Ooohh, tonight is Oscar night! Of course, for me, the nominated films – for the most part, a depressing and bloody lot this year – must take a back seat to the annual Red Carpet parade of The World’s Most Beautiful People. The Perfect People. The Sexiest People. The Perpetually Youthful People. The People Who Are Supposesd To Make Us Run Out And Get Plastic Surgery To Look Like Them.
But in order to maintain that essential illusion, Hollywood actresses will each spend untold thousands on designer gowns, hair color and extensions, weeks of intensive personal workouts, radical “cleansing” diets, diamond-particle “signature” facials, fat injections, wrinkle fillers such as Radiesse, subtle “one-stitch” facelifts for 30-something actresses, “spot” lipo to smooth every molecule of bulge, foot surgery to help them stand in stilettos, dental bleaching, and even calming doses of anti-anxiety drugs. If the Hollywood economy lost billions of dollars during the writers stike, the money spent on looking beautiful for Oscar night should make up for it.
Jeez, if I had this much pressure on me to look fabulous, I’d probably be popping Xanax, too.
I haven’t even mentioned Botox yet. Goodness, movie stars photographed outdoors in the afternoon sun can’t look squinty, so virtually every one of them will be Botoxed on the forehead and between the eyes. Of course, some Hollywood stars will come close to mainlining Botox. A few will look very pointedly paralyzed. Botox is also injected into the armpits to keep stars from perspiring on the Red Carpet or while waiting nervously for that possible Academy Award. Finally (this is something I just learned about, in a more detailed article in the London Daily Mail), Botox is now used to RAISE THE CLEAVAGE and make breasts look more youthful. (With all the breast implants in Hollywood, I would hope the dermatologist would take extreme care using needles around breasts!) There’s even a special cleavage “facial” that’s essential for anyone wearing a low-cut dress.
Oh, and here’s a newly popular but squirrely idea: false eyelashes made of mink or squirrel fur! They cost thousands of dollars a pair, but it you take good care of them, they’ll last five to seven wearings. Madonna got some that were made of mink and diamonds.
If all this isn’t enough to make the actresses look drop-dead gorgeous, they’ll also be dripping with diamonds and other precious stones. Many will have every square inch of skin airbrushed the perfect glowy color. They’ll strut in Jimmy Choo shoes -- and if their feet don’t look perfect in them, there are anti-inflammatary injections. Also, did you know that celebrity makeup artists can charge several thousand dollars for creating just one Oscar-caliber makeup? Appointments are booked many months in advance.
Sometimes an actress can do all this and still be savaged by the snarky TV and tabloid critics. So I understand why stars want to look as lovely as possible. At the same time, we out here have to keep all their efforts in perspective. There is so much we can do to take care of ourselves and look like real, relaxed, healthy, beautiful women without obsessing about our looks the way narcissistic movie stars do. Really, who do you think would make the more interesting dinner companion – you, or a perfectly-manicured J-Lo in hair extensions and mink eyelashes?
Of course, it's possible the mink might be a better conversationalist than J-Lo.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Demographics And The Presidency
Disclaimer: The following commentary about age as it applies to the Presidential campaign has absolutely nothing to do with my choice for President of the United States, which reflects, as it should, my very close examination of the issues facing this nation and how they might be addressed in the real world by a real person. What does this individual think about the role of government? Is he or she able to communicate his or her views well? What philosophy might affect his or her choices for Supreme Court justices? What might we actually see in the world as a consequence, intended or not, of this person's election? In my opinion, race, gender and, yes, even age are not relevant to this analysis and should be set aside so voters can consider the things that really matter. So there.
........................
I'm writing this on "Super Tuesday," though I live in Texas and thankfully won't have to go out into the hailstorm (no exaggeration!) to vote now. But if I were voting today, the choice, as it's been presented in the media, seems clear: Do I want the young, dynamic black guy? The older white woman? Or maybe the super-old white guy? Hey, the Baptist or the Mormon? The only major demographic contest we don't have - at least, as far as we know - is gay vs. straight.
In fact, I'm reminded of an episode of "Will & Grace" in which Will (gay) and Grace (Jewish) are trying to decide whom to back for City Council: the gay man or the Jewish woman. Will, predictably, backs the gay man, while Grace, just as predictably, backs the Jewish woman. Later they realize they can't support either candidate -- not because of their demographics, but because of their incredibly horrid views.
But let's get back to our real election, where the stakes are higher because they are not fictional. Here, the young black guy has a Kennedyesque coolness and a hopeful message that inspires blacks as well as whites, some of whom perhaps long to recapture that wonderful media creation, Camelot. The older white woman is doing well among Latinos, Asians and, not surprisingly, older white women, some of whom have remarked, understandably, that they just want to see a woman president before they die. (Additional disclaimer: Please do not assume that I think everyone supporting these candidates is doing so strictly because of demographic kinship, but many obviously are.) The really old white guy is doing very well in the polls, but in spite of that was recently deemed too old to be President by columnist Anna Quindlen. ("Race, gender - they're both up for grabs in this election. It's age that has become the new taboo in a vitality culture.")
Quindlen refers to McCain's age as "the elephant on the campaign trail," saying, "There's been plenty of talk during primary season about gender and race; it's age that has become taboo."
Personally, I think all three should be immaterial and are a convenient way of tap-dancing around real issues. There has already been too much playing of the race and gender cards, not so much from the voters themselves as from those candidates -- and their husbands -- who think it can help them. If candidates truly believe that race and gender shouldn't play a part in this election, then they should refrain from bringing them up.
But now Quindlen plays the age card. She dismisses our society's so-called "age is just a number" mentality - oh, how I wish we had that mentality, instead of obsessing about age the way we do - and goes on to say this: "The gentle but inevitable passing of the guard that once gave young people an opportunity to rise has stuttered and sometimes stopped." WHAT?? I'd like to know what planet Ms. Quindlen is living on. As a woman in my chosen field, I'd see my opportunities increase exponentially if I were in my twenties today.
Quindlen also points out that Old Man McCain suffers infirmities from his years of incarceration and torture: the inability to climb stairs quickly or to raise his arms to comb his hair due to multiple fractures he received at the hands of the Viet Cong. My first observation: What hair? My second: I wonder whether she would've supported the young, dynamic-looking, poufy-haired John F. Kennedy if she'd known he suffered from Addison's Disease and almost incapacitating back pain? When the cameras weren't on, he must've climbed stairs as slowly as McCain. What about Franklin D. Roosevelt, so ravaged by polio that he had to use a wheelchair? How much correlation does age have with vitality and ability, really? If the writers of the Constitution had seen such a connection, they never would have specified that Supreme Court justices could serve for life.
In fact, I recently saw McCain's 95-year-old mother, Roberta, on the news and she is incredibly youthful and gorgeous! Oh, my god, have you seen this lady? She must use Perricone. And she's had the vitality to accompany her son throughout the campaign, city after city. McCain definitely got some good anti-aging genes.
When I think of the years of excruciating torture and lasting pain McCain has endured, I have no reason to conclude that this has left him a hobbling, feeble man. Instead, I'm reminded of the saying, "What does not kill us makes us stronger."
George Washington first took the oath of office when the average life expectancy was under 40, so even at age 57 he was way past his physical prime -- including his teeth, which had long since been replaced by a full set of painful dentures. He served two terms and left at age 65, which in those days was considered positively wizened. Ben Franklin, though never elected President, was active in government affairs into his 80s at a time when few even survived to that advanced age. We've had Presidents who were young, old, athletic, frail and even morbidly obese. Granted, Grover Cleveland could never be elected in the Media Age - not with the camera adding ten pounds to a body that already fluctuated between 300 and 332 pounds. It was only after serving as President that he relieved his severe sleep apnea by losing 80 pounds, and then he continued to serve, as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
No one who publicly asserted that a black person or a woman shouldn't be President would be respected today, no matter what rationalizations he or she might employ. But not so long ago, if we'd had a woman at the top of the ticket, there would've been dire warnings day after day about the emotional fragility and hormone swings that render all women -- with the possible exception of Margaret Thatcher -- unsuitable for high office. Thank goodness we're past that. Yet some are starting to talk about age in a similar way. It's as I always say...AGE IS THE LAST BIG CULTURALLY-ACCEPTABLE BIAS.
Of course, with a 71-year-old candidate, the choice of his running mate rises in importance, and Quindlen addresses this, posing the question, "If you enter the process stressing a hedge against mortality or incapacity, shouldn't that suggest something about suitability for the job in the first place?"
Answer: NO. Just the fact of being President is as much a risk of mortality as being older. It's a hazardous job in ways that have nothing whatsoever to do with age. I'm sure Presidents Kennedy, Lincoln, Garfield and McKinley, all assassinated while in office, would agree if they could speak to us. The choice of a running mate is always important. If you scan the obits, as I often do, you see that death or incapacity can strike at any age.
It's great that we have such demographic diversity among our candidates this time. Still, we won't be over our prejudices until these differences are simply incidental and play no part in our choice for President. I think we're still a long way off.
(I'll now pause to review the election returns from Super Tuesday, and wrap this up in the morning.)
..................
Well, it's just as I thought. According to a detailed demographic breakdown from Katie Couric and the gang at CBS News that made me want to tear out my hair, Hillary did well with white women, Latinos and Asians, and not so well with blacks. Obama received most of the black vote and did quite well with younger whites. The pattern was so striking that pundits expressed concern about the preeminence of "identity politics" among Democrats.
Among Republicans, Romney didn't fare too well; he won his home state of Michigan and also states with high populations of Mormons, who wouldn't vote for Huckabee, a Baptist, if Huck paid them to. Huck can't afford to do that, anyway - he runs a very low-budget campaign! Thus, another stereotype is shattered: rich doesn't necessarily trump poor in the Republican Party.
But it's the short, balding, white-haired, achy-jointed candidate who really won the night. That's right, the Grand OLD Party came out for creaky old John McCain. Thankfully, his age wasn't an issue to the voters, and I didn't even hear it mentioned by the pundits.
But if he gets the nomination, mark my word: we'll be hearing about it a LOT.
........................
I'm writing this on "Super Tuesday," though I live in Texas and thankfully won't have to go out into the hailstorm (no exaggeration!) to vote now. But if I were voting today, the choice, as it's been presented in the media, seems clear: Do I want the young, dynamic black guy? The older white woman? Or maybe the super-old white guy? Hey, the Baptist or the Mormon? The only major demographic contest we don't have - at least, as far as we know - is gay vs. straight.
In fact, I'm reminded of an episode of "Will & Grace" in which Will (gay) and Grace (Jewish) are trying to decide whom to back for City Council: the gay man or the Jewish woman. Will, predictably, backs the gay man, while Grace, just as predictably, backs the Jewish woman. Later they realize they can't support either candidate -- not because of their demographics, but because of their incredibly horrid views.
But let's get back to our real election, where the stakes are higher because they are not fictional. Here, the young black guy has a Kennedyesque coolness and a hopeful message that inspires blacks as well as whites, some of whom perhaps long to recapture that wonderful media creation, Camelot. The older white woman is doing well among Latinos, Asians and, not surprisingly, older white women, some of whom have remarked, understandably, that they just want to see a woman president before they die. (Additional disclaimer: Please do not assume that I think everyone supporting these candidates is doing so strictly because of demographic kinship, but many obviously are.) The really old white guy is doing very well in the polls, but in spite of that was recently deemed too old to be President by columnist Anna Quindlen. ("Race, gender - they're both up for grabs in this election. It's age that has become the new taboo in a vitality culture.")
