone asked what happened to cause them?
Most scars are interesting or even cool, but I can see why others (big, “ugly”, in weird places) can disturb some people. A guy I knew grew a beard most of the time because it grew down under his chin, and covered up the long scar he had from when someone tried to cut his throat. He was a big guy and thought (probably with some truth behind the impression) that it made him look too scary, which wasn’t what he usually wanted people to think.
My husband has a cool one on his head, under his hair, from a childhood fall; when he gets his hair cut short, it shows up because it parts the hair slightly. I have a lot of scars on my legs that are still from childhood bicycle falls and so on, not to mention more recent ones (my sister and I scar easily).
I knew a handsome guy in college who had a slim scar under one of his eyes, and I thought it looked neat. Joaquin Phoenix was mentioned earlier; even though his is on his upper lip, I think it doesn’t detract at all from his looks, and is interesting too.
The ones on my fist, which I got by inserting my right hand into a car windscreen, I find quite interesting. The one on my mother’s leg (which she got by falling off a motorbike) I find difficult to look at. Almost (but not quite) repulsive. The one on my dad’s ankle (which he got by falling off the same motorbike, at the same time) I also find difficult to look at and almost repulsive.
I guess the answer is - I like my own, but not other people’s.