Into each life a little ugly should fall...
posted by Sarah Pinborough at 17:05Two women in Tesco Ghetto discussing a third.
First woman: She's so pretty!
Second woman: And so nice too!
My inner eyebrow of disdain rose and as I gripped the neck of my bottle of Pinot, I wanted to bash their stupid heads together. If ever there were two sentences spoken so often together that make my blood boil a little, it's those two. Because, let's face it, pretty people should be fucking nice.
Until I was seven the most common thing grown-ups said to me was 'What's your name, little boy?' This was mainly due to my mother cutting my curls stupidly short and compounded by my refusal to wear anything other than jeans, T-shirts and sneakers. I didn't much mind. I was seven. Girl. Boy. Meh. They immediately sent me to an all girls boarding school, so I figured a girl I was.
Between eight and ten was a period of normality as my curls grew and the most common thing said by all the old women at the Church the bitch-whore of a housemistress dragged us to every Sunday were ' Ooh doesn't she look like Heidi off of the telly?' as they pinched my awkward cheeks. Maybe I was pretty. But I was in T-Bar sandals and 80s corderoys so it probably didn't show apart from to old ladies who spend their weekends giving out hymn books, and it wasn't something I ever thought about. (BTW-If you ever consider sending your children to boarding school - two things. Eight is too soon, and don't ever let them be the youngest in the house. Make sure there are smaller children so that yours will get to keep at least half of their pocket money.)
Then came crunch time. Literally. Crunch. Munch. At some point between ten and twelve I must have consumed the daily calorific intake of a entire American Southern State on a regular basic because I larded it up nicely. I mean I probably only hit 'chubby' but at an all girls' boarding school those born-prettys take no prisoners.... the era of Porky Pinborough had arrived...and I lost control of the curls. Hmmm. Twelve to sixteen just weren't a good look for me.
As it happens, this didn't bother me too much. I'd never been pretty and didn't really know any different. There were the girls that were, obviously. Those that were perfectly thin and had perfectly straight hair and always had perfect clothes and boyfriends, but me and those girls existed in different worlds. I was too busy climbing out of windows, starting revolutions, answering back and heading towards the inevitable 'PLEASE LEAVE OUR SCHOOL NOW OR WE WILL EXPEL YOU' you conversation circa 1988. I was having great fun.
After aforementioned conversation with the head, I went to a boys' school for sixth form. The Edinburgh Academy. Great school. Loved it. Surprisingly, over those two years, the weight fell off. By the time I was 18, I was heading out into the world newly blonde, hair under control and a trim 8-10.
Suddenly I discovered the power of pretty. And like anyone else, if someone gives you power, you use it. The world is so much nicer to pretty, that much is for sure. I didn't buy many of my own drinks. I didn't have to carry stuff. At 23 a smartly-suited young businessman chased me down Marylebone High street to give me a bunch of flowers, with the man from the seven eleven running after him demanding payment. Doors opened. Traffic stopped. It was an eye-opening time.
I heard once that juries are more likely to acquit if the defendant is pretty/handsome. A few years ago I spent 5 long hours on the stand in a serious crimes Crown Court trial (as a witness I might add). Did I turn up with no make-up on and hair in a ponytail? Did I bollocks. In a fitted dress and with lipstick and eyeliner carefully applied, I charmed the judge and made the jury laugh. Of course I told the truth and nothing but the truth (I mean who would lie in court?) as the bunch of dodgy geezers from my past stared down from behind the glass and smiled, but the pretty helped the Law believe me. Don't tell me otherwise.
Today, three months into 37 I looked in the mirror and saw some very definite lines forming under each eye. They made me smile. C'est la vie. All physical charms fade and there's no point fighting it. Time passes and the rules change. I don't rely on the traffic stopping if I'm crossing the road these days, and I don't expect doors to be opened with a smile. These days I just have to bite the bullet and push for myself. And at 37 I'm happier with who I am than I've ever been before, wrinkles or no.
This is when I feel sorry for those who've never had a little ugly in their lives. One day, they're going to realise that all that 'special' was just the luck of the genes and I hope they have something else to pull out of the bag when its gone rather than just reaching for the Botox. The kind of stuff the rest of us learned when we were having a little ugly.
If you rely on people loving you for your face, then you're fucked. They've got to love you for your smile and what's behind it. Because when the pretty fades, the smile shouldn't.
And if you ever come across a pretty person who frankly just isn't nice? Smile sweetly. One day they'll learn.
4 Comments:
I reckon you got that wrong. There are so many un-pretty people about who will never get a chance to be pretty or to know what it is to have doors magically open for them or to have bunches of flowers chase them down the street with a hapless man attached to their stems.
So, they HAVE to be nice if they want anyone else to be nice to them, whereas pretty people don't have to be nice; they can pretend to be nice when just being pretty doesn't get them what they want and then the general populace goes weak at the knees at their smile and does them favours anyway.
If someone is pretty AND nice, it is a fucking big deal because it doesn't happen all that often. It really doesn't. (OK, so I didn't go to an all-girls boarding to school but I've met my fair share of women and by and large the pretty ones do not tend to be all that nice)
So. Anyway.
That IS my point. They're not nice..they SHOULD be nice..Everyone else HAS to be nice..
We agree..
Oh. OK. Didn't quite get that from your post. Soz
I'm pretty, too...pretty vacant. :-)
Interesting post, P. You're not just a pretty face (well, someone had to crack that one!)
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