Quindlen refers to McCain's age as "the elephant on the campaign trail," saying, "There's been plenty of talk during primary season about gender and race; it's age that has become taboo."
Personally, I think all three should be immaterial and are a convenient way of tap-dancing around real issues. There has already been too much playing of the race and gender cards, not so much from the voters themselves as from those candidates -- and their husbands -- who think it can help them. If candidates truly believe that race and gender shouldn't play a part in this election, then they should refrain from bringing them up.
But now Quindlen plays the age card. She dismisses our society's so-called "age is just a number" mentality - oh, how I wish we had that mentality, instead of obsessing about age the way we do - and goes on to say this: "The gentle but inevitable passing of the guard that once gave young people an opportunity to rise has stuttered and sometimes stopped." WHAT?? I'd like to know what planet Ms. Quindlen is living on. As a woman in my chosen field, I'd see my opportunities increase exponentially if I were in my twenties today.
Quindlen also points out that Old Man McCain suffers infirmities from his years of incarceration and torture: the inability to climb stairs quickly or to raise his arms to comb his hair due to multiple fractures he received at the hands of the Viet Cong. My first observation: What hair? My second: I wonder whether she would've supported the young, dynamic-looking, poufy-haired John F. Kennedy if she'd known he suffered from Addison's Disease and almost incapacitating back pain? When the cameras weren't on, he must've climbed stairs as slowly as McCain. What about Franklin D. Roosevelt, so ravaged by polio that he had to use a wheelchair? How much correlation does age have with vitality and ability, really? If the writers of the Constitution had seen such a connection, they never would have specified that Supreme Court justices could serve for life.
In fact, I recently saw McCain's 95-year-old mother, Roberta, on the news and she is incredibly youthful and gorgeous! Oh, my god, have you seen this lady? She must use Perricone. And she's had the vitality to accompany her son throughout the campaign, city after city. McCain definitely got some good anti-aging genes.
When I think of the years of excruciating torture and lasting pain McCain has endured, I have no reason to conclude that this has left him a hobbling, feeble man. Instead, I'm reminded of the saying, "What does not kill us makes us stronger."
George Washington first took the oath of office when the average life expectancy was under 40, so even at age 57 he was way past his physical prime -- including his teeth, which had long since been replaced by a full set of painful dentures. He served two terms and left at age 65, which in those days was considered positively wizened. Ben Franklin, though never elected President, was active in government affairs into his 80s at a time when few even survived to that advanced age. We've had Presidents who were young, old, athletic, frail and even morbidly obese. Granted, Grover Cleveland could never be elected in the Media Age - not with the camera adding ten pounds to a body that already fluctuated between 300 and 332 pounds. It was only after serving as President that he relieved his severe sleep apnea by losing 80 pounds, and then he continued to serve, as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
No one who publicly asserted that a black person or a woman shouldn't be President would be respected today, no matter what rationalizations he or she might employ. But not so long ago, if we'd had a woman at the top of the ticket, there would've been dire warnings day after day about the emotional fragility and hormone swings that render all women -- with the possible exception of Margaret Thatcher -- unsuitable for high office. Thank goodness we're past that. Yet some are starting to talk about age in a similar way. It's as I always say...AGE IS THE LAST BIG CULTURALLY-ACCEPTABLE BIAS.
Of course, with a 71-year-old candidate, the choice of his running mate rises in importance, and Quindlen addresses this, posing the question, "If you enter the process stressing a hedge against mortality or incapacity, shouldn't that suggest something about suitability for the job in the first place?"
Answer: NO. Just the fact of being President is as much a risk of mortality as being older. It's a hazardous job in ways that have nothing whatsoever to do with age. I'm sure Presidents Kennedy, Lincoln, Garfield and McKinley, all assassinated while in office, would agree if they could speak to us. The choice of a running mate is always important. If you scan the obits, as I often do, you see that death or incapacity can strike at any age.
It's great that we have such demographic diversity among our candidates this time. Still, we won't be over our prejudices until these differences are simply incidental and play no part in our choice for President. I think we're still a long way off.
(I'll now pause to review the election returns from Super Tuesday, and wrap this up in the morning.)
..................
Well, it's just as I thought. According to a detailed demographic breakdown from Katie Couric and the gang at CBS News that made me want to tear out my hair, Hillary did well with white women, Latinos and Asians, and not so well with blacks. Obama received most of the black vote and did quite well with younger whites. The pattern was so striking that pundits expressed concern about the preeminence of "identity politics" among Democrats.
Among Republicans, Romney didn't fare too well; he won his home state of Michigan and also states with high populations of Mormons, who wouldn't vote for Huckabee, a Baptist, if Huck paid them to. Huck can't afford to do that, anyway - he runs a very low-budget campaign! Thus, another stereotype is shattered: rich doesn't necessarily trump poor in the Republican Party.
But it's the short, balding, white-haired, achy-jointed candidate who really won the night. That's right, the Grand OLD Party came out for creaky old John McCain. Thankfully, his age wasn't an issue to the voters, and I didn't even hear it mentioned by the pundits.
But if he gets the nomination, mark my word: we'll be hearing about it a LOT.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Celebrity Docs Can Be Bad News
Well, did you miss me?
Perhaps you noticed – God, I hope somebody did – that my last blog entry was a few long months ago. As luck would have it, just at the time I was assessing the myriad news reports of the plastic-surgery death of Kanye West’s mother, I broke my hand. Kid you not. I slipped on a bit of nonstick cooking spray that had drifted onto the kitchen floor and, after doing a fabulous impression of Kristi Yamaguchi careening about on the ice, landed smack on my left hand with such force and at such an angle that my ring finger was turned completely around to the side. Oddly, there was no pain at all involved in this.
X-rays showed that the finger itself wasn’t broken, but there was a complicated “spiral” fracture of the metacarpal below that finger. So I had to have hand surgery, involving a long metal plate and numerous little screws, a few of which I can actually feel in the palm of my hand. Pity the person who has to stand behind me in line for the metal detector at the airport. Also, there’s now a long, red scar on the back of my hand that makes me glad I wear gloves while performing. It seems to be healing well, though; nice to know I’m a good “healer” in case I choose to go in for a facelift someday!
I found that recovery from hand surgery can really put a crimp – and even, at times, a cramp – in keyboard-related activities. Surprisingly, the pain didn’t start until after my finger had been put back in place, but then it was brutal. While I was slowly recovering the motion in my hand, so much age- and beauty-related news accumulated that I didn’t know where I’d begin. So I procrastinated, even after I was able to type, and more news piled up. You know how it is.
But let’s pick up where I left off: the sadness and horror of Donda West’s death. What a tragedy. “My mother is my everything,” Kanye West said at the time. The story of her death so dominated the celebrity tattle-shows that by now it must be “old news” to the relentlessly forward-moving press; still, a woman died under shocking circumstances, and I believe it’s not too late to weigh in:
Apparently, fame lends such an aura of infallibility to TV doctors such as Dr. Jan Adams that their patients don’t even wonder why they’re being operated on in an outpatient facility in a SHOPPING MALL. Donda West was going in for a breast reduction and a tummy tuck – increasingly common procedures but still major, major surgery – and that’s where the work was performed. AT THE MALL! Then, instead of being moved to some type of recovery facility where she could be watched, she was taken back to her room and LEFT THERE ALONE. (Pardon all the total caps; I have no other way to express in print my sheer contempt.) This was so wrong that only someone who’s been falsely told her surgery will be a breeze would ever agree to it. She certainly could have afforded the best of post-surgical care if she’d been under the impression that she needed it.
I had better surgical facilities and follow-up for the little bone in my hand than Ms. West had for her two major surgeries. And I had great confidence in my doctor, a specialist who does nothing but repair hands.
TV doctors are on TV because they’re good on TV. Never, ever give your trust to any doctor – or political candidate, but I digress -- just because he or she is telegenic. Even a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon “to the stars” isn’t necessarily any good – look at some of the stars! They look godawful! We tend to think celebrities are special people, with special abilities, but they’re not. According to “The Insider,” Dr. Adams has had 15 malpractice suits filed against him since 1998. My hunch is that the best plastic surgeon on the planet has a name known only to the lucky few who’ve been referred by word of mouth.
By the way, the “mommy makeover” -- breast surgery combined with a tummy tuck -- is rapidly gaining popularity. Women shocked at what pregnancy has done to their bodies, leaving them with sagging breasts, flabby stomachs, stretch marks and loose skin, are rushing to plastic surgeons. I haven’t had children, so I can’t write from firsthand experience, but it’s easy to understand their haste to undo the damage. Still, with all the physical, hormonal and emotional changes that take place in the months after childbirth, many doctors advise waiting on breast operations until at least three months after breastfeeding has finished, and postponing a tummy tuck until at least six months after giving birth.
Now, I’m not an A-list actress trying to schedule the birth of my child with shooting a movie in a bikini three weeks later, but this advice makes sense to me.
Of course, celebrity or not, in this age of political correctness, any time a woman considers having plastic surgery, the debate can’t ever just be about what the woman wants. Thanks to organizations such as the Boston group "Our Bodies Ourselves," it has to be about why she wants it. Is she doing it for the right reason? Columnist and mother-of-two Theresa Walsh Giarrusso, writes, “Yes, your body changes after having children. And, no, it’s not going to be the same again. But that’s OK. You’re a different person mentally and emotionally after bringing children into the world. Why shouldn’t you be different physically? Do we really need to look good enough to compete with 20-year-olds?”
Jeez, it’s not enough that we’re under societal pressure to maintain our sexual allure. We’re also under societal pressure to let go of our allure, from the very people who claim to be fighting societal pressure.
Personally, I really wouldn’t want to let it go. If I didn’t recognize my body anymore after pregnancy, I’d probably wait the recommended length of time, lose the baby weight, get super-healthy, and have the surgery. But I sure wouldn’t have it at the Mall.
Coming next: ABC News asks, “How far will Chinese women go in the pursuit of beauty?” (Hint: see below)
Perhaps you noticed – God, I hope somebody did – that my last blog entry was a few long months ago. As luck would have it, just at the time I was assessing the myriad news reports of the plastic-surgery death of Kanye West’s mother, I broke my hand. Kid you not. I slipped on a bit of nonstick cooking spray that had drifted onto the kitchen floor and, after doing a fabulous impression of Kristi Yamaguchi careening about on the ice, landed smack on my left hand with such force and at such an angle that my ring finger was turned completely around to the side. Oddly, there was no pain at all involved in this.
X-rays showed that the finger itself wasn’t broken, but there was a complicated “spiral” fracture of the metacarpal below that finger. So I had to have hand surgery, involving a long metal plate and numerous little screws, a few of which I can actually feel in the palm of my hand. Pity the person who has to stand behind me in line for the metal detector at the airport. Also, there’s now a long, red scar on the back of my hand that makes me glad I wear gloves while performing. It seems to be healing well, though; nice to know I’m a good “healer” in case I choose to go in for a facelift someday!
I found that recovery from hand surgery can really put a crimp – and even, at times, a cramp – in keyboard-related activities. Surprisingly, the pain didn’t start until after my finger had been put back in place, but then it was brutal. While I was slowly recovering the motion in my hand, so much age- and beauty-related news accumulated that I didn’t know where I’d begin. So I procrastinated, even after I was able to type, and more news piled up. You know how it is.
