The things we do for cute

There is a limit to how much a woman is willing to endure to “improve” her appearance:

We all have our Bridge Too Far, I think, that place we will not go, that discomfort we will not bear for the sake of conventional beauty.

I don’t own a single compression garment, for example. No control-top hose or Spanx or middle-slimmers. But I am pretty thin, so I realize I don’t have a dog in that fight. If I had a little more flesh on me, would I endure those squeezy things? Probably not; I usually tear off my regular tights, along with shoes, watch, earrings, belt, and rings within sixty seconds of walking through the door.

I have known women who discarded even more than that.

But clothing and accessories constitute only a single vector:

I’ll suffer other discomforts for “beauty”: I have bleached my teeth, plucked my brows, lasered some brown spots and (once upon a time) straightened my hair. For me, these completely unnecessary procedures seem/ed worth the pain and expense. So I clearly buy into the advertising-fueled belief that “natural” isn’t acceptable.

Advertising, after all, is intended to sell artifice.

And then there’s this:

“I never was all that interested in looks,” he said.

“That statement is almost never true. And it’s absolutely never a compliment. Think about it.”

And so it goes.







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