Pretty Is As Pretty Does: Why Substance Beats Style in Tennis and Life

My mom's birthday was eleven days ago—September 8th. She's been gone over 28 years now, but there's no question she's still the most influential person in my life.

In celebration of her life, I want to talk about five words that shaped everything I do: "Pretty Is As Pretty Does."

I have no idea how many generations this phrase traveled through my family before reaching me. I know my mom heard it from her parents, my sister and I heard it from her, and my children hear it from me. But it's only been since her passing that I fully understood what she was really teaching us—and how I've spent my career trying to pass that same lesson to young athletes.

What She Actually Meant

My mom was blessed with physical beauty. That trait got passed to my sister, my nieces, and my children. But she was born at a time when opportunities for African-American women were severely limited. Her parents wanted to make sure good looks wouldn't become her only asset.

So they drilled into her the idea that looks might get you through the door, but if you want to do more than sit behind the reception desk, you need substance. You need knowledge. You need to understand what the world expects and be prepared to deliver more than anyone thinks you can.

My grandparents were demanding beyond belief. My grandmother was an elementary school teacher who placed enormous emphasis on education. My grandfather, whom my mother called "the smartest person I've ever known," possessed street smarts that would have made him a millionaire if he hadn't been born Black. They represented a generation of African-American parents who impressed upon their children: "In America, you'll have to be better just to be equal."

Some people would have rebelled against those demands. That wasn't my mother's way. She went off to boarding school at Northfield Mt. Hermon and then to Pembroke (Brown University). She had aspirations to become an attorney and enrolled in law school at Georgetown. But partway through, she decided the responsibilities of parenting would conflict with that career path. So she left Georgetown, enrolled in a Masters program at Radcliffe (Harvard), and received her advanced degree in Education. This let her work in guidance and be on the same schedule as my sister and me. When her parents wanted her educated, she was determined not to let them down—but she was also determined to make choices that put family first.

How She Lived It

My mom endured hardships I couldn't even imagine. Most were undoubtedly racial, but she only spoke about it once—when she was passed over for the Superintendent of Schools position despite being a long-tenured department head and the only employee in the system with multiple Ivy League degrees. I suspect this actually worked in her favor later when health issues kept her from performing at her peak—she was pretty much untouchable because of the respect she'd earned through decades of substance over style.

But she was determined that neither my sister nor I would approach life feeling entitled or bitter.

She knew independent thinking was critical for success. Though she was as liberal as anyone I've ever met, she never told people what to believe. Instead, she'd question the logic of any opinion you presented. I remember countless debates with my cousin, who's now a voice for Black conservatism. He could never get the best of her, but I think he enjoyed the intellectual challenge she always provided. It's little wonder he's never swayed by those who challenge him using stereotypical arguments.

She was all about substance. At her funeral, a former colleague said this: "We'd sit in meetings for hours debating issues. Peggy would say nothing. Then the moment would come when Peggy would say, 'So what you're all saying is...' And without fail, the meeting would be over."

I wish I'd inherited that ability.

The Connection I Didn't See Coming

Her passing was hard, but I was comforted by the number of people who told me they "wouldn't have made it through adolescence without her." Most were kids who'd spent time at our house while struggling with their own families. She never took sides—she was always an advocate for the family rather than just the child or the parents.

It took me years to realize this wasn't just parenting wisdom—it was also the foundation of how I coach athletes.

When I worked with tennis players, I wasn't really teaching forehands and backhands. I was teaching decision-making under pressure. I was teaching them to analyze situations quickly and adapt their strategy based on what's working and what isn't. I was teaching them that how you handle adversity reveals more about your character than how you handle success.

Most importantly, I was teaching them the same lesson my mother taught me: what you look like on the outside—your strokes, your ranking, your trophies—matters far less than the substance you develop on the inside.

Pretty Is As Pretty Does in Tennis Terms

In tennis, "pretty" might be perfect technique or a high ranking. "Does" is how you compete when you're tired, how you respond to bad calls, how you treat opponents and officials, how you handle both winning and losing.

I've coached players with beautiful strokes who crumbled under pressure. I've coached players with unorthodox technique who found ways to win because they'd developed the internal tools to problem-solve in real time.

The players who succeed long-term—both in tennis and in life—are the ones who understand that substance beats style every time.

What She Left Me

My mom left me a sizable financial inheritance. I spent every penny trying to help young people pursue their dreams and trying to have the substance in my life that she wanted when she'd say "Pretty Is As Pretty Does."

But the real inheritance wasn't the money. It was the understanding that your job isn't to look good—it's to do good. It's to develop the kind of character and competence that can weather any storm and solve any problem.

Now, as a consultant to tennis families, I help parents understand how to pass on these same principles. Not just better tennis, but better decision-making. Not just improved rankings, but improved resilience. Not just prettier strokes, but a deeper understanding of what it means to compete with substance.

I'm not there yet, Mom, but I've made some big strides since we last spoke. I miss you, and I promise the three Evans Girls will fully understand the big meaning of those five little words.