In the world of modeling, beauty standards often dictate how models should look. But Rada Prelevic is proving that embracing what makes you different can be your greatest strength. The 18-year-old model, known as Rada Viic on social media, has captured the world’s attention—not just for her talent, but for a unique feature that sets her apart: a hairy birthmark right in the middle of her forehead.
Despite receiving constant criticism and calls to remove it, Rada refuses to conform. Instead, she proudly embraces her unconventional beauty and responds to negativity with grace, confidence, and unwavering self-love.
She Went Viral for Her Unique Look
Rada’s one-of-a-kind appearance quickly made her a social media sensation. With thousands of followers, she stands out in the modeling industry not just for her striking beauty, but for her confidence in owning her natural features.
Her hairy birthmark, which extends from her forehead in long strands, has sparked endless debates online. Some are fascinated by her rare genetic trait, while others flood her comments with harsh criticism, rude remarks, and demands to shave it off.
But instead of hiding or apologizing for her uniqueness, Rada took to social media to address her haters head-on.
In a candid video, she firmly declared:
“I love my hair. I won’t shave it. Why does it bother so many people?”
Her words struck a chord with many who have felt pressured to conform to unrealistic beauty standards.
She Was Born With It—And Owns It With Pride
Rada’s distinctive feature isn’t a fashion statement or an attention-seeking gimmick—it’s something she was born with.
Originally from Serbia, Rada has lived in Oslo, Norway, since she was five years old. In one of her videos, she explained that her forehead hair is part of a birthmark, and there’s no medical explanation for why it grew in such a unique way.
Instead of viewing it as a flaw, she has learned to embrace it as a special part of who she is.
She Shuts Down Haters With Style and Confidence
Not everyone understands why Rada refuses to remove her forehead hair. Some people react with genuine curiosity, while others attack her appearance out of ignorance or cruelty.
Negative comments like:
- “I wanna cut it off so bad.”
- “This is just for attention.”
- “It doesn’t have to be there.”
…have flooded her posts, but Rada never lets them break her confidence.
Instead of engaging in negativity, she responds with grace, wit, and self-assurance.
At the same time, she has gained a loyal following of supporters who admire her fearlessness and celebrate her unique beauty.
One fan wrote:
“You are my number one idol from today on!”
Another commented:
“You’re proof that true beauty is about confidence, not perfection.”
Her Hair Has Boosted Her Modeling Career
What some people call “weird”, the fashion industry calls “iconic”.
Rada’s hairy birthmark has become her signature feature, making her stand out in an industry that’s always looking for the next big thing.
Instead of trying to fit into conventional beauty norms, Rada leans into her uniqueness, and top fashion magazines, designers, and photographers love her for it.
Her rare look sets her apart from other models, giving her an edge that many professionals find intriguing and unforgettable.
She Won’t Change for Anyone—Not Even for Love
Rada’s self-confidence isn’t limited to just her career—it extends to her personal life as well.
In matters of love and relationships, she has made one thing clear:
She will never change herself for someone else’s approval.
She has openly stated that she would never date someone who doesn’t fully accept her for who she is.
For Rada, authenticity is non-negotiable—whether it’s in the fashion industry, her personal life, or the way she carries herself every day.
A Symbol of Self-Acceptance and Individuality
Rada Prelevic’s story is a powerful reminder that beauty isn’t about fitting in—it’s about standing out and embracing who you truly are.
Her ability to handle criticism with confidence, turn hate into empowerment, and use her uniqueness to build a thriving career is inspiring millions around the world.
She’s proving that being different is not just okay—it’s extraordinary.
My Neighbor Poured Cement over My Flower Garden Because the Bees Annoyed Him—He Never Expected Payback from the ‘Sweet Old Lady’ Next Door
Mark moved in with a scowl and a lawnmower that ran with military precision. His neighbor offered him honey and a chance at neighborly peace, but he responded with silence, contempt, and eventually, cement. This is a story about resilience, revenge, and the sting of underestimating kind people.
Neighbors come in all kinds. If you’re lucky, they’re warm or at least quietly distant. But when you’re not, they slice through your happiness, flatten your joy, and shrink the world around you—one complaint, one glare, one tightly coiled burst of anger at a time.
I’m 70 years old, and a mother of two, a son, David, and, a daughter, Sarah. I am also a grandmother of five and the proud owner of a home I’ve loved for the past twenty-five years.
A grandmother’s home and her neighbor’s separated with a flower gardens | Source: Midjourney
Back then when I moved in, the yards blended into each other, no fences, no fuss. Just lavender, lazy bees, and the occasional borrowed rake. We used to wave from porches and share zucchini we didn’t ask to grow.
I raised my two kids here. Planted every rose bush with my bare hands and named the sunflowers. I have also watched the birds build their clumsy nests and leave peanuts out for the squirrels I pretended not to like.
A grandmother tending to a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
Then last year, my haven turned into a nightmare because he moved in. His name is Mark, a 40-something who wore sunglasses even on cloudy days and mowed his lawn in dead-straight rows as if preparing for a military inspection.
He came with his twin sons, Caleb and Jonah, 15. The boys were kind and jovial, quick with a wave, and always polite, but they were rarely around. Mark shared custody with their mother, Rhoda, and the boys spent most of their time at her place — a quieter, warmer home, I imagined.
A man with his twin sons stand infront of their house | Source: Midjourney
I tried to see if Mark had the same warmth, but he didn’t. He didn’t wave, didn’t smile, and seemed to hate everything that breathed, something I learned during one of our first confrontations.
“Those bees are a nuisance. You shouldn’t be attracting pests like that,” he would snap from across the fence while mowing his lawn, his voice laced with disdain.
Bees buzzing on a grandmother’s flower garden | Source: Midjourney
I tried to be kind, so I asked if he had an allergy. He looked at me, actually looked through me, and said, “No, but I don’t need to have an allergy to hate those little parasites.”
That was the moment I knew that this wasn’t about bees. This man simply hated life, especially when it came in colors, and moved without asking permission.
A grandmother and man arguing by a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
I still tried, though. One day, I walked over to his door with the jar of honey in hand and said, “Hey, I thought you might like some of this. I can also cut back the flowers near the property line if they’re bothering you.”
Before I could even finish my sentence, he shut the door in my face. No words, just a quick slam.
So, when I opened my back door one morning and saw my entire flower bed, my sanctuary, drowned under a slab of wet, setting cement, I didn’t scream. I just stood there in my slippers, coffee cooling in my hand, the air thick with the bitter, dusty stink of cement and spite.
Flower bed drowned under a slab of wet, setting cement | Source: Midjourney
After calming down, I called out “Mark, what did you do to my garden?”
He looked me up and down, sizing me up with that all-too-familiar smirk as he’d already decided I was nothing more than a nuisance. “I’ve complained about the bees enough. Thought I’d finally do something about it,” he shot back.
I crossed my arms, feeling the weight of his dismissal, the nerve of it all. “You really think I’m just going to cry and let this slide?” I asked, letting the challenge hang in the air.
An angry grandmother | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, his sunglasses hiding whatever amusement he felt. “You’re old, soft, harmless. What’s a few bees and flowers to someone like you who won’t be here much longer?”
I turned and walked back to my house without another word, letting him believe he had won the battle. But as I stepped inside, I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Here’s the thing Mark didn’t know: I’ve survived childbirth, menopause, and three decades of PTA meetings. I know how to play the long game.
A grandmother plotting revenge | Source: Freepik
First, I went to the police, who confirmed that what he did was a crime, a clear case of property damage, and that if handled by the book, he could be charged.
Then came the quiet satisfaction of reporting his oversized, permitless shed to the city authorities. The one he built right on the property line, bragging to Kyle next door about “skipping the red tape.”
Well, the inspector didn’t skip as he measured, and guess what? The shed was two feet over, on my side. He had thirty days to tear it down and he ignored it but then came the fines.
A shed in a garden | Source: Midjourney
Eventually, a city crew in bright vests showed up with a slow but deliberate swing of sledgehammers against the wood. It was methodical, almost poetic as the shed came down. And the bill? Let’s just say karma came with interest. But I wasn’t finished.
I filed in small claims court, armed with a binder so thick and organized it could’ve earned its own library card as it contained photos, receipts, and even dated notes on the garden’s progress.
Well-arranged documents | Source: Freepik
I wasn’t just angry; I was prepared. When the court day came, he showed up empty-handed and scowling. I, on the other hand, had evidence and righteous fury.
The judge ruled in my favor. Naturally. He was ordered to undo the damage: jackhammer out the cement slab, haul in fresh soil, and replant every last flower — roses, sunflowers, lavender — exactly as they had been.
A man working in a flower garden | Source: Midjourney
Watching him fulfill that sentence was a kind of justice no gavel could match. July sun blazing, shirt soaked in sweat, dirt streaking his arms, and a court-appointed monitor standing by, clipboard in hand, checking his work like a hawk.
I didn’t lift a finger. Just watched from my porch, lemonade in hand, while karma did its slow, gritty work.
A grandmother enjoying her lemonade | Source: Midjourney
Then the bees came back. And not just a few — the local beekeeping association was thrilled to support a pollinator haven. They helped install two bustling hives in my yard, and the city even chipped in a grant to support it.
By mid-July, the yard was alive again, buzzing, blooming, and vibrant. Sunflowers leaned over the fence like curious neighbors, petals whispering secrets. And those bees? They took a particular interest in Mark’s yard, drawn to the sugary soda cans and garbage he always forgot to cover.
Bees buzzing in a sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney A grandmother working in her sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney
Every time he came out, swatting and muttering, the bees swarmed just close enough to remind him. I’d watch from my rocking chair, all innocence and smiles.
Just a sweet old lady, right? The kind who plants flowers, tends to bees, and doesn’t forget.
A grandmother working in her sunflower garden | Source: Midjourney
What can you learn from Mark on how not to treat your neighbors?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.
After her divorce, Hayley pours her heart into the perfect lawn, until her entitled neighbor starts driving over it like it’s a shortcut to nowhere. What begins as a petty turf war turns into something deeper: a fierce, funny, and satisfying reclamation of boundaries, dignity, and self-worth.
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