Thursday, March 23, 2006

Ah, Vanity

I just saw something hilarious on television that I have to share with you. A woman was quite literally ironing her hair - pulling up a section from her head, towel on one side, iron on the other. To check the final effect, she glanced into the reflective iron base.
Maybe that whole scenario is 'normal' for some of you, but it has to be one of the more ludicrously daft moves in the pursuit of beauty that I've seen in quite some time. I find it generally rather insane that everyone with straight hair wants curls, and everyone with curly hair wants it straight - and to that end, they will utilise a variety of curling tongs, straighteners and God knows what else, a lethal array of instruments. Eyelash curlers look like some modern kind of thumb screw, many women - painfully, I'll add - pluck their eyebrows into almost non existence. I would say that most women in Britain spend over two hours a week applying, removing and perfecting nail polish, and that doesn't include the idle use of emery boards to achieve the preferred shape of nail.
I have one Luxury Item for my body in my entire room, and that is my recently acquired Body Butter. Wow, that stuff is fantastic. Don't generally like wandering around smelling like a fruit basket but will give in for the silky smooth feeling on my legs, mm mmm.
So the average female on a night out ends up spending a good half hour curling/straightening her hair (this assuming that emergency 'highlights' don't have to be put in place); another half hour transforming her face into a mask of heavy black curled lashes, pouting red lips, maidenly blushing cheeks and eyebrows firmly plucked into position (sometimes so much so that they actually have to be redrawn). The shortest skirt is then drawn on over waxed and lubricated legs, the tightest top squeezed into, carefully buffed feet are crammed into tight, impractical heeled hell, and standing in front of the full length mirror the female can breathe a sigh of satisfaction. Or she could do, if she weren't sucking her stomach in while busy practicing her husky voice and come-hither looks.
The fact that said female will then proceed to get blind drunk, remove shoes on the giggling walk home, mascara probably run ever so slightly after that quick weep in the bathroom with the other girls over some guy or other, and thus be transformed from 'beauty' (disputable anyway) to dishevelled mess is of course totally irrelevant. The fact that no guys will value her above the status of Tart will not deter the evening's proceedings. For a brief moment, she will have looked her terrifying version of Fabulous and that is, apparently, enough.
I may look something of a mess half the time, what with my loose jeans, inevitable black polo-neck and sensible shoes, but at least I'm a safe option. My lack of make-up means that I can't be transformed from fairy to fright overnight, and because I don't spend time ironing my hair I will probably at least be on time for any meeting I arrange.
While I'm making snide comments about other women, I want to throw this in too. Watched some of the Commonwealth Games diving this morning - the men had fantastic bodies, 'chiselled' is the word that springs to mind. Muscle bursting out of every limb. Some of the women - 'athletes' - had cellulite. I jest not. What hope is there for the rest of us if they can't avoid the doom of the dimples?? Oh dear.

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