Even in children’s literature, we imply ugliness is either transient or deserved. Hans Christian Andersen wrestled with rejection from his peers as a child, most probably because of his large nose, effeminate ways, beautiful singing voice and love of theater; “The Ugly Duckling” is widely assumed to be the story of his own life. But the moral of that story was that a swan would emerge from the body of an outcast, and that you could not repress the nobility of a swan in a crowd of common ducks.

What if you just stay a duck?

Mr. Hoge tells us we don’t need to apply a sepia filter. “I’m happy to concede the point,” he says, “that some people look more aesthetically pleasing than others. Let’s grant that so we can move to the important point — so what?

“Some kids are good spellers; some have bad haircuts; some are fast runners; some kids are short; some are awesome at netball. But the kids who are short aren’t only short. And the kids who are great at netball aren’t only just great at netball. No one is only just one thing. It’s the same with appearance.”

It’s important to talk to children, he says, before “they get sucked into the tight vortex of peer pressure, where every single difference is a case for disaster. Don’t tell kids they’re all beautiful; tell them it’s O.K. to look different.”

Perhaps it’s the long association of physical ugliness with immorality that we need to unpack. The Oxford Dictionary includes in its definition of ugly in English “morally repugnant.” In Greek, the word “kalos” means both beauty and noble, while “aischros” means shameful as well as ugly. Ugly characters in kids’ books are generally horrible and their physical flaws are signs of other shortcomings. Villains have bad teeth, liars have long noses, zombies have thick skulls. The miserly are bony, the greedy, fat.

And perhaps we also need to spend more time pointing to some of the magnificent creatures who have walked the earth without the need for pageant ribbons or Instagram likes, but who have contributed in enduring ways — think, maybe, about Abraham Lincoln.

And finally, surely we should also ensure that those known for attributes other than good genes are included in any pantheon of childhood heroes.

I didn’t ban Barbie dolls in my house, for example, but I did get a little nervous when my little girl accumulated a decent-size clique of them. One day I decided to buy her an Eleanor Roosevelt doll from a museum shop; the splendid former first lady’s strong, striking features are framed by a red velvet cloak and a feather boa. I was a little reticent giving it to her for fear clever Eleanor might be rejected in favor of the pretty girls. Now she sleeps with her every night.