It was God who made me so beautiful. If I weren't, then I'd be a

Linda Evangelista, one of the most renowned supermodels of her time, once declared: “It was God who made me so beautiful. If I weren’t, then I’d be a teacher.” At first hearing, her words may sound light, even playful, but beneath them rests a profound truth about destiny, gifts, and the way in which each soul is shaped for its path. She acknowledges her beauty not as her own achievement, but as something bestowed, a gift from God. And yet she also speaks of the teacher, as though in another life, had this gift not been hers, she would have chosen the noble path of shaping minds rather than dazzling the eyes.

The ancients understood this division of gifts well. The Greeks told of the Muses, each one bestowing a different art: poetry, music, history, dance. To some they gave eloquence, to others wisdom, to others beauty. Evangelista’s words reflect this ancient idea: that the powers and talents of each person are not self-made but divinely appointed. One may be born with the grace of physical beauty, another with the strength to instruct, another with the vision to build or heal. In every case, the gift comes from above, and the task of the mortal is to use it with honor.

Her quote also hints at the strange hierarchy of gifts in our world. In her time, the gift of beauty placed her before the eyes of millions, made her name known across nations, and gave her wealth and fame. Yet the path of the teacher, though humbler and hidden, is no less sacred. Indeed, in many ways, it is greater, for while beauty fades, the wisdom imparted by a teacher endures in the minds of generations. Thus, Evangelista’s words, though spoken with wit, reflect the paradox of life: the glamorous gift is not always the highest one, and the quieter callings often carry the deepest power.

Consider the story of Hypatia of Alexandria, the philosopher and teacher of the ancient world. She had no stage of glamour, no wealth drawn from her appearance. Yet her students carried her teachings across centuries, and her name is remembered even when countless rulers and beauties have been forgotten. Evangelista reminds us, perhaps unintentionally, that while she was chosen for beauty, others are chosen for teaching — and that both paths are forms of service, though in very different ways.

The meaning of her words is also about acceptance. She does not lament her path nor exalt it beyond measure; she simply states that this is the lot God has given her. In this, there is humility, for she recognizes her beauty as a gift, not as something earned. And she honors the teacher, placing that path as the alternative destiny, as though saying: if not for beauty, then wisdom; if not for fame, then service. Both are honorable, both are divine callings, but each belongs to different souls.

The lesson for us is to recognize our own gifts, whatever they may be. Not all are given beauty, not all are given the voice of a singer or the mind of a scholar. But all are given something: a spark of talent, a strength of character, an ability to serve. The task of life is not to envy another’s portion but to cultivate one’s own, and to use it for the good of others. For beauty can inspire, but so can wisdom; teaching can transform, even if it does not shine on the covers of magazines.

Practically, this means embracing gratitude for the talents you have and humility in how you use them. If you are given beauty, do not waste it in vanity, but let it become an art that uplifts. If you are given knowledge, teach. If you are given compassion, heal. If you are given strength, protect. And always honor those whose gifts differ from yours, for the world requires every gift in harmony.

Thus, Linda Evangelista’s playful yet striking words endure: “It was God who made me so beautiful. If I weren’t, then I’d be a teacher.” They remind us that our gifts are not our own making, but divine endowments. Whether they place us on the stage or in the classroom, whether they dazzle the eye or enlighten the mind, they are to be used with purpose. And the true measure of life is not which gift we were given, but whether we used it well.