But let’s pick up where I left off: the sadness and horror of Donda West’s death. What a tragedy. “My mother is my everything,” Kanye West said at the time. The story of her death so dominated the celebrity tattle-shows that by now it must be “old news” to the relentlessly forward-moving press; still, a woman died under shocking circumstances, and I believe it’s not too late to weigh in:
Apparently, fame lends such an aura of infallibility to TV doctors such as Dr. Jan Adams that their patients don’t even wonder why they’re being operated on in an outpatient facility in a SHOPPING MALL. Donda West was going in for a breast reduction and a tummy tuck – increasingly common procedures but still major, major surgery – and that’s where the work was performed. AT THE MALL! Then, instead of being moved to some type of recovery facility where she could be watched, she was taken back to her room and LEFT THERE ALONE. (Pardon all the total caps; I have no other way to express in print my sheer contempt.) This was so wrong that only someone who’s been falsely told her surgery will be a breeze would ever agree to it. She certainly could have afforded the best of post-surgical care if she’d been under the impression that she needed it.
I had better surgical facilities and follow-up for the little bone in my hand than Ms. West had for her two major surgeries. And I had great confidence in my doctor, a specialist who does nothing but repair hands.
TV doctors are on TV because they’re good on TV. Never, ever give your trust to any doctor – or political candidate, but I digress -- just because he or she is telegenic. Even a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon “to the stars” isn’t necessarily any good – look at some of the stars! They look godawful! We tend to think celebrities are special people, with special abilities, but they’re not. According to “The Insider,” Dr. Adams has had 15 malpractice suits filed against him since 1998. My hunch is that the best plastic surgeon on the planet has a name known only to the lucky few who’ve been referred by word of mouth.
By the way, the “mommy makeover” -- breast surgery combined with a tummy tuck -- is rapidly gaining popularity. Women shocked at what pregnancy has done to their bodies, leaving them with sagging breasts, flabby stomachs, stretch marks and loose skin, are rushing to plastic surgeons. I haven’t had children, so I can’t write from firsthand experience, but it’s easy to understand their haste to undo the damage. Still, with all the physical, hormonal and emotional changes that take place in the months after childbirth, many doctors advise waiting on breast operations until at least three months after breastfeeding has finished, and postponing a tummy tuck until at least six months after giving birth.
Now, I’m not an A-list actress trying to schedule the birth of my child with shooting a movie in a bikini three weeks later, but this advice makes sense to me.
Of course, celebrity or not, in this age of political correctness, any time a woman considers having plastic surgery, the debate can’t ever just be about what the woman wants. Thanks to organizations such as the Boston group "Our Bodies Ourselves," it has to be about why she wants it. Is she doing it for the right reason? Columnist and mother-of-two Theresa Walsh Giarrusso, writes, “Yes, your body changes after having children. And, no, it’s not going to be the same again. But that’s OK. You’re a different person mentally and emotionally after bringing children into the world. Why shouldn’t you be different physically? Do we really need to look good enough to compete with 20-year-olds?”
Jeez, it’s not enough that we’re under societal pressure to maintain our sexual allure. We’re also under societal pressure to let go of our allure, from the very people who claim to be fighting societal pressure.
Personally, I really wouldn’t want to let it go. If I didn’t recognize my body anymore after pregnancy, I’d probably wait the recommended length of time, lose the baby weight, get super-healthy, and have the surgery. But I sure wouldn’t have it at the Mall.
Coming next: ABC News asks, “How far will Chinese women go in the pursuit of beauty?” (Hint: see below)
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Lend Me A Hand
Sorry for the lapse in blogging, but I have a good excuse. I slipped on the kitchen floor (it had nothing to do with age, I swear; just a slick spot), and in trying to break my fall, I succeeded in breaking a bone in my left hand. It was a pretty nasty spiral fracture that required an operation and plates and screws to fix (I am the new Bionic Woman!) I now have a big bandage and splint contraption on my left hand and can't type. This message is being typed by my husband, so please forgive any typoos or messpellings.
The splint comes off in a few days and I'll be able to type again. Until then, I'm working on a few short items in longhand for Pat to transcribe. At least this proves that I really can blog with one hand behind my back. Or in this case, propped up over my head.
The splint comes off in a few days and I'll be able to type again. Until then, I'm working on a few short items in longhand for Pat to transcribe. At least this proves that I really can blog with one hand behind my back. Or in this case, propped up over my head.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Laura's List of Pet Peeves
Sure, as always, there’s plenty in the news relating to age and beauty. I’ll get to all that. But first, I have to satisfy an urge I’ve had for awhile: to create my very first official List Of Pet Peeves. If you haven’t ever made one, try it sometime, just for fun, because it can tell you a lot about yourself. For example, I don’t consider myself that easily peeved-off, but my list of peeves turned out to be pretty darn long!
Some of these relate directly to The Age Thing (how could they not?), some only peripherally, and some not at all. Also, I chose not to include things we all hate, such as loud cellphone talkers, bad drivers and anything having to do with air travel. These are personal; some you will no doubt share, while others may just reflect my own quirks. They’re in no particular order. So, here we go, with the things that make me say, “Give me a break!”
LAURA’S LIST OF PET PEEVES
the term “baby boomer,” also any variation such as “boomer,” “aging boomer,” etc.
being pointed at or gestured at from a music video
competitive eating contests
MORE magazine (if you read my blog, you know why)
fake call-in radio talk shows that are really infomercials
phrases such as “most unique,” “more perfect,” “the most complete”
the Nobel Peace Prize
“over-the-hill” birthday parties with black balloons
flawlessly PhotoShopped models
Magazine lists such as “The 50 Most Beautiful People,” “The Top 100 Movies Of All Time,” etc. (there are many of these, and they all need to go away, but they won’t. Maybe I should list the Top 50 Reasons for Them To Go Away.)
white walls and beige carpet
“tear-downs” and starter castles in once-charming old neighborhoods
being lectured to on global warming and foreign policy by Hollywood stars, many of whom didn’t even graduate from high school
concert reviews that insist on critiquing the age and degree of hipness of the audience
awards shows – come on, how often does the most deserving person win?
thug culture
Christmas overkill: Christmas season starting before Thanksgiving is over (let alone Halloween!); also, 90 percent of all the Christmas songs that have ever been recorded
on the other hand, having to call the Christmas tree a “holiday tree,” when everybody knows it’s a Christmas tree
fashion magazines’ monthly lists of “must-haves”
the term “reinventing oneself”
the age limit on “American Idol,” also the constant references to contestants’ ages
extremely passionate, argumentative people who are absolutely convinced of something that’s factually incorrect
today’s Saturday morning cartoons – the worst politically-correct pablum! (where are Rocky and Bullwinkle when you need them?)
saying of any actress with millions of dollars to spend on herself that she is “perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world”
gross-out comedies – I won’t go see “The Heartbreak Kid” and will never, EVER see “Kingpin” again
using “they,” “them” and “their” as singular, as in, “Give your child the things they deserve.”
Hollywood-style celebrity “justice”
overuse of the phrases “if you will” and “at the end of the day”
seafood from China
impenetrable business jargon
image politics
politicians who run on an issue that disappears off the radar screen once they’re elected
dividing us by decade, as in “your 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond”
ads for mascara in which the model is obviously wearing fake eyelashes
child beauty pageants
adult beauty pageants
reality shows, except for “American Idol” and “Dancing With The Stars”
food companies that sell their products as healthy when one look at the label tells you they are SO NOT
swarms of paparazzi – arrest those locusts for stalking and harassment
my frustrating and unending quest for sexy shoes that don’t hurt
rappers yakking over great old hit songs written by real songwriters
those not-so-fabulous fakes: dark spray-on tans, chopped-off noses, wind-tunnel faces, expressionless eyebrows, clown lips, chalk-white teeth, bowling-ball breasts
Dennis Hopper talking to children of the ‘60s about financial services
Hardee’s (The “Monster Thickburger”? Please, Hardee’s, stop the obesity!)
those long loops on dresses for keeping them on hangers – I can never seem to keep them tucked inside!
Conan O’Brien’s opening, with the loooooong, earsplitting trumpet blast at 12:30 AM (11:30 AM Central). Conan has a fantastic band, but how many thousands of times have they done that by now?
laugh tracks
televangelists, “psychics” and “faith healers”
hearing any actor called “the greatest actor of his generation,” especially if it’s Sean Penn, because he probably believes it
the term “generation” (because unless you’re talking about someone’s family tree, people are born on a continuum and generational divisions are arbitrary, so there!)
commercials that say, “Get the (whatever) you DESERVE!” (because, hey, for all they know, I’m an axe murderer and don’t deserve squat)
status designer handbags that cost as much as a new luxury car
Whew, that turned out to be a long list! It’s good that I don’t get very worked up about most of these things, or my life would be miserable. Fortunately, I’m an easygoing sort; there are only a few things that seriously chafe me. And I need this long list of annoyances to write comedy about.
Besides, the list of things I love would be much, much longer.
Next: "Absolutely Safe," a new documentary on breast implants.
Some of these relate directly to The Age Thing (how could they not?), some only peripherally, and some not at all. Also, I chose not to include things we all hate, such as loud cellphone talkers, bad drivers and anything having to do with air travel. These are personal; some you will no doubt share, while others may just reflect my own quirks. They’re in no particular order. So, here we go, with the things that make me say, “Give me a break!”
LAURA’S LIST OF PET PEEVES
the term “baby boomer,” also any variation such as “boomer,” “aging boomer,” etc.
being pointed at or gestured at from a music video
competitive eating contests
MORE magazine (if you read my blog, you know why)
fake call-in radio talk shows that are really infomercials
phrases such as “most unique,” “more perfect,” “the most complete”
the Nobel Peace Prize
“over-the-hill” birthday parties with black balloons
flawlessly PhotoShopped models
Magazine lists such as “The 50 Most Beautiful People,” “The Top 100 Movies Of All Time,” etc. (there are many of these, and they all need to go away, but they won’t. Maybe I should list the Top 50 Reasons for Them To Go Away.)
white walls and beige carpet
“tear-downs” and starter castles in once-charming old neighborhoods
being lectured to on global warming and foreign policy by Hollywood stars, many of whom didn’t even graduate from high school
concert reviews that insist on critiquing the age and degree of hipness of the audience
awards shows – come on, how often does the most deserving person win?
thug culture
Christmas overkill: Christmas season starting before Thanksgiving is over (let alone Halloween!); also, 90 percent of all the Christmas songs that have ever been recorded
on the other hand, having to call the Christmas tree a “holiday tree,” when everybody knows it’s a Christmas tree
fashion magazines’ monthly lists of “must-haves”
the term “reinventing oneself”
the age limit on “American Idol,” also the constant references to contestants’ ages
extremely passionate, argumentative people who are absolutely convinced of something that’s factually incorrect
today’s Saturday morning cartoons – the worst politically-correct pablum! (where are Rocky and Bullwinkle when you need them?)
saying of any actress with millions of dollars to spend on herself that she is “perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world”
gross-out comedies – I won’t go see “The Heartbreak Kid” and will never, EVER see “Kingpin” again
using “they,” “them” and “their” as singular, as in, “Give your child the things they deserve.”
Hollywood-style celebrity “justice”
overuse of the phrases “if you will” and “at the end of the day”
seafood from China
impenetrable business jargon
image politics
politicians who run on an issue that disappears off the radar screen once they’re elected
dividing us by decade, as in “your 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond”
ads for mascara in which the model is obviously wearing fake eyelashes
child beauty pageants
adult beauty pageants
reality shows, except for “American Idol” and “Dancing With The Stars”
food companies that sell their products as healthy when one look at the label tells you they are SO NOT
swarms of paparazzi – arrest those locusts for stalking and harassment
my frustrating and unending quest for sexy shoes that don’t hurt
rappers yakking over great old hit songs written by real songwriters
those not-so-fabulous fakes: dark spray-on tans, chopped-off noses, wind-tunnel faces, expressionless eyebrows, clown lips, chalk-white teeth, bowling-ball breasts
Dennis Hopper talking to children of the ‘60s about financial services
Hardee’s (The “Monster Thickburger”? Please, Hardee’s, stop the obesity!)
those long loops on dresses for keeping them on hangers – I can never seem to keep them tucked inside!
Conan O’Brien’s opening, with the loooooong, earsplitting trumpet blast at 12:30 AM (11:30 AM Central). Conan has a fantastic band, but how many thousands of times have they done that by now?
laugh tracks
televangelists, “psychics” and “faith healers”
hearing any actor called “the greatest actor of his generation,” especially if it’s Sean Penn, because he probably believes it
the term “generation” (because unless you’re talking about someone’s family tree, people are born on a continuum and generational divisions are arbitrary, so there!)
commercials that say, “Get the (whatever) you DESERVE!” (because, hey, for all they know, I’m an axe murderer and don’t deserve squat)
status designer handbags that cost as much as a new luxury car
Whew, that turned out to be a long list! It’s good that I don’t get very worked up about most of these things, or my life would be miserable. Fortunately, I’m an easygoing sort; there are only a few things that seriously chafe me. And I need this long list of annoyances to write comedy about.
Besides, the list of things I love would be much, much longer.
Next: "Absolutely Safe," a new documentary on breast implants.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Plastic Surgeons Losing Patience With Patients
Definitely check out the October issue of Allure magazine. I was at the hair salon just long enough to read the article on plastic surgery patients who present themselves to their doctors as self-styled experts. This is becoming a frustrating problem for cosmetic surgeons and dermatologists.
These patients – almost all female -- have never graduated from medical school, but they’ve spent a lot of time on the Internet, where the real truth is, and they walk into the doctor’s office armed with stacks of single-spaced typewritten pages of exacting instructions. They’ve created computer morphed “Before and After” shots of themselves. They know all the medical terminology and sound well-informed to the layman. The problem is, they’ve never actually performed surgery, injected Botox and wrinkle fillers, or learned the hazards of many of the procedures they want their doctors to perform.
Nevertheless, they’re insistent. And they’re never satisfied – they have to keep tinkering. Ultimately, they have even more procedures to “fix” the bad results caused by the original procedures. Then they have to “fix” the “fix.” And then “fix” that.
One doctor quoted in the article spoke of a patient who had returned from Mexico with a vial of some kind of bone cement (I’m not kidding) that she wanted him to inject into her face. As any reputable physician would, he refused, explaining that he had no guarantee of what was in that vial. He could literally be injecting her face with anything, and he wasn’t going to be responsible for that. So she waved bye-bye with her perfectly-manicured hand and continued her search for someone who would do it for her.
No doubt she didn’t have to search for long. I've heard of dermatologists in Dallas who very openly perform procedures – or have their assistants perform them – that are unapproved by the FDA and pose serious risks to one’s health and/or appearance. You can probably find their names on various plastic surgery websites that extoll the virtues of such procedures. Go ahead, look them up, so you’ll know who not to patronize.
This problem seems to be a variation of Body Dysmorphic Disorder, which is what makes anorexics see themselves as fat when they’re actually starving to death and Michael Jackson think he’ll be perfect after just one more plastic surgery. Often it’s a focus on one particular physical flaw, but once that flaw is addressed, it can morph into a pathological appetite for perfection that will never be satisfied.
My friend Dr. Brown, who’s known as one of the best plastic surgeons in Dallas (and that’s saying a lot!), tells me he has women come in and tell him exactly how to make over their breasts. A common instruction is, “Make me as big as you can make me!” But Dr. Brown doesn’t do that. Often, he’ll counsel a patient that because of her height and bone structure, he can’t make her more than, say, a “C.”
I think I can safely say he didn’t do Pam Anderson’s breasts. Or the breasts of any woman who aspires to look like her.
Quite a long time ago, I actually consulted Dr. Brown about a possible reshaping of my nose, and the experience taught me a lot about the psychological aspects of plastic surgery. If you look at pictures of me on my website, you’ll probably say, “Her nose looks just fine! Why would she want to change it?” (at least, I hope you'd say that). Well, the reason was one photograph, taken from an odd angle, that really did make my nose loom large. So I told Dr. Brown that I didn’t want to change the shape of my nose, just make the proportion a little smaller.
He listened, then had me come in for some “Before” pictures, both front and side view. The assistant behind the camera looked confused and had to ask me, “Now, what is it that you wanted changed?”
I’ll never know if Dr. Brown had told her to ask that question, but it sure made me think. “If this person,” I wondered, “who sees hundreds of plastic surgery patients every year, can’t even tell that it’s my nose I’m concerned about, then what is my problem?”
Then, when I saw the photos and realized that they looked more like “After” pictures, I told Dr. Brown that I’d decided against having any work done on my nose. He must have been relieved. And I’m glad that he trusted me to come to my own conclusion; if he’d just said at the outset, “You don’t need it,” I might have just answered, “Well, I think I do.”
Unfortunate, overdone nose jobs are as common as paralyzed faces these days. One big difference, though: Botox wears off in a few months, while, to paraphase James Bond, a nose job is forever. And if the first attempt isn’t right, there has to be another procedure, and perhaps another. I’ve seen many hypershortened noses that are beyond saving. Then the question becomes like a bad trip to a casino: Do you want to walk away with your losses, or risk what you have on another procedure, knowing you’ll probably come out worse but might come out better? In that sense, the addiction to plastic surgery seems to me a lot like the addiction to gambling. With this kind of risk, you might lose the ranch or lose your nose – or, like Michael Jackson, you might lose both.
This isn’t to say that a nose job is never a good thing. If you really don’t like your nose, if it’s caused you to suffer comments and heartache all your life, then I say, “Rah-rah, rhinoplasty!” If you’re in show business, and a slight change in your nose will make you photograph significantly better, then go for it, as lovelies from Paula Abdul to Halle Berry have. But find the best surgeon you can, one who will get it right the first time. Find one who will listen to you, and then…LISTEN TO HIM. Have the work done. And then, if at all possible, consider it a finished work of art.
Your life is a work in progress; your face shouldn’t have to be.
These patients – almost all female -- have never graduated from medical school, but they’ve spent a lot of time on the Internet, where the real truth is, and they walk into the doctor’s office armed with stacks of single-spaced typewritten pages of exacting instructions. They’ve created computer morphed “Before and After” shots of themselves. They know all the medical terminology and sound well-informed to the layman. The problem is, they’ve never actually performed surgery, injected Botox and wrinkle fillers, or learned the hazards of many of the procedures they want their doctors to perform.
Nevertheless, they’re insistent. And they’re never satisfied – they have to keep tinkering. Ultimately, they have even more procedures to “fix” the bad results caused by the original procedures. Then they have to “fix” the “fix.” And then “fix” that.
One doctor quoted in the article spoke of a patient who had returned from Mexico with a vial of some kind of bone cement (I’m not kidding) that she wanted him to inject into her face. As any reputable physician would, he refused, explaining that he had no guarantee of what was in that vial. He could literally be injecting her face with anything, and he wasn’t going to be responsible for that. So she waved bye-bye with her perfectly-manicured hand and continued her search for someone who would do it for her.
No doubt she didn’t have to search for long. I've heard of dermatologists in Dallas who very openly perform procedures – or have their assistants perform them – that are unapproved by the FDA and pose serious risks to one’s health and/or appearance. You can probably find their names on various plastic surgery websites that extoll the virtues of such procedures. Go ahead, look them up, so you’ll know who not to patronize.
This problem seems to be a variation of Body Dysmorphic Disorder, which is what makes anorexics see themselves as fat when they’re actually starving to death and Michael Jackson think he’ll be perfect after just one more plastic surgery. Often it’s a focus on one particular physical flaw, but once that flaw is addressed, it can morph into a pathological appetite for perfection that will never be satisfied.
My friend Dr. Brown, who’s known as one of the best plastic surgeons in Dallas (and that’s saying a lot!), tells me he has women come in and tell him exactly how to make over their breasts. A common instruction is, “Make me as big as you can make me!” But Dr. Brown doesn’t do that. Often, he’ll counsel a patient that because of her height and bone structure, he can’t make her more than, say, a “C.”
I think I can safely say he didn’t do Pam Anderson’s breasts. Or the breasts of any woman who aspires to look like her.
Quite a long time ago, I actually consulted Dr. Brown about a possible reshaping of my nose, and the experience taught me a lot about the psychological aspects of plastic surgery. If you look at pictures of me on my website, you’ll probably say, “Her nose looks just fine! Why would she want to change it?” (at least, I hope you'd say that). Well, the reason was one photograph, taken from an odd angle, that really did make my nose loom large. So I told Dr. Brown that I didn’t want to change the shape of my nose, just make the proportion a little smaller.
He listened, then had me come in for some “Before” pictures, both front and side view. The assistant behind the camera looked confused and had to ask me, “Now, what is it that you wanted changed?”
I’ll never know if Dr. Brown had told her to ask that question, but it sure made me think. “If this person,” I wondered, “who sees hundreds of plastic surgery patients every year, can’t even tell that it’s my nose I’m concerned about, then what is my problem?”
Then, when I saw the photos and realized that they looked more like “After” pictures, I told Dr. Brown that I’d decided against having any work done on my nose. He must have been relieved. And I’m glad that he trusted me to come to my own conclusion; if he’d just said at the outset, “You don’t need it,” I might have just answered, “Well, I think I do.”
Unfortunate, overdone nose jobs are as common as paralyzed faces these days. One big difference, though: Botox wears off in a few months, while, to paraphase James Bond, a nose job is forever. And if the first attempt isn’t right, there has to be another procedure, and perhaps another. I’ve seen many hypershortened noses that are beyond saving. Then the question becomes like a bad trip to a casino: Do you want to walk away with your losses, or risk what you have on another procedure, knowing you’ll probably come out worse but might come out better? In that sense, the addiction to plastic surgery seems to me a lot like the addiction to gambling. With this kind of risk, you might lose the ranch or lose your nose – or, like Michael Jackson, you might lose both.
This isn’t to say that a nose job is never a good thing. If you really don’t like your nose, if it’s caused you to suffer comments and heartache all your life, then I say, “Rah-rah, rhinoplasty!” If you’re in show business, and a slight change in your nose will make you photograph significantly better, then go for it, as lovelies from Paula Abdul to Halle Berry have. But find the best surgeon you can, one who will get it right the first time. Find one who will listen to you, and then…LISTEN TO HIM. Have the work done. And then, if at all possible, consider it a finished work of art.
Your life is a work in progress; your face shouldn’t have to be.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The Mammogram Song
In honor of October, National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, here is my wonderful friend and mentor, queen of the satirical folk song, Lu Mitchell, singing her hilarious song, "The Mammogram," and actually finding humor in what we all have to go through...
The Hallucinatory Halo of Health, and Other Cautionary Tales
A round-up of news from all over...
The famously shrinking Jared lost tons of weight by eating all his meals at Subway. So everything they have at Subway must be healthy, right? Wrong!
