The culture of beauty

I have a friend who is extraordinarily thin. Not unhealthily, I think — really, she’s hot, and that’s odd for me to say, since thin is not usually my thing. Not that I have a type — I like all sorts of body types, from tall to short to thin to stocky (at the risk of sounding shallow, I’m not a fan of obese bodies). My main interest is in proportionate bodies (where nothing really stands out as too large or small compared to the rest), but outside of that, it’s not easy for me to describe a “type”.

But thin’s not really my thing, as anyone who has ever been on the receiving end of my “Eat a fucking sandwich, woman!” line can attest. But my friend — somehow she carries it well. She doesn’t come across as a Lindsay Lohan or Olsen twin (whichever one it was that threatened to wither away in the limelight); she’s very sexy and healthy looking.

But she — and a lot of other people in my circles — are really caught up in this idea (ideal?) of physical beauty, primarily as defined by the magazines and TV shows and media outlets. And sure, Gisele and Tyra and Kate are all really hot, and there’s a reason that they are the supermodels of the moment. But what about the normal, average woman? The one who doesn’t spend the better part of her life in the gym, counting every calorie and sweating the ridiculous details of her carb intake?

I’m not talking, again, about the ridiculously out-of-shape. I think there’s a certain sexiness in seeing that a woman cares enough about herself to look good — TO AN EXTENT. I need to emphasize that point. I want to know that a woman is aware of how she looks, and takes steps to make sure that she’s… presentable? Perhaps the wrong choice of words. Perhaps some examples will work better:

I love women that don’t wear makeup. And while makeup can be really nice — good enhancement, say — some of the most memorable women that I’ve ever encountered didn’t wear makeup. At all. And I’ve seen the hot women with lots of makeup, too — I have a preference, I’ll admit, for the goth look, lots of eyeliner, darker colors, etc. — but I always suspect that they’re hiding something horrendous underneath it all. (Though waking up next to a beautiful and un-made woman is always nice — much like undressing them to find a gorgeous body)

Much like the make-up bit: I generally prefer to see a woman in blue jeans and a t-shirt and a ballcap than some formal dress. Mmm, clarification: I prefer to see a woman wearing whatever she’s most comfortable in. Some of my friends wear jeans, some wear cargo pants, some wear warm-ups — but mostly I like the aura that a comfortable woman exudes. Sure, the dressed-up look is a nice bit of variety once in a blue-moon, but overall, give me the “I’m getting ready to clean the house” look.

I’ve mentioned that I’m not fond of obesity — and that’s just a personal preference, by the way, not some overarching condemnation. I’m equally (generally) unattracted to women that are too thin, as noted above. But I’m really, really, really turned off by vanity bordering on narcissism. If you enjoy running, or biking, or working out, by all means, go to it. The toned body is a nice side-effect. But if you’re punishing yourself to fit some societal expectation that the latest COSMO is pushing — stop. That attitude is more unattractive to me than eight tons of cellulite.

I might need to rethink that last statement.

It’s fine to be concerned with your looks, to an extent. I am, certainly. Not overly so — I’ve got a little bit of a Buddha belly that I could do without, but I’m not going to drop $30 a month or more and hire a personal trainer to try to get rid of it. Guess what? I’m getting older, and eventually, that belly is coming to stay. I’m a big fan of keeping my hair long (not to mention a random color each month), but eventually, according to genetic predictors, I’m not going to have much hair to grow out. I’ve been blessed with fairly good skin, but eventually, gravity will take hold (not to mention all the stress I carry on my face).

The physical doesn’t last forever. And what if my CIPD comes back? I’ll not have much choice in some of my physicality. I can either go back on steroids to hopefully control the problem — and gain a metric load of weight, mostly in my face (as evidenced in HIDE & CREEP), or I can allow my nervous system to be eaten alive and slowly lose my extremities (which included my facial muscles, though I hid that fairly well at the time).

Does that make me any less desirable? Well, sure it could. We’re all human, and we’re all Western, and that means that we’re conditioned to a certain body type, a certain facial look, etc. I get to hear my female friends and acquaintances rant all the time about which guys are hot (that list rarely includes me), and eventually, you find yourself wishing that you might make that list more often.

