Pamela Anderson holds the record for most nude appearances in Playboy.
Anyway, she and this essay are right...the fashion and beauty industry is wrong. For decades, they have made it sound that you have to have a perfect hourglass figure and use 80 tons of makeup to be attractive.
Which is utter nonsense. All these supermodels -- what a term! -- admit in daytime talk shows and ghostwritten memoirs after they stop flouncing down runways that they owe their success to anorexia, eating disorders, drug and alcohol addictions, and have suffered from sexual abuse, rotten marriages, and lying personal managers and agents.
Fortunately for them, they found new lives in Jesus/Buddha/Giant Blue Chickens and a fantastic new husband and their 3.5 children/fashion accessories and their Irish Setter, and are now dedicated to their foundation to fight anorexia among teenage girls. Or something like that.
Meanwhile, real women, who do not have personal trainers named Ramu, an army of makeup people, abusive NHL players as husbands, and actually finish higher education, get good husbands, good careers, good children, and a dog from the Humane Society.
I will never forget Cheryl Tiegs, that icon of American beauty. Five husbands. First one was Billy Joel. She whined while pregnant, "What if our child looks like you?" She cheated on him, got divorced, she and the new guy were saved in a skiing accident, got pregnant by and married to the guy, and the height of the ceremony was the rescuers holding up poles and Cheryl holding up the results of the test, and yelling, "It's a boy!"
They got divorced anyway.
She later admitted she was in therapy for "relationship issues."
You are so right about all of this. I’m sure the pressure to always be beautiful brought out every insecurity they ever worried about. People can be more concerned with what people look like on the outside (and I have been guilty) than who they are inside their minds and hearts. It’s pretty disappointing.
When my mom came to visit after the birth of my first child, I hadn’t seen her in a decade, and she showed up wearing a pound of makeup and every piece of jewelry she owned. It made me feel so sad. That story also helped me realize that it’s okay to show up as myself, with all that entails, and still be loved.
It starts in middle school, when the Queen Bee starts dictating to her coven on what they have to wear, what music they have to like, what makeup to use, and even what to do with their boyfriends when they start begging to at least SEE what’s under that dress (let alone play with it). Most importantly, she dictates to them which other girls and boys in the school are to be stomped like bugs.
Where does she get all these ideas? Well, from her “sophisticated” older sister, of course.
Then she and the coven go out, wearing identical fashion, makeup, and hair, