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How Freakin' Pretty Do We Have TO BE
I am a Facebook nerd, have no clue that I have to check messages or all of the other little stuff floating around and I can only navigate to other peoples' pages when the are on the page I open with.
I have a lot of my daughter's friends as my friends and the daughters of my friends, too. My three girls do not have Facebook, they are too little but lemme tell ya they are ALL OVER THE PLACE and what is the heck with this stupid Facebook smile. They are in their friends photo albums. Every sleep over an album does make.
Every, and I mean EVERY (check it out it is truly shades of creepy John Wayne Gacy Face) girl under the age of 23 has one or millions of pictures that appear to be one of the Olson Twins. Or really, probably Hannah Montana. The closed lip smirk. Their cheeks are up like an unfortunate, plastic surgeried soccer mom and their lips are in a happy face curl. A perfect capital U. It's everywhere. It is an Invasion of the Body Snatchers type phenomenon. The kids I know in Michigan, Ohio, Tennessee, Atlanta ALL have that face. Ages 9, 14, 19, 22 they all have it. I have seen these women at the bar, the ones that originated THAT FACE. They are over forty,[url=http://www.sport.fr/economie/airmax.html]air max hommes[/url], tanned a lovely Coach purse brown, blonde hair that clumps together like straight, dried noodles and bear THAT FACE. That immovable, cartoon face. They sit at the bar with a cigarette and a drink and you can not tell if they are ecstatic or extremely pissed off because their face is stuck in this grin. You can tell that they are not young by their wrinkly armpits under their spaghetti strap bar shirts. Now the people who are actually naturally beautiful are mimicking it or it has somehow slipped into the gene pool. Kids. Kids are making that face all over Facebook.
Our oldest daughter is twelve and we busted her on her buddy's Facebook making THE FACE. AND we are currently having mascara wars. She is a blonde, white eyelashed knockout. Twelve and five foot eight. She looks like she is eighteen. And as I said, she is twelve, TWELVE coming home from the 6th grade with Very Black Mascara is shocking. Which of course she lied about. Said she borrowed mine and then like the water tortured child she is, when I said, "Baloney, my mascara sucks and is totally clumpy, is it in your tote bag?". Either she saw my clumpy eyes behind my glasses and knew she was busted or she had a moment of conscience she burst into tears and said "Yes!" She had a nice pink and green Maybelline in her 6th grade tote bag. I threw it away in the kitchen garbage on top of sausage casings so I am purty sure it will not be excavated.
Ugh! This is hard. I call it "Pretty Girl Syndrome." When girls try to act and be pretty and forget about other personality traits. What is goign through their brains? Is it: "Why read "Island of the Blue Dolphins"? I can take pictures with my BFF in the bathroom making the FACE with her pink cellphone?" You see it often in women in their thirties after they have kids. Women who flirt with men other than their husbands and throw their head back fake laughing in crowds. In tank tops starting to get the wrinkly armpits.
I was not a pretty girl growing up. I was an unfortunate cross between Leonardo DiCaprio and Dorothy Hammil with Estelle Getty's glasses with giant lips. I had to develop a sense of humor and brains until I finally got contacts in 8th (along with Madonna Blonde Hair sigh, black roots are so dreamy sometimes) and boobs in the summer of 11th grade.
My mother would look at me, sigh a little and then mention h0w pretty my sister was. She was now she was Phoebe Cates TOTALLY I mean "Fast Times At Ridgemont High Hot Phoebe Cates". I was a tall, skinny, attractive young man for the majority of my girlhood. Which basically meant I could kick ass on a halfpipe with my skateboard and then kick your ass too if you were a boy and had some good Legos or a cool bike. Honestly, in fourth grade I played dice with my older brother and his friends and won more than half of the time all the while pretending to smoke a cigar.
I was extremely confident that my dorky, buck toothed smile was NOT as pretty as my best friends and did not care. My enormous teeth did encourage me to develop somewhat of an Olson Twin smile, but we didn't have the Olson Twins in 1976 when I was in third grade and invented it. When my mom said that I couldn't wear makeup until I was fourteen, I waited until I was fourteen. Sadly, I turned into Pat Benetar instantly at that point. For about three weeks. I cut my own hair in the bathroom the night before school pictures. It wasn't pretty. But, hey, I was the only Pat Benetar in the Yearbook that year. And, AND my ruffly collared shirt that I stole from my moms closet is still amazing. Two girls we went to school with and another that lived in our neighborhood wound up in Vogue in the 80's. What are the odds of that in a one mile sized town three girls would be in Vogue and who, in their akward adolescent right mind would even try to compete? We did our best with what we had and developed other personality skills.
All three of our girls are so pretty. People tell them that all of the time. There was a cosmic gene explosion that created these three knock out blondes. And their friends. My gosh, our oldest daughter's friends are beautiful young women. Maybe the good grooming and cupfuls of hair mousse each day of the 80's altered our genes to create this Super Foxy Generation. I don't know. They are all funny and smart and though I hate the way they end sentences with "I know, right?" like my gay friends I sure wish they all had their own smiles, even if the only place we get to see them is in Facebook. Let it go, my girls, you only have to be as pretty as you are and that is amazing! If we had THIS to work with in the 80's we would have never had to paint fake moles by our lips to be Madonna. I guess it really never changes, does it?
On a serious note, I know. I have two girls of my own. And a truckload of teenagers who call me teacher. Girls want to be beautiful. They want to be perceived as beautiful. Even when you tell them they are, they do not see it. And sadly, in western culture, it usually means whatever the media is selling.