Cornell University found that people who eat at Subway, billed as the healthy, lowfat alternative to typical fast food, tend to consume more calories than McDonald’s diners. They gave students coupons for either a Big Mac (800 calories) or a 12-inch Italian sub with cheese (900 calories) plus any free extras they wanted. Subway eaters were more likely to add chips, a cookie and a non-diet drink because, researchers concluded, Subway has a “health halo” that makes people assume everything is low-calorie. Subway eaters were also more likely to snack later in the day because they think they ‘deserve it” for eating so healthily.
Also because, as everyone knows, free food has no calories.
Their snack of choice? I’m betting it was a Big Mac.
Does anyone really think Jared lost all that weight by eating 12-inch meatball subs with cheese? I’m thinking that most of the people in this study were college students with fast metabolisms, who got the extra cookie because it was free and Subway has really good cookies. The ones who did have weight issues probably just thought, “Well, this is free; I’ll diet tomorrow.” And maybe it’s not that Subway has a “health halo” but that McDonald’s has the opposite: an especially bad rep as unhealthy fast food that makes people choose more carefully. This study may have some merit, but I’ve noticed that researchers, after painstakingly accumulating and analyzing their data, often interpret the facts in an incredibly subjective way. On the bright side, if deluded people keep chowing down on Subway meatball subs, Jared has plenty of big old pants he’d be happy to sell them.
BIG SOUTH AMERICAN BREASTS
I didn’t know this, but it’s become a tradition in Venezuela, a truly beauty-obsessed nation, to give one’s daughter breast implants for her 15th birthday. There’s more plastic surgery taking place in Venezuela than anywhere else on earth – is it any wonder that it produces the most beauty queens? -- and the 15th birthday implants are so popular, they’re advertised on TV. Breast augmentation has become a rite of passage, like nose jobs in Beverly Hills.
Proving the old adage that even a broken clock is right twice a day, socialist president and aspiring revolutionary Hugo Chavez has come out against the ridiculous fad, calling it “horrible” and “the ultimate degradation.” He also wants his country rid of “Western icons”such as Barbie dolls. He lectured the country about this on a recent Saturday TV appearance that ran eight hours.
I hear that people actually watched the whole thing, transfixed. Maybe because it was illustrated.
Obviously, Chavez hasn’t thought this thing through. If he wants a socialist revolution, what could be more helpful than a country full of giant boobs? Also, his stand against fake breasts could be the final straw that makes Venezuelans rise up and overthrow him. He’s said some crazy things before, but this time he’s gone too far!
MORE ON BOOBS
Scientist Patrick Mallucci presented a breakthrough report in London this week. He thoroughly researched photos of hundreds of female celebrities with fake boobs to help plastic surgeons create perfect-looking breasts for clients. (Millions of guys do this job on the Internet, and he’s apparently the only one who gets paid for it.) Speaking to the Breast Enlargement Conference (yes!), he said he’d found the ideal breast job is a “45-55 percent proportion,” with the nipple at least 45 percent from the top and not at the halfway mark or lower.
He also declared British model Caprice to have the best fake boobs in showbiz (they’re absolutely capricious), while the worst are Victoria Beckham’s, which are “unnaturally round.” I tend to agree. Of course, they look that way because in honor of her husband, she had two soccer balls installed.
Also, her nipples are in the bottom 10 percent.
This researcher had wanted to study female celebrities with real breasts, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t find any.
THE RULES OF ATTRACTION: HIGHS AND LOWS
McMaster University in Canada studied the Hadza tribe of Tanzania and found that men with deeper voices had more children than men with higher-pitched voices. Researchers said previous studies found that women find males with deeper voices to be more attractive, judging them to be older, healthier and more dominant and masculine. Also, men perceive women with higher voices as more attractive, subordinate (!), feminine, healthier and younger.
Okay, then, I want to know why Jessica Rabbit, the most seductive cartoon character ever, was voiced by Kathleen Turner, not Jennifer Tilly or the woman who voices Minnie Mouse. And why have men traditionally been attracted to sultry-voiced women like Lauren Bacall and Susan Hayward?
Conversely, why did women like the Bee Gees in the ‘70s? Sting sounds as though he’s on helium, yet he’s perceived to be all the things on the above laundry list. And look at Mick Jagger and Robert Plant: they don’t have deep voices, and I’ll bet they’ve got more children than anybody. Some they don’t even know about.
I personally tend to like lower voices, for both men and women. My husband has worked in radio and doesn’t have the basso profundo “voice of God” announcer’s voice, but it’s still pretty low. It makes him more attractive to me than he’d be with a high voice. On the other hand, he doesn’t have kids. I think this may be another one of those studies in which subjective conclusions have been drawn. Or maybe those conclusions are just particularly true in Tanzania.
STUPID MAN COMPARES OLD WIFE TO NEW
A 43-year-old man in Johor state, Malaysia, was in bed with his 48-year-old wife when he began unfavorably comparing her sex skills with those of his new, younger, second wife. Bad idea!
Wife #1 became enranged, grabbed a kitchen knife and nearly deprived him of his manliness. He managed to get to the hospital and have it sewn securely back in place.
Though the wife could get up to three years in jail, she’s not worried. All she needs is one woman on the jury. Then it’s “justifiable penicide.”
Men, listen up. Never, I repeat, NEVER, compare your older first wife to your younger second wife. Especially when you are naked, and there’s a kitchen knife within reach.
STILL TOO FAT FOR THE RUNWAY
Have you seen the billboards that show anorexic French actress Isabelle Caro nude? The shocking pictures of this emaciated woman are captioned with the slogan, “NO TO ANOREXIA.” There’s a magazine ad, too, and Caro has been featured on Entertainment Tonight and other TV shows. Critics say girls might look at Caro as a role model because she’s getting to be a celebrity, and they have a point. But photographer Oliviero Toscani said that girls with anorexia who look at it would say to themselves that they have to stop dieting, not that they have to look like Isabelle Caro.
My thought is that girls with anorexia will say to themselves that Isabelle Caro looks fat.
Or maybe they’ll look at the pictures and say, “Hey, I’m not that thin... I’d like to be…”
I’ve seen what she looks like, and it’s a skeleton with some skin stretched over it. I don’t know how this woman is still alive. In fact, my theory is that she’s not actually alive. I think there’s been some taxidermy involved. She’s been stuffed and mounted.
Well, mounted.
THE BRITISH ARE PHYSICAL WRECKS
A study by the gym chain L.A. Fitness has found that the fitness of Britons has reached a new low: 53 percent can’t touch their toes, 68 percent can’t do 20 sit-ups, 60 percent can’t carry their weekly shopping home from the supermarket, and a quarter of British women are too fat to fasten their own bras. It has occurred to me that these are the very women who really need to wear bras! I suppose many of them just give up and wear tube tops.
The Brits seriously need to start getting in shape. Here’s one suggestion: If they’re having trouble carrying home their groceries, maybe they should stop buying so much food.
Next: In October’s Allure magazine: Plastic surgery obsession from the doctor’s point of view.
The famously shrinking Jared lost tons of weight by eating all his meals at Subway. So everything they have at Subway must be healthy, right? Wrong!
Cornell University found that people who eat at Subway, billed as the healthy, lowfat alternative to typical fast food, tend to consume more calories than McDonald’s diners. They gave students coupons for either a Big Mac (800 calories) or a 12-inch Italian sub with cheese (900 calories) plus any free extras they wanted. Subway eaters were more likely to add chips, a cookie and a non-diet drink because, researchers concluded, Subway has a “health halo” that makes people assume everything is low-calorie. Subway eaters were also more likely to snack later in the day because they think they ‘deserve it” for eating so healthily.
Also because, as everyone knows, free food has no calories.
Their snack of choice? I’m betting it was a Big Mac.
Does anyone really think Jared lost all that weight by eating 12-inch meatball subs with cheese? I’m thinking that most of the people in this study were college students with fast metabolisms, who got the extra cookie because it was free and Subway has really good cookies. The ones who did have weight issues probably just thought, “Well, this is free; I’ll diet tomorrow.” And maybe it’s not that Subway has a “health halo” but that McDonald’s has the opposite: an especially bad rep as unhealthy fast food that makes people choose more carefully. This study may have some merit, but I’ve noticed that researchers, after painstakingly accumulating and analyzing their data, often interpret the facts in an incredibly subjective way. On the bright side, if deluded people keep chowing down on Subway meatball subs, Jared has plenty of big old pants he’d be happy to sell them.
BIG SOUTH AMERICAN BREASTS
I didn’t know this, but it’s become a tradition in Venezuela, a truly beauty-obsessed nation, to give one’s daughter breast implants for her 15th birthday. There’s more plastic surgery taking place in Venezuela than anywhere else on earth – is it any wonder that it produces the most beauty queens? -- and the 15th birthday implants are so popular, they’re advertised on TV. Breast augmentation has become a rite of passage, like nose jobs in Beverly Hills.
Proving the old adage that even a broken clock is right twice a day, socialist president and aspiring revolutionary Hugo Chavez has come out against the ridiculous fad, calling it “horrible” and “the ultimate degradation.” He also wants his country rid of “Western icons”such as Barbie dolls. He lectured the country about this on a recent Saturday TV appearance that ran eight hours.
I hear that people actually watched the whole thing, transfixed. Maybe because it was illustrated.
Obviously, Chavez hasn’t thought this thing through. If he wants a socialist revolution, what could be more helpful than a country full of giant boobs? Also, his stand against fake breasts could be the final straw that makes Venezuelans rise up and overthrow him. He’s said some crazy things before, but this time he’s gone too far!
MORE ON BOOBS
Scientist Patrick Mallucci presented a breakthrough report in London this week. He thoroughly researched photos of hundreds of female celebrities with fake boobs to help plastic surgeons create perfect-looking breasts for clients. (Millions of guys do this job on the Internet, and he’s apparently the only one who gets paid for it.) Speaking to the Breast Enlargement Conference (yes!), he said he’d found the ideal breast job is a “45-55 percent proportion,” with the nipple at least 45 percent from the top and not at the halfway mark or lower.
He also declared British model Caprice to have the best fake boobs in showbiz (they’re absolutely capricious), while the worst are Victoria Beckham’s, which are “unnaturally round.” I tend to agree. Of course, they look that way because in honor of her husband, she had two soccer balls installed.
Also, her nipples are in the bottom 10 percent.
This researcher had wanted to study female celebrities with real breasts, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t find any.
THE RULES OF ATTRACTION: HIGHS AND LOWS
McMaster University in Canada studied the Hadza tribe of Tanzania and found that men with deeper voices had more children than men with higher-pitched voices. Researchers said previous studies found that women find males with deeper voices to be more attractive, judging them to be older, healthier and more dominant and masculine. Also, men perceive women with higher voices as more attractive, subordinate (!), feminine, healthier and younger.
Okay, then, I want to know why Jessica Rabbit, the most seductive cartoon character ever, was voiced by Kathleen Turner, not Jennifer Tilly or the woman who voices Minnie Mouse. And why have men traditionally been attracted to sultry-voiced women like Lauren Bacall and Susan Hayward?
Conversely, why did women like the Bee Gees in the ‘70s? Sting sounds as though he’s on helium, yet he’s perceived to be all the things on the above laundry list. And look at Mick Jagger and Robert Plant: they don’t have deep voices, and I’ll bet they’ve got more children than anybody. Some they don’t even know about.
I personally tend to like lower voices, for both men and women. My husband has worked in radio and doesn’t have the basso profundo “voice of God” announcer’s voice, but it’s still pretty low. It makes him more attractive to me than he’d be with a high voice. On the other hand, he doesn’t have kids. I think this may be another one of those studies in which subjective conclusions have been drawn. Or maybe those conclusions are just particularly true in Tanzania.
