I was ten years old when I first traveled to Europe. It was the first time I found myself in a country where everything was different. I can hardly articulate the excitement I felt on the plane. All I had dreamed of was seeing the Eiffel Tower. And I did. Only to find myself bored by it within five minutes.

It was Christmastime: cold, windy, and full of life. I still vividly remember wandering the streets of Paris, wide-eyed, stunned by the beauty of the city. I hadn’t known humans were capable of building such beauty. It was unlike anything I’d seen growing up. Looking back, I think my love of aesthetics began on this trip to Paris. But I didn't expect the moment that would change me forever to come in a place I didn’t even want to visit.

When my family told me we would spend an entire day inside the Louvre, I wasn’t thrilled. I felt a resentment building up. There was so much to see outside! Glowing Christmas markets, lights, buildings, parks... I didn’t want to waste THE WHOLE DAY indoors. We only had so much days in Paris anyways...

But all of that faded when I saw her. I was in awe.

At the top of the staircase, she stood: armless, headless, utterly breathtaking. It was love at first sight. She was unlike anything I had ever seen. Not just beautiful, but transcendent.

I didn't want to imagine her as a 'whole'. She was magnificent as she is. I still believe that if she were whole, she would be less moving. There's something achingly human in her brokenness. It makes her feel real-like us. She still looks like a goddess. Noble, otherworldly. Her wings feel natural, as though they truly belonged to a body. Hellenistic statues always awe me with their realism, I never find myself questioning the existence of gods.

The twist of her torso, the forward lean of her body, the subtle tension in her stance... I love every detail of this masterpiece. What is the most interesting to me is her wings aren’t outstretched in full glory. They’re in motion. She appears to be gracefully landing. There’s nothing rigid in her posture. It’s not the sharp, triumphant stance one might expect from a symbol of victory. She is fluid, serene, assured. There is no arrogance, only grace. Her presence does not demand anything. It offers calmness. She is the most dead thing, a stone, and alive.

She is Nike, the goddess of Victory. The messenger of triumphs granted by the gods. Eighteen feet tall. Dramatic in scale, and in spirit. She was discovered on the island of Samothrace in the northern Aegean. In pieces. She is thought to have been created during the Hellenistic period(after the death of Alexander the Great). Other than this we know so little about her. Who commissioned her? What victory does she commemorate? Where are her arms, her head?

Her mystery only deepens her power.

Seeing a broken female statue in the entrance of Louvre changed something deeply in me. I found a new understanding of my own femininity at the fragile age of 10. One rooted not in perfection, but in presence. The Nike of Samothrace became my definition of beauty. Not asking for attention. 'Flawed'. Graceful in her strength. She taught me that perfection was never the point.