BUT…

Ultimately, I think I’m better off than most of the guys that make those lists. Sure, I’m not the one that girls notice when I walk into a club or a party. But the only thing that really limits is the number of one-night stands that I’ll be having (and I’ve had plenty enough, thanks — the joys of bartending). But not being thought of as hot means that I don’t really have to worry about my look any more than I feel like it on a given day. I can dye my hair green, and no one outside of my mother (and occasionally my ex-wife, though less as we get older) gives me that “you look so much better with your natural color” speech. I can wear whatever I feel like wearing (which, on top of making me more comfortable, save sme a lot of money).

Where am I going with this? God only knows, and he ain’t talking.

Oh, but I know where this came from. That new Dove commercial campaign — that’s where this all started. And I’m a little offended (and part perplexed) at the contradiction of showing natural women, promoting a more attainable beauty, in an ad for wrinkle cream. But whatever… The two girls with short hair, by the way, are really hot….

Right. Back to point. Which is that I’m glad someone’s doing this — featuring beautiful women with normal bodies. Yeah, supermodels are hot, sometimes, but so are normal women. And I think that, judging from the thinking of some of my female friends, this idea needs to be reinforced today. Too many girls going for that freshly-released-from-the-basement look today for my liking.

Yeah, beauty is nice. But a lot of beauty — the real, lasting kind — comes from self-esteem, and there are a lot of girls who would really be killers if they just saw themselves like I do.

Jump those tracks

I woke up today
To a world that’s ground to dust, dirt and stone

Anyone else ever wake up and wonder what happened to you?

Anyone else ever wake up and wonder what happened to me?

There’s a fog over my life today. Over me. Over who I am, who I want to be, who I’m happy with.

Calgon, go fuck yourself.

A little Living Colour for you all. Or for me. Whatever.

In another life
You might have been a genius
In another life
You might have been a star
In another life
Your face might have been perfect
In another life
You’d drive a better car

In another life
All your jokes are funny
In another life
Your heart is free from fear
In another life
You make a lot of money
In this other life
Everything is clear

In another life
You’re always the hero
In another life
You always win the game
In another life
No one ever cheats you
In another life
You never have to change

In another life
Your friends never desert you
In another life
You never have to cry
In another life
No one ever hurts you
In this other life
Your loved ones never die

But this is the life you have
This is the life you have
This is the life you have
This is the life

In another life
You’re always the victim
In another life
You’re always the thief
In another life
You are always lonely
In this other life
There is no relief

In your real life
Treat it like it’s special
In your real life
Try to be more kind
In your real life
Think of those that love you
In this real life
Try to be less blind

This is the life you have

Astrologers: eat a steaming bag of fuck, okay?

And so, at the end of all this, I’m left thinking of the story my grandmother used to tell me about the little brother and sister who find a puppy, and both of them claim the puppy as their own. And they fight and argue about whose puppy it is, and then there’s a tug of war, and the little puppy gets pulled apart, right down the middle. And the kids are without a puppy, and the puppy is dropping bits of gut and loops of intestine all over the freshly waxed kitchen floor, and from the beginning, the puppy was just completely happy to have two new friends.

Of course, this was her way of making me and Mandy not argue over the last ice cream sandwich. Which never worked. Because you can totally cut an ice cream sandwich in half with no fear of intestinal loops on the kitchen floor.

Ah, a good laugh. Nothing like it.

McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: Although I Like a Good George W. Bush Joke as Much as the Next Guy, Some of Them Seem Gratuitous and Mean-Spirited.:

“Q: What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?

A: I’m not sure, but if the answer is ‘A cure for Parkinson’s disease,’ then Bush will try to stop scientists from breeding them. Because he likes it when people get Parkinson’s.”

Morning On Earth

Morning arrives on an Earth I’ve never seen before
Revealing a life that I never really understood
Strange, the way beauty can hurt the opened eye
Much more than all of the filth and pain that we’re soaked in ever could…

Big idea, good idea…

“Dried up, a guitar upon my knee
I should have sold out when the devil came for me
I dig a hole and throw it out to sea
Break the code, how happy I could be

I still wave at the dots on the shore
I still beat my head against the wall
I still rage and wage my little war
I’m a shade and easy to ignore

White wall, I had to paint a door
I always find that I’ve been through it before
Close it up and throw away the key
Break the code, how happy I could be

I woke up and I had a big idea
To buy a new soul at the start of every year
I paid up and it cost me pretty dear
Here’s a hymn to those that disappear

I still wave at the dots on the shore
I still beat my head against the wall
I still rage and wage my little war
I’m a shade and easy to ignore”