STUPID MAN COMPARES OLD WIFE TO NEW
A 43-year-old man in Johor state, Malaysia, was in bed with his 48-year-old wife when he began unfavorably comparing her sex skills with those of his new, younger, second wife. Bad idea!
Wife #1 became enranged, grabbed a kitchen knife and nearly deprived him of his manliness. He managed to get to the hospital and have it sewn securely back in place.
Though the wife could get up to three years in jail, she’s not worried. All she needs is one woman on the jury. Then it’s “justifiable penicide.”
Men, listen up. Never, I repeat, NEVER, compare your older first wife to your younger second wife. Especially when you are naked, and there’s a kitchen knife within reach.
STILL TOO FAT FOR THE RUNWAY
Have you seen the billboards that show anorexic French actress Isabelle Caro nude? The shocking pictures of this emaciated woman are captioned with the slogan, “NO TO ANOREXIA.” There’s a magazine ad, too, and Caro has been featured on Entertainment Tonight and other TV shows. Critics say girls might look at Caro as a role model because she’s getting to be a celebrity, and they have a point. But photographer Oliviero Toscani said that girls with anorexia who look at it would say to themselves that they have to stop dieting, not that they have to look like Isabelle Caro.
My thought is that girls with anorexia will say to themselves that Isabelle Caro looks fat.
Or maybe they’ll look at the pictures and say, “Hey, I’m not that thin... I’d like to be…”
I’ve seen what she looks like, and it’s a skeleton with some skin stretched over it. I don’t know how this woman is still alive. In fact, my theory is that she’s not actually alive. I think there’s been some taxidermy involved. She’s been stuffed and mounted.
Well, mounted.
THE BRITISH ARE PHYSICAL WRECKS
A study by the gym chain L.A. Fitness has found that the fitness of Britons has reached a new low: 53 percent can’t touch their toes, 68 percent can’t do 20 sit-ups, 60 percent can’t carry their weekly shopping home from the supermarket, and a quarter of British women are too fat to fasten their own bras. It has occurred to me that these are the very women who really need to wear bras! I suppose many of them just give up and wear tube tops.
The Brits seriously need to start getting in shape. Here’s one suggestion: If they’re having trouble carrying home their groceries, maybe they should stop buying so much food.
Next: In October’s Allure magazine: Plastic surgery obsession from the doctor’s point of view.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Don't Believe Your Eyes...Or Anyone Else's
I’ve just watched two absolute must-see videos. The first one, Onslaught, a Dove film at campaignforrealbeauty.com, opens with a closeup of a lovely fresh-faced girl, maybe about 9 or 10 years old, and then takes off into a bombardment of edgy media images at breakneck pace: flawless faces, perfect bodies in tiny bikinis, and “transformed” skin, interspersed with yo-yo weight loss and even a brief flash of the toilet bowl as it awaits an upchucked meal. (This all happens so fast that one may need several viewings to take it all in.) It ends with another shot of the young girl with her friends as they walk to school and the message, “Talk to your daughter before the beauty industry does.”
Bravo, Dove! Of course, it has to be said that Dove is a part of the beauty industry, but they deserve a huge commendation for their unique approach.
Several months ago, I was surprised by the cynical reaction to the Dove campaign expressed by an acquaintance of mine. “I can just see the executives and ad people sitting around the table, talking about how they need to position their company to cut through the clutter,” she said (I’m paraphrasing here), her eyes rolling. “That’s all it’s really about.” And she considered it exploitative to show the women of various body types in their underwear.
I must confess -- cynic though I am -- that I love the Dove Campaign For Real Beauty. The quest for perfection forced on us from all sides can be so damaging; this campaign shows how we can be suckered by it and helps us find our way back to the real world. Even if, in the end, it is just a way to sell products, at least it’s the right way. May they break all sales records with this campaign.
Dove has another great video that rapidly details the amazing powers of Photoshop to “beautify” a woman’s face. It’s called Evolution, and it's been on their website for some time; but there’s a new one, not associated with Dove, that does the same thing with a woman’s entire body. It’s called The Power Of Photoshop. Unless you’re a professional photographer who’s already skilled at this process, you have to see it to believe it.
In the video, an extremely heavy woman is posing with much of her ample flesh exposed. The Photoshop artist gradually reproportions the woman’s body and face, much as a sculptor chips away at a block of marble to create his vision of Aphrodite. The woman’s dimply skin becomes flawless, her breasts are lifted and shaped, her dark hair triples in volume as her hips become one-third their original size, and the light around her glows like hundreds of buttery candles. She has become a completely different woman, and the effect is totally realistic. Now, she’s ready to post her picture on eharmony.com.
Wow, this is even faster weight loss than they promise in those ads for weight-loss products. No hunger, no surgery, no sagging skin, and the weight stays off!
I’m urging every woman to watch this, in the hope that she’ll never try to compete with Photoshopped media images again.
*************************
A WORM’S-EYE VIEW OF TIME
As any reader of this blog knows, I follow the Perricone Prescription. That means no sugar or other high-glycemic foods and plenty of antioxidants, both in food and as supplements. I think it’s had quite a remarkable effect, not just on how I look but on my overall health, so much so that I even sing an aria, “O Worship Dr. Perricone,” in my show.
Scientifically, Perricone has been on the cutting edge, but the jury is still out on some of his recommendations. For example, the German Institute of Human Nutrition says that a key to living longer might be giving up sweets and – here’s the surprising part – avoiding vitamins.
At least, if you’re a worm.
In their study, they blocked the ability of worms to process glucose, with the result that they (the worms, not the researchers) lived 25 percent longer. In a human, that translates into about 15 years. The scientists found that restricting sugar at first caused the worms to build up free radicals that cause aging. You’d think that would be a bad thing, but their bodies responded by building up stronger, long-lasting defenses. This might explain why taking antioxidant vitamins to wipe out free radicals doesn’t seem to help people live longer. The researchers said, “The bad thing in the end promotes something good.”
So it seems to me that, if you restrict sugar and take antioxidants, you won’t live longer, but you will look younger when you die. Very important if you want an open casket. You should have seen how young these worms looked – you wouldn’t even have known they were segmented! They looked unsegmented!
Actually, I know what preserves worms best of all. Tequila.
Bravo, Dove! Of course, it has to be said that Dove is a part of the beauty industry, but they deserve a huge commendation for their unique approach.
Several months ago, I was surprised by the cynical reaction to the Dove campaign expressed by an acquaintance of mine. “I can just see the executives and ad people sitting around the table, talking about how they need to position their company to cut through the clutter,” she said (I’m paraphrasing here), her eyes rolling. “That’s all it’s really about.” And she considered it exploitative to show the women of various body types in their underwear.
I must confess -- cynic though I am -- that I love the Dove Campaign For Real Beauty. The quest for perfection forced on us from all sides can be so damaging; this campaign shows how we can be suckered by it and helps us find our way back to the real world. Even if, in the end, it is just a way to sell products, at least it’s the right way. May they break all sales records with this campaign.
Dove has another great video that rapidly details the amazing powers of Photoshop to “beautify” a woman’s face. It’s called Evolution, and it's been on their website for some time; but there’s a new one, not associated with Dove, that does the same thing with a woman’s entire body. It’s called The Power Of Photoshop. Unless you’re a professional photographer who’s already skilled at this process, you have to see it to believe it.
In the video, an extremely heavy woman is posing with much of her ample flesh exposed. The Photoshop artist gradually reproportions the woman’s body and face, much as a sculptor chips away at a block of marble to create his vision of Aphrodite. The woman’s dimply skin becomes flawless, her breasts are lifted and shaped, her dark hair triples in volume as her hips become one-third their original size, and the light around her glows like hundreds of buttery candles. She has become a completely different woman, and the effect is totally realistic. Now, she’s ready to post her picture on eharmony.com.
Wow, this is even faster weight loss than they promise in those ads for weight-loss products. No hunger, no surgery, no sagging skin, and the weight stays off!
I’m urging every woman to watch this, in the hope that she’ll never try to compete with Photoshopped media images again.
*************************
A WORM’S-EYE VIEW OF TIME
As any reader of this blog knows, I follow the Perricone Prescription. That means no sugar or other high-glycemic foods and plenty of antioxidants, both in food and as supplements. I think it’s had quite a remarkable effect, not just on how I look but on my overall health, so much so that I even sing an aria, “O Worship Dr. Perricone,” in my show.
Scientifically, Perricone has been on the cutting edge, but the jury is still out on some of his recommendations. For example, the German Institute of Human Nutrition says that a key to living longer might be giving up sweets and – here’s the surprising part – avoiding vitamins.
At least, if you’re a worm.
In their study, they blocked the ability of worms to process glucose, with the result that they (the worms, not the researchers) lived 25 percent longer. In a human, that translates into about 15 years. The scientists found that restricting sugar at first caused the worms to build up free radicals that cause aging. You’d think that would be a bad thing, but their bodies responded by building up stronger, long-lasting defenses. This might explain why taking antioxidant vitamins to wipe out free radicals doesn’t seem to help people live longer. The researchers said, “The bad thing in the end promotes something good.”
So it seems to me that, if you restrict sugar and take antioxidants, you won’t live longer, but you will look younger when you die. Very important if you want an open casket. You should have seen how young these worms looked – you wouldn’t even have known they were segmented! They looked unsegmented!
Actually, I know what preserves worms best of all. Tequila.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
To Gray Or Not To Gray
Did you know that the typical mega-bookstore has an entire section devoted to aging? It's true! You see, it's very important to age in exactly the right way, because every choice you make is going to be a political and personal statement, loaded with implications about your values. I just found this out in an article called "The War Over Going Gray" by Anne Kreamer, who has also written an entire book on how your hair should age. It's called Going Gray.
Kreamer, after coloring her hair for over 20 years, decided to stop doing it. "I found to my surprise," she says, "that by visually challenging my peers (if I was really gray, so must they be!), I unwittingly landed myself on the front lines of a public struggle - literally superficial but at the same time almost existentially meaningful to American women - with the vicissitudes of age."
She says she encountered two reactions: "a sort of proud, sometimes, sanctimonious right-on-sister enthusiasm from fellow gray-haired women," and "an equally proud, sometimes resentful don't-judge-my-choices-I-do-this-to-feel-good-about-me defensiveness in the comments of the committed-to-dyeing cohort."
"Hardly anyone was lukewarm in their reactions," she continues, "which suggests to me we may have a contentious new baby-boomer argument over gray hair that is as mutually judgmental as the mommy wars between working and stay-at-home mothers was in the 1980s and '90s."
Again with the boomer thing. Never mind that the youngest boomers -- many of whom, I'm sure, are graying now -- were three years old during the Summer Of Love. Among even the oldest boomers, I'll bet I could find a few who weren't cutting class to join sit-ins or dropping acid at Woodstock. Nevertheless, there's an assumption that all the baby boomers used to be hippies and they'd be selling out, man, to do something as dishonest as color their hair! It's ironic: former flower children are obligated to say goodbye to the hair they had as children. The kids who believed they should "never trust anyone over 30" are now forced to deal with the politics of age. Well, what goes around comes around.
I know I live in Dallas, home of the hair that's big and blond, but have I completely missed something? Where is the existential meaning in the decision about hair color? Why is hair color an "age thing" at all? High school girls color their hair. High school boys color their hair. Twelve-year-old girls get highlights, just for fun. Most women of all ages change the color of their hair or at least enhance it in some way.
