Friday, 4/25/97 Beauty looks demonically ugly in this beholder’s
eyes Single-minded pursuit of the superficial wastes time, effort,
leads to a vacuous ideal
By Sridhar Yalamanchili So you want to be one of the beautiful
people. What’s it worth to you? Do you have what it takes? How
quietly can you crawl from a stranger’s bed at 6 in the morning,
hungover and hellified? Can you tell the girl you just took home to
wait while you rinse your colored contact lenses in biodegradable
cleaning solution? Above all, can you deny that little bit of demon
that dwells in your heart and makes your fingers travel to fiery
places and the newly shaved leg of the woman whose name you just
learned? He is the same demon that says the bottled water you’re
drinking does nothing for you. Who tells you ginseng is a hoax. The
same demon that whispers to you when you’re home alone preparing
that fat-free chicken salad that you ought to stop for a cigarette
while that demonic bastard drops a stick of butter in your food.
Are you ready for that? If you are ready to deny him, then you too
can stick your nose up high, put on that jogging bra two sizes too
small and check that the hole in the back of your jeans doesn’t
show too much … or too little. Yes, you too could be a dime a
dozen. Conformity is the vice of beauty. Isn’t the guy who lives
above you the same as the guy who lives below? Both of them
chiseled to perfection. Both of them with haircuts that make Jerry
Falwell look like a renegade. Doesn’t Sarah look like Sandy? Is
Jill ready to have Jack moan "Jane" in the heat of passion? Is Jack
ready to have Jane moan "Jason"? When the moon is full and the
summer heat forms sweat that tastes like honey, will Jason hold
still while Jill moans for Jane? Polyester is in, plastic is in,
navels are in, 6-foot blondes with 6-foot heels are in. Who can
walk into a gym without already epitomizing what Vogue calls
perfection? Your membership to such a place can offer you a visual
feast of carnal delights. It’s a meat market where the food can add
single-digit numbers. Often times it’s all they can add. Do you
still want to join? Do you still want to add yourself to the same
multitudes who look at photos of Nautilus equipment like some
mothers look at baby pictures? Quit that video workout you do every
morning and wake up to a gin and tonic. Open up those kitchen
cabinets and throw your SlimFast off the balcony. Maybe you’ll get
lucky and hit a jogger. Good health is safety in a world riddled
with disease? The beauty craze kills more people in this country
per year than suicide. The United States Department of
Transportation reported an 80 percent increase in 1995 fatal
traffic accidents caused by distractions on the roadside, the No. 1
distraction being overly attractive joggers. If it comes down to
having bad pores or finding my head lodged uncomfortably between a
dashboard and a windshield because the woman running on the side of
the road just found a half-off sale on short shorts, then my pores
can burn in hell. Ask any orthopedist what the No. 1 cause of bone
deformity among women between 19 and 34 years of age is, and he’ll
tell you that high heels are the reason your girlfriend has feet
like a pretzel. Plastic surgery offers no salvation. In 1996, 13
infants were found deceased in their cribs. FBI toxicology studies
revealed all 13 of these infants to have suffered from silicone
poisoning after nursing from artificial breasts. Further
investigation revealed all 13 mothers to have had cosmetic
reconstruction within two years of the birth of their child.
Embrace ugliness for the sake of the children. If the fate of young
America doesn’t concern you, then consider the financial burden you
will be forced to bear upon that beautiful back, ruining all those
years of sitting up straight so you might have a posture like Cindy
Crawford’s. Women in this country spend close to a billion dollars
on fashion magazines, health magazines, and workout videos. A
billion dollars! That is enough one-dollar bills to go around the
world … twice! The same billion dollars that might feed the
military men and women of 13 developing nations. A packet of herbal
tea runs $11. That same $11 that buys me a movie, a hot dog and
heavily buttered popcorn popped in the old-fashioned kind of oil,
the type used before anyone knew what canola was. For the ambitious
young men with dreams of bringing some empty-headed goddess to
orgasm, think about all those breakfasts you’d be emptying your
wallet for. The prettier they are, the better they are. The better
they are, the more you’re spending to keep her hair dyed the same
shade of red that really turns you on. Essentially, you’re paying
for it. They have a word for that. I just can’t remember it now.
Consider all the wardrobe changes required to enter the ranks of
the beautiful people. Evening dresses, lounge wear, bikinis that
fit in my ashtray, shoes reminiscent of modern art and all those
countless knickknacks that come with them will put you in the
poorhouse before you ever get a chance to pay the $5 for eight
ounces of diet caffeine-free cola in some neon blue Sunset club.
That’s where the beautiful people go. After all, in your new
position as a beautiful person, you will be responsible for
countless sexual encounters, forced to wake up in strange
apartments miles from home, the cab coming as salvation, whisking
you back to a morning regiment of video aerobics and freshly
squeezed fruit juice as you try desperately to sweat out the guilt
of the night before. Save your money. Buy a ham sandwich with extra
mayonnaise, get a pack of cigarettes, drink till it hurts, stay up
late, and if your girlfriend with soft silky hair and doe-like eyes
bats an eyelash and asks for breakfast, hand her a Bloody Mary and
tell her to drink up. Beautiful people don’t last. They get older
and grayer. Let them waste away. You have better things to do with
your time. The uglier you are, the less you have to worry about
losing. If you were to add all the hours of all the fitness videos
you would find that it comes to approximately 13 years, nine hours,
17 minutes and 41 seconds (give or take a few seconds). It took
less time to build the Golden Gate Bridge. It took less time for
everyone to quit babbling about the O.J. Simpson trial. Do you
really want to wake up at 6 in the morning to run around the block?
Wake up late, eat some frosted flakes. What the hell, take it with
some fruit. After all, I’m no animal. Make no mistake: there is a
war raging on. It’s down to the wire and it’s us against the
beautiful people. Those same beautiful people who lack the demon.
Who fear it like they fear the scars that come with a life lived. A
life truly lived, in a world where we move fearless of mussing our
hair or soiling the whites of our shoes. Beware the beautiful
people. Evil dwells in their compacts, hidden away in the dark of
designer handbags. Its face appears on the price tag of some
obscenely overpriced halter top. In the various colors of Clairol
lipstick containers. They carry evil in their bottles of bottled
water and their carry-on luggage. The beautiful people will not
make "Melrose Place" go away. It is far nobler to fight the fight
than to not do so. Let us then be more noble. Let us ban those
polyester pants – the circus can use them for tents. Let the demon
whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Feel his breath on the clear
complexion of your pierced lobes. Welcome him when he hands you a
pack of cigarettes or a dirty shirt that reads, "Drunks do it
better," or a pair of secondhand jeans that don’t fit just right,
or a Jack and Coke that’s more Jack than Coke. Rage against beauty
and burn as Jack Kerouac told you to burn: "like fabulous yellow
roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars." Let the
demon usher you through the alcohol fumes of a thousand dead
drunks. Be as ugly as you will. Stand on the edge of many things
and keep more than a little hell in your soul. For if beauty is in
the eye of the beholder, then you’ll be beautiful to me.
Yalamanchili is a fourth-year film and television student.