I don’t know what it is about the human species that we keep seeking “perfection” in beauty. It’s already here. It's within you. It’s to be found in our differences, not in our conformity.
Very few people — I mean thousands out of a world population close to eight billion, barely measurable as a decimal fraction — decide what is beautiful and what is fashionable. This is true for both genders, and it's so transient.
Is it just me or are there a lot more (real) beards and (false) eyelashes around? I guess those will go out of fashion too. Let’s hope.
We’re not all supposed to look the same. Why would we aspire to? On the contrary, we’re meant to look different (beyond the DNA some of us get, in varying degrees, from our parents).
Try as you may, you’ll never look more beautiful than you do naturally. Believe me. No matter how skilled the plastic surgeon or how frequent the Botox or how tight the jeans, your attempts at being “beautiful” (as defined by society, whoever they are) will be obvious and unattractive.
I attended a high-society event recently. Plenty of people were there so it wasn’t that exclusive, but most were dressed and done up to the nines. So uniform were the fashion statements (in basic construct) that they caused the “want to be noticed” masses to, if anything, blend into a sea of sameness, a sea of obvious attempts, a marsh of wannabe badges, a chorus of "please see me".
Who’d notice you anyway when you’re all chasing the same end-game, the same outfits, colours and face paintings that everyone is wearing? It was the people who hadn’t tried, who came as themselves, who stood out, who caught my eye, who I warmed to, who, at some level, I envied.
Ageing is inevitable, and we all go together as we go. When we’re close up to one another, the signs of ageing are obvious
We’ve gone way beyond clothing and accessories now, and no cohorts are exempt. Even on the rugby field, once the bastion of masculinity, hairstyles and body paint are part of the statements of allegiance. I mean, very short sides and a long mullet. Really? At least the tattoos have foundations in war and strength and bonding, even family.
Facial makeup, no longer the preserve of women, seems, layer by layer, swatch by swatch, to have us well on our way to being practically unrecognisable and, sadly, all the same.
Once you start on that beauty-fixit-treadmill, there’s no turning back. It would be OK (or more acceptable) if it wasn’t so obviously pasted on or scraped off. The trick, surely, in making up our faces, is subtlety. What started out as just highlighting our best features and hiding our blemishes has lost its way. Not many get this subtlety right. Most seem useless at it if the evidence of their efforts — the painted face, the claw nails — are anything to go by. The challenge is to make it barely noticeable, but effective. It should not be a total and obvious makeover; not a substitute for your real face, buried underneath. Once confronted with the façade, it's difficult to look beyond it.
Ageing is inevitable and we all go together as we go. When we’re close to one another, the signs of ageing are obvious. Our skin, our hair, and our general “held-togetherness” start falling to pieces. So what? Embrace it, respect it, submit to it.
It is the shared smile wrinkles, the greying and reducing head of hair, and even the once perky bum that starts resembling a pair of walnuts left out in the sun too long, that endear us to each other. Comfort zones are built around these features which draw us closer together. It is the familiarity and the evidence of a full life lived that cements bonds of friendship and love, not the bright lipstick or fake beauty spot.
Of course, the good forms and strengths that flow from rigorous exercise and diet regimes are exempt from this criticism. Living a more healthy life is just more comfortable and enjoyable.
Beauty, I have found, is in the eye of the beholder. We find ourselves attracted to diverse renditions of the human species, and thank goodness for that. If everyone is beautiful, then nobody is.
Why do we spend so much time and money and anxiety trying to look like the people we see in glossy magazines, airbrushed and cut and pasted into curated, equally false backgrounds?
Get a life. Get on with being you. Stop colouring your roots. Let the grey find its way to the surface — you’ll be released, imagine the peace. Stop tying things up that are happier hanging about. Loosen your belt. Wear a cozzie that’s kind. Squeeze a glass of fine wine into the space previously taken up by making yourself look so silly.
You may just eventually find yourself in the company of like-minded real people.