Women go gray "in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond." Hair color, including the way it changes through the years, is a genetic trait. Raven-haired Lara Flynn Boyle has said in an interview that her hair turned totally white in her twenties but that she chose to keep it dark. (I agree that the dark hair is very dramatic against her fair skin.) But all-over silver hair can beautiful at any age; I think women such as Emmylou Harris who attain it at a young age and look beautiful in it are lucky. And just think - if you're tall, skinny, have great skin and beautiful white hair, you can be quite successful modeling for Chico's.
I didn't get the "white hair" gene. My poker-straight blond hair, about a decade ago, started turning a little darker and more ashy. I had it highlighted for awhile, but so many Dallas women are blond that I'm glad I made the decision eight years ago to turn it a vibrant but natural-looking red. It makes me feel good. It makes my eyes look bluer. And the shade suits my overall coloring so well that most of the people I've met in the past eight years are stunned when I tell them I'm not a real redhead.
Judging from my eyebrows, the hair on my head is probably coming in an ashy-blondy-brownish color. If I stopped coloring it, the occasional gray hairs that might be there would probably blend in and look like subtle highlights, if they were noticed at all. My mom didn't get much gray in her taupe-colored hair until very late in life, so I probably won't, either. I'll never have Emmylou Harris hair. I have as much chance of that as of having curly hair. Or thick hair, drat.
Never did I dream that by coloring my hair I was being dishonest in any way or making some kind of personal statement about aging. But it seems I have been, without even realizing it!
Kreamer points out that of the 16 female U.S. Senators, not a single one has visible gray hair, though they range in age from 46 to 74. Of the 70 female members of the House, only seven have gray hair. "Political professionals," she reports, "say that the double standard is a great unspoken inequity but that candidates and officeholders don't dare publicly discuss it for fear of seeming trivial."
What double standard? There may presently be, percentage-wise, more gray-haired men than gray-haired women in office, but that number is going down as more and more men feel the pressure to look young and vital. Ronald Reagan dyed his hair. (The joke was that he'd gone "prematurely orange.") I'm sure quite a few men in Congress do. I'd be willing to bet Mitt Romney's coloring the gray, and my hunch is that other Presidential candidates - not just Hillary Clinton -- are, too. Joe Biden got a hair transplant. And imagine how many toupees there must be among politicians! How many men in politics are being "dishonest" by covering their male pattern baldness?
Kreamer's article paraphrases Clairol's in-house creative director of color and style as saying that one powerful motivator of gray-haired women to dye their hair is to live the fantasy that they're still 30 or 35 instead of 45 or 60. (This statement chafes me for so many reasons that if I were currently using Clairol hair coloring, I'd switch to another brand.) She says that rather than sell it as a fantasy or lie, the postmodern beauty industry casts artificial color as a means of expressing a deeper truth about who one is.
Gee. I color mine because it's fun, it looks striking on stage and, as previously noted, it makes my eyes look bluer.
Rose Weitz, who wrote Rapunzel's Daughters: What Women's Hair Tells Us About Women's Lives (Jeez, another book on aging hair??), says, "Even if, in the abstract, we think we look all right with gray hair, we nonetheless feel as if we are losing our 'real selves' if we no longer have our 'real hair color' - the color we had when we were young and looked our best." If that's true, I should want to be blonde forever. And who says we "looked our best" back then, anyway? Some of us did. Some look better today.
Interestingly, Kreamer notes that when she tested gray hair vs. brown hair on Match.com, posting the pictures three months apart, she had much more success as the gray-haired version of herself. (She gave her age accurately for each posting.) Three times as many men in New York City, Chicago and even Los Angeles were interested in the "gray" Kreamer. She speculates that her honesty made her seem refreshing and accessible, or that perhaps her gray hair made her stand out among all the fake, colored hair.
Both of those possibilities may be true. But an additional consideration is that the gray just looks really good on her. Did she ever think about that?
Probably not. In her article, she says, "These days, choosing not to dye has become a statement rather than a casual stylistic choice."
She obviously didn't talk to me. But I'm telling you now that, down the road, as I get more gray in my hair, my decision about coloring it will be nothing more than a casual stylistic choice. My hair color will never be a political statement. It will not reveal my numerical age. It will not clue others in to my opinions any more than my numerical age does.
And to you gray-hairs out there, dyed or not: Unless you're in a field that demands employees who look as if they're straight from Central Casting, I recommend that you get over yourself and stop overanalyzing this issue. Do whatever you like with your hair. It's not that important. Really.
Kreamer didn't talk to my friend Lu, either. Lu is a longtime Dallas folksinger and songwriter who has straight, thick, uniformly gray hair. It's not a dramatic white or silver, just light gray. She wears it in a distinctive short cut that looks good on her. (For those who care how old she is, she's 80, though she looks many years younger, even with the gray.) I asked her about the to-dye-or-not-to-dye question; does she keep her natural color as a personal statement, or what?
Her attitude was very much like mine. She's not making any statement; she just chose to do what she liked. I saw an old picture of her with brown hair, and I have to say, I like the gray better on her. The lighter color is eye-catching, and she stands out in the crowd.
She could go blonde, and I'd say the same thing.
Kreamer, after coloring her hair for over 20 years, decided to stop doing it. "I found to my surprise," she says, "that by visually challenging my peers (if I was really gray, so must they be!), I unwittingly landed myself on the front lines of a public struggle - literally superficial but at the same time almost existentially meaningful to American women - with the vicissitudes of age."
She says she encountered two reactions: "a sort of proud, sometimes, sanctimonious right-on-sister enthusiasm from fellow gray-haired women," and "an equally proud, sometimes resentful don't-judge-my-choices-I-do-this-to-feel-good-about-me defensiveness in the comments of the committed-to-dyeing cohort."
"Hardly anyone was lukewarm in their reactions," she continues, "which suggests to me we may have a contentious new baby-boomer argument over gray hair that is as mutually judgmental as the mommy wars between working and stay-at-home mothers was in the 1980s and '90s."
Again with the boomer thing. Never mind that the youngest boomers -- many of whom, I'm sure, are graying now -- were three years old during the Summer Of Love. Among even the oldest boomers, I'll bet I could find a few who weren't cutting class to join sit-ins or dropping acid at Woodstock. Nevertheless, there's an assumption that all the baby boomers used to be hippies and they'd be selling out, man, to do something as dishonest as color their hair! It's ironic: former flower children are obligated to say goodbye to the hair they had as children. The kids who believed they should "never trust anyone over 30" are now forced to deal with the politics of age. Well, what goes around comes around.
I know I live in Dallas, home of the hair that's big and blond, but have I completely missed something? Where is the existential meaning in the decision about hair color? Why is hair color an "age thing" at all? High school girls color their hair. High school boys color their hair. Twelve-year-old girls get highlights, just for fun. Most women of all ages change the color of their hair or at least enhance it in some way.
Women go gray "in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond." Hair color, including the way it changes through the years, is a genetic trait. Raven-haired Lara Flynn Boyle has said in an interview that her hair turned totally white in her twenties but that she chose to keep it dark. (I agree that the dark hair is very dramatic against her fair skin.) But all-over silver hair can beautiful at any age; I think women such as Emmylou Harris who attain it at a young age and look beautiful in it are lucky. And just think - if you're tall, skinny, have great skin and beautiful white hair, you can be quite successful modeling for Chico's.
I didn't get the "white hair" gene. My poker-straight blond hair, about a decade ago, started turning a little darker and more ashy. I had it highlighted for awhile, but so many Dallas women are blond that I'm glad I made the decision eight years ago to turn it a vibrant but natural-looking red. It makes me feel good. It makes my eyes look bluer. And the shade suits my overall coloring so well that most of the people I've met in the past eight years are stunned when I tell them I'm not a real redhead.
Judging from my eyebrows, the hair on my head is probably coming in an ashy-blondy-brownish color. If I stopped coloring it, the occasional gray hairs that might be there would probably blend in and look like subtle highlights, if they were noticed at all. My mom didn't get much gray in her taupe-colored hair until very late in life, so I probably won't, either. I'll never have Emmylou Harris hair. I have as much chance of that as of having curly hair. Or thick hair, drat.
Never did I dream that by coloring my hair I was being dishonest in any way or making some kind of personal statement about aging. But it seems I have been, without even realizing it!
Kreamer points out that of the 16 female U.S. Senators, not a single one has visible gray hair, though they range in age from 46 to 74. Of the 70 female members of the House, only seven have gray hair. "Political professionals," she reports, "say that the double standard is a great unspoken inequity but that candidates and officeholders don't dare publicly discuss it for fear of seeming trivial."
What double standard? There may presently be, percentage-wise, more gray-haired men than gray-haired women in office, but that number is going down as more and more men feel the pressure to look young and vital. Ronald Reagan dyed his hair. (The joke was that he'd gone "prematurely orange.") I'm sure quite a few men in Congress do. I'd be willing to bet Mitt Romney's coloring the gray, and my hunch is that other Presidential candidates - not just Hillary Clinton -- are, too. Joe Biden got a hair transplant. And imagine how many toupees there must be among politicians! How many men in politics are being "dishonest" by covering their male pattern baldness?
Kreamer's article paraphrases Clairol's in-house creative director of color and style as saying that one powerful motivator of gray-haired women to dye their hair is to live the fantasy that they're still 30 or 35 instead of 45 or 60. (This statement chafes me for so many reasons that if I were currently using Clairol hair coloring, I'd switch to another brand.) She says that rather than sell it as a fantasy or lie, the postmodern beauty industry casts artificial color as a means of expressing a deeper truth about who one is.
Gee. I color mine because it's fun, it looks striking on stage and, as previously noted, it makes my eyes look bluer.
Rose Weitz, who wrote Rapunzel's Daughters: What Women's Hair Tells Us About Women's Lives (Jeez, another book on aging hair??), says, "Even if, in the abstract, we think we look all right with gray hair, we nonetheless feel as if we are losing our 'real selves' if we no longer have our 'real hair color' - the color we had when we were young and looked our best." If that's true, I should want to be blonde forever. And who says we "looked our best" back then, anyway? Some of us did. Some look better today.
Interestingly, Kreamer notes that when she tested gray hair vs. brown hair on Match.com, posting the pictures three months apart, she had much more success as the gray-haired version of herself. (She gave her age accurately for each posting.) Three times as many men in New York City, Chicago and even Los Angeles were interested in the "gray" Kreamer. She speculates that her honesty made her seem refreshing and accessible, or that perhaps her gray hair made her stand out among all the fake, colored hair.
Both of those possibilities may be true. But an additional consideration is that the gray just looks really good on her. Did she ever think about that?
Probably not. In her article, she says, "These days, choosing not to dye has become a statement rather than a casual stylistic choice."
She obviously didn't talk to me. But I'm telling you now that, down the road, as I get more gray in my hair, my decision about coloring it will be nothing more than a casual stylistic choice. My hair color will never be a political statement. It will not reveal my numerical age. It will not clue others in to my opinions any more than my numerical age does.
And to you gray-hairs out there, dyed or not: Unless you're in a field that demands employees who look as if they're straight from Central Casting, I recommend that you get over yourself and stop overanalyzing this issue. Do whatever you like with your hair. It's not that important. Really.
Kreamer didn't talk to my friend Lu, either. Lu is a longtime Dallas folksinger and songwriter who has straight, thick, uniformly gray hair. It's not a dramatic white or silver, just light gray. She wears it in a distinctive short cut that looks good on her. (For those who care how old she is, she's 80, though she looks many years younger, even with the gray.) I asked her about the to-dye-or-not-to-dye question; does she keep her natural color as a personal statement, or what?
