It's that time of year again: People Magazine has put out it's 50 Most Beautiful publication, and Gwyneth Paltrow has taken top billing.
Apparently, the internet is all a-twitter about this. Ms. Paltrow is, it turns out, as reviled as she is pretty. When stories (and maybe a cookbook?) about how you only eat non-dairy, gluten-free, grass-fed bark fill cyberspace, and you're already rich, thin, and blonde, well...haters are gonna hate. Still, if Chris Martin wants to show up at my house and tap out the opening measures of Clocks whilst Gwennie and I sit atop the baby grand and braid each other's hair, I won't stop it. Hey, we all have our fantasies. Let me have mine.
My problem isn't that Gwennie is rockin' this year's People's Most Beautiful cover. It's that, once again, they didn't pick me. Yes, me.
You may not know this about me, but I'm beautiful...so stunning, that if I uploaded a picture of mine to prove it, my computer would likely crash, imploding on itself like a hardware Trojan Wars. Or, maybe I don't post 'cause I can't actually find a good pic of myself. Let's not get hung up on technicalities.
Mostly, I'd love to be picked by People magazine so that they could interview me about my beauty regime. Nobody ever asks me about it. Ever. Shocking, I know.
So, here it is:
I look like shit most of the time. Then, when I do clean up, it's such a stark difference, people notice.
Consider the logic: assuming I'm not one of those young, freshly pretty faces than pull of anything--like a messy "top knot" and oversized coveralls--and still look adorable as opposed to borderline insane, this strategy is perfect. I don't wake at 5 a.m. to shower and "coif" my hair and "put on my face." Last time I woke at 5 a.m., it was to feed a baby, and you bet your bottom dollar I crawled my ass back into bed after that. Heck, with my colicky first-born, 5 a.m. until about 9 a.m. was about the only time I could maybe catch some uninterruped zzz's. I sure as hell wasn't going to use that time to put on an anchorwoman's face for a being who couldn't registered clear images beyond 12 inches. Or for the grocery store cashier, who bless her minimum wage heart, probably isn't going through this routine, either. (An exception may be this tall, thin, African American woman who works at the Target by my house, who should so just go on America's Next Top Model and be done with it.)
I know, stay-at-home moms are fodder for fashion show make-overs and what not, but I really don't have a problem looking like crap once in a while. Grubby looking people are like Tina Fey's bitches: We get stuff done. I'm much more likely to do things like work out, tend a sick child, put together a casserole, or clean a toilet when I'm un-done. Sure, none of this is glamorous, but guess what? It's life, and someone's gotta do it. If I gussy myself up 8 a.m., no merry maid or nanny is gonna strut in 5 minutes later just to allow me to sit pretty for the rest of the day. If I want to get anything done, it's practically imperative that I keep on my hobo clothes. (And for the record, I can write just as well in yoga pants as in dress pants.) Then I get to take my shower and apply some makeup, the latter of which is a total gift since the kiddos are now in school. (When kids are constantly underfoot, showering in itself becomes questionable.)
So what's my point? Ouch, it suddenly seems like I have one, when I really just wanted to toss out that Coldplay fantasy. So I guess it's this: beauty, style, all that...it really is skin deep. Don't go all martyr-y and forgo getting yourself a decent haircut or whatever, but if you really think life is some constant fashion show, then I ask you this: What model do you think will be changing your bedpan someday?
Beauty, after all, should be from the inside. In which case, obviously, Katie Couric should be on the cover, because I hear she has a great colon.
Then again, I bet Gwenyth has a great colon, what with all that detoxing she does, in which case, okay People, you made the right call.