A Wandering Ranter, I

What is pretty?

I watch America's Next Top Model... yes, I know, go on, call me whatever, but, I like the show, and whomever 888770 is on youtube is, I want to thank you... without them, I'd have had to go without my fix since I've moved... all of my television viewing is done via my trusty laptop.

Plus, watching it via youtube lets me skip past the blah blah parts and get to the important stuff...the shoots, the judging, and Miss J taking the voted off model's name every week.

This year, I rooted for Lauren, the tall lanky model who had never worn heels from Brooklyn, and Whitney, the model who announced she had "...boobs, hips and a booty, and I'm proud of them. I won't change for anyone."

Lauren made it fairly far in the competition, then failed when it came time to do a commercial... the camera and memorising lines did her in... she was not moved on to be ANTM.

Off came her name from the jacket.

I put all my hopes on Whitney, even though she was in the bottom two on four occasions. She ate like a normal person, she was built like a normal person... she was proud of her body, full and rounded and lush.

She won.

Booya.

Pretty, um, special.

I also have tickets to see Neil LaBute's new play, reasons to be pretty, as part of my MCC membership. It's the third in a trilogy that started with The Shape of Things, and moved on to Fat Pig--all three plays about America's obsession with looks.

I don't know when I'll see the play, I've not made my reservations yet... I admire LaBute, I find his work to be sharp, he digs down and I find connections to my own life, especially in last year's production of In a Dark, Dark House, that often set me back... I wonder if he has read my secret diary that doesn't exist, listing my fears and emotions from my childhood.

His wit can cut wounds so deep and quickly, you don't know they are there until you see the blood dripping. The man can write. So, I'm anxious to see pretty...

...to a point.

I have to ask myself, after watching ANTM.... what is pretty? The premise behind the LaBute play is a comment made by a man about his girlfriend... well, let me quote:

"Greg's tight-knit social circle is thrown into turmoil when his offhanded remarks about a female coworker's pretty face (and his girlfriend's lack thereof) get back to said girlfriend........."~Playbill

There is more to the plot line, but, this is the part I'm focused on, and am thinking of, along with Whitney and her win on ANTM.

What is pretty, and what are the reasons to be pretty?

There were a huge (no pun) number of comments made about Whitney's success on the show, all focused on her 'plus' size. The fact she has a stunning face, even sans make-up, was often put aside.

I've seen photos of the two actors who play the women in the play, and neither are near the word plain or average. How do you act 'plain'?

We focus so much on looks, in this country especially... that it is an obsession. From the moment my children were born, my mother spoke of how beautiful they were. Granted, I think they are lovely... but, I did my best to raise them to see their full potential, not a face. They are your basic people... with features arranged in a pleasing fashion. They are also bright, talented, loving, witty and they put up with me.

I was not brought up in the same way. I'm not going into it, my children do read my journal... my past pain isn't necessary to make a point... what does need to be said is, in a place, in a country, in a world where how you are perceived can actually create the way you live....when no matter how you actually look..,.the face/body you see in the mirror is the one you carry in your head... words said to a child linger on into adulthood, and sometimes never go away.

I am an average, plain woman. I am not going to curdle milk or anything, but, I'm not going to stop traffic. There was a long time in life where I railed against my fate... I have a mother who is still, in her last quarter of life, a beautiful woman. My Aunt A is like her, both with the strong Gaelic facial structure that allows them to grow older and stay beautiful. My mother exudes pheromones like nobodies business, I've gone out with her, and seen men bypass me to flirt with her...

I do not have this gift.... or is it one?

Here is where I stand... I'm okay with how I am, finally. I wish we didn't raise up younger and younger girls to the place where I see 10 year old kids trying to look 15. I wish men (sorry guys!) didn't put the burden on 'mature' women to struggle to look younger, because they seek out young women instead of realising it is okay to date and have relationships with someone your age. I wish we could be more like the Europeans, and grow old with grace and joy... I wish we wouldn't say to our daughters, "Well, at least you have nice eyes."

I wish I'd stop wanting to put my breasts back where they used to be, and understand that using scotch tape to hold my upper eyelids firm and taunt by pulling them up and taping them to my forehead really isn't going to work... and people aren't saying anything to me because this is New York... and I ride the 'F' train... and people on the 'F' train are strange. The reasons to be pretty still niggle at me enough, I do want my breasts back higher... my eyes are fine. I pretend the tape isn't there, and the hell with those who say it is.

So, Whitney won ANTM, there is a final play in a group whose second offering I never want to see again, because it made me sob in pain.... and I give up on America accepting we are what we are... be comfortable with it, why doncha? More interesting is, this applies to women far more than men.

I saw a dating test online once... I answered the questions the same way, as a man and as a woman.... I only altered one area... the amount of money made per year. Being a mature woman, my chances in the dating pool were slim, even though I listed myself as making over $100K a year. As a man, I was hawt.

I guess even cash can't make up for some things.

What is pretty? Why is pretty?

Shakespeare said in Love's Labours Lost

Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the flourish of thy praise:
Beauty is bought by the judgement of the eye,
Not utter'd by the base sale of chapmen's tongues.

(and you wonder why it's taking me months to read his complete works??)

I think Margaret Wolfe Hungerford (no relation to our Margaret) said it best:

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I guess she forgot that if you aren't pretty to begin with, no one looks to see if what is behind the face is interesting, witty, bright and true.

Shame, really.