Her attitude was very much like mine. She's not making any statement; she just chose to do what she liked. I saw an old picture of her with brown hair, and I have to say, I like the gray better on her. The lighter color is eye-catching, and she stands out in the crowd.
She could go blonde, and I'd say the same thing.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Fighting Ageism With Dancing Parrots
Too busy for much blogging the past couple of days, but here's something fun to share with you. A website associated with the Dallas Morning News put together a video profile on me that turned out very cute. Kudos to Allen Houston, who shot it and put it together. It includes clips of Cady, the footless wonder cockatiel, singing her little heart out and of Aussie the cockatoo dancing to "Let's Misbehave" by Cliff Edwards (aka Ukelele Ike and Jiminy Cricket). How much more entertainment does any human need?
Click here to watch it.
Click here to watch it.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
New Modeling Star Is Barely 13
Maddison Gabriel has blue eyes, dark blond hair, and is 5-foot 7. That’s not very tall for a model, but in this case, she could still grow a few inches. She just turned 13 years old.
Chosen when she was 12 to be the official ambassador of Gold Coast Fashion Week in Queensland, Australia, she apparently wore a number of revealing outfits during the event. How revealing? I don’t know, but I’d be willing to bet they wouldn’t have met the dress code at my middle school.
Her participation has sparked strong debate in Australia, with Prime Minister John Howard deeming it unacceptable. “Catapulting girls as young as 12 into something like that is outrageous,” he said. “There should be age limits -- I mean there has to be -- we do have to preserve some notion of innocence in our society.” Europe has set an age limit of 16 for appearing on catwalks (I didn’t know that); he wants Australia to do the same.
But Maddison’s mom has demanded an apology from the Prime Minister. He’s getting “very doddery,” she says. “He does not know exactly what 13 and 14-year-old girls are like. I used to vote for him. We’re trying to get our teenage daughters to act older.”
Why? So old rich guys will want to date them?
Fashion Week spokesman Kelly Wieler said, “Maddy got in because she was the best contestant. The judges saw that she was fit to do the job.” She added that Maddy wouldn’t be modeling swimwear or lingerie. (She didn’t mention that many designer clothes look just like lingerie and are just as revealing.)
As for Maddison, she feels she deserved to win and become the “face” of the show. “I believe that I can fit into women’s clothes, I can model women’s clothes, so I should be able to do it, she insisted. “It doesn’t matter about age. It matters that you can do the job. Modeling is all I’ve wanted to do since I was six. I don’t think I’m too young.”
If she can fit into women’s clothes, it’s because most of them seem designed for women who are built like 12-year-olds. And even though I’ve said many times and believe with my whole heart that “it doesn’t matter about age,” I am always talking about the world of adults. This is another issue entirely.
For me, the most important question to ask is why the “face” of this women’s fashion event is that of a barely 13-year-old girl. “Best” is subjective; why was she considered the “best” contestant? She’s a cute girl, and if this were a junior fashion show, she would be perfect. But this event is for grownup women, and I don’t understand why grownup women are supposed to aspire to look like a seventh-grader, albeit a very tall one playing dress-up in mommy’s makeup and heels.
This attitude about fashion and beauty is not unique to Australia. Here in Dallas, we have an annual event called the Fashion!Dallas/Kim Dawson model search. (Fashion!Dallas is part of The Dallas Morning News, and the Kim Dawson Agency is a local modeling agency.) Each year, hundreds of contestants show up at a mall to have their pictures snapped. There are specific height and age requirements. Judges select the finalists, whose pictures appear in the paper. Readers get to vote for their faves and select two Readers’ Choice winners, but the judges pick the actual winner or winners. This is a big deal; being chosen can really jump-start a career in modeling. Case in point: the first year’s winner, Erin Wasson, who went on to be a top international model.
The age threshold for a girl entering this contest is 14; the cutoff age is, I think, 21. Last year, the girl who won, Ali Michael, was – you guessed it -- 14.
I’m reminded of myself at 14, certainly tall enough to model after growing six inches in one year! My height was 5-foot-9, considerably taller than most of the boys (alas), and I was to grow another inch. I was skinny, too, with blue eyes and long, straight, very blonde hair. But I was painfully shy, absolutely naïve, and certainly no fashion plate; Mom made most of my clothes. I’d gotten contact lenses but was a year or so away from wearing makeup. Maybe someone could’ve gotten hold of me then and made a model out of me, but I’m glad nobody did. I was a baby – way too young. I wasn’t at all ready to be a model in the very adult and sometimes rough world of fashion.
Today, though, the fashion world actually seems to prefer babies to wear its grownup clothes. It’s not my imagination – the models really are getting younger. In real life, some of these models wouldn’t even be old enough to wear a prom dress.
By amazing coincidence (I’d already started writing this piece), today’s paper features this year’s finalists in the Model Search. There are a dozen finalists this year, all girls, ranging in age from 14 to 20. The 20-year-old, a 5-foot-11 brunette named Ren Vokes, is described as the “elder statesman” of the group. “Everyone here is 14 and I’m 20,” she observes. “I feel like an old person for the first time in my life.”
Cry me a river.
Not all the other girls are 14, but most are 14-16. Looking at their headshots, I’d think they all could get work as professional models. (An interesting aside: one of the 14-year-olds is Asian, and she still has Eastern-style eyes, with no fold. I wonder if this pretty girl will feel pressure to change that.) In the photos, they all look closer in age than they actually are. I don’t have a favorite to win, but I’d be more likely to bet on one at the lower end of the age range than the upper end.
I can remember, way back in the Jurassic Period, when teenage model Brooke Shields created a scandal just by saying, “Know what comes between me and my Calvins? Nothing.” It was widely thought that she was too young to do such a suggestive ad. Times have changed. Young teens now look to such stunning role models as Paris Hilton as their fashion icons.
Even so, my concern is less for the extremely young girls involved in modeling than for the grownup women who feel compelled to try to look like them. Think about it: even a 30-year-old woman is surrounded by images of girls half her age. Some of these models are in ads for anti-aging products.
What is wrong with this picture?
********************
Next time: “To Gray Or Not To Gray…that is the question,” and you better get the answer right because it’s an incredibly significant personal statement and a matter of political correctness. Or so I’ve read.
Chosen when she was 12 to be the official ambassador of Gold Coast Fashion Week in Queensland, Australia, she apparently wore a number of revealing outfits during the event. How revealing? I don’t know, but I’d be willing to bet they wouldn’t have met the dress code at my middle school.
Her participation has sparked strong debate in Australia, with Prime Minister John Howard deeming it unacceptable. “Catapulting girls as young as 12 into something like that is outrageous,” he said. “There should be age limits -- I mean there has to be -- we do have to preserve some notion of innocence in our society.” Europe has set an age limit of 16 for appearing on catwalks (I didn’t know that); he wants Australia to do the same.
But Maddison’s mom has demanded an apology from the Prime Minister. He’s getting “very doddery,” she says. “He does not know exactly what 13 and 14-year-old girls are like. I used to vote for him. We’re trying to get our teenage daughters to act older.”
Why? So old rich guys will want to date them?
Fashion Week spokesman Kelly Wieler said, “Maddy got in because she was the best contestant. The judges saw that she was fit to do the job.” She added that Maddy wouldn’t be modeling swimwear or lingerie. (She didn’t mention that many designer clothes look just like lingerie and are just as revealing.)
As for Maddison, she feels she deserved to win and become the “face” of the show. “I believe that I can fit into women’s clothes, I can model women’s clothes, so I should be able to do it, she insisted. “It doesn’t matter about age. It matters that you can do the job. Modeling is all I’ve wanted to do since I was six. I don’t think I’m too young.”
If she can fit into women’s clothes, it’s because most of them seem designed for women who are built like 12-year-olds. And even though I’ve said many times and believe with my whole heart that “it doesn’t matter about age,” I am always talking about the world of adults. This is another issue entirely.
For me, the most important question to ask is why the “face” of this women’s fashion event is that of a barely 13-year-old girl. “Best” is subjective; why was she considered the “best” contestant? She’s a cute girl, and if this were a junior fashion show, she would be perfect. But this event is for grownup women, and I don’t understand why grownup women are supposed to aspire to look like a seventh-grader, albeit a very tall one playing dress-up in mommy’s makeup and heels.
This attitude about fashion and beauty is not unique to Australia. Here in Dallas, we have an annual event called the Fashion!Dallas/Kim Dawson model search. (Fashion!Dallas is part of The Dallas Morning News, and the Kim Dawson Agency is a local modeling agency.) Each year, hundreds of contestants show up at a mall to have their pictures snapped. There are specific height and age requirements. Judges select the finalists, whose pictures appear in the paper. Readers get to vote for their faves and select two Readers’ Choice winners, but the judges pick the actual winner or winners. This is a big deal; being chosen can really jump-start a career in modeling. Case in point: the first year’s winner, Erin Wasson, who went on to be a top international model.
The age threshold for a girl entering this contest is 14; the cutoff age is, I think, 21. Last year, the girl who won, Ali Michael, was – you guessed it -- 14.
I’m reminded of myself at 14, certainly tall enough to model after growing six inches in one year! My height was 5-foot-9, considerably taller than most of the boys (alas), and I was to grow another inch. I was skinny, too, with blue eyes and long, straight, very blonde hair. But I was painfully shy, absolutely naïve, and certainly no fashion plate; Mom made most of my clothes. I’d gotten contact lenses but was a year or so away from wearing makeup. Maybe someone could’ve gotten hold of me then and made a model out of me, but I’m glad nobody did. I was a baby – way too young. I wasn’t at all ready to be a model in the very adult and sometimes rough world of fashion.
Today, though, the fashion world actually seems to prefer babies to wear its grownup clothes. It’s not my imagination – the models really are getting younger. In real life, some of these models wouldn’t even be old enough to wear a prom dress.
By amazing coincidence (I’d already started writing this piece), today’s paper features this year’s finalists in the Model Search. There are a dozen finalists this year, all girls, ranging in age from 14 to 20. The 20-year-old, a 5-foot-11 brunette named Ren Vokes, is described as the “elder statesman” of the group. “Everyone here is 14 and I’m 20,” she observes. “I feel like an old person for the first time in my life.”
Cry me a river.
Not all the other girls are 14, but most are 14-16. Looking at their headshots, I’d think they all could get work as professional models. (An interesting aside: one of the 14-year-olds is Asian, and she still has Eastern-style eyes, with no fold. I wonder if this pretty girl will feel pressure to change that.) In the photos, they all look closer in age than they actually are. I don’t have a favorite to win, but I’d be more likely to bet on one at the lower end of the age range than the upper end.
I can remember, way back in the Jurassic Period, when teenage model Brooke Shields created a scandal just by saying, “Know what comes between me and my Calvins? Nothing.” It was widely thought that she was too young to do such a suggestive ad. Times have changed. Young teens now look to such stunning role models as Paris Hilton as their fashion icons.
Even so, my concern is less for the extremely young girls involved in modeling than for the grownup women who feel compelled to try to look like them. Think about it: even a 30-year-old woman is surrounded by images of girls half her age. Some of these models are in ads for anti-aging products.
What is wrong with this picture?
********************
Next time: “To Gray Or Not To Gray…that is the question,” and you better get the answer right because it’s an incredibly significant personal statement and a matter of political correctness. Or so I’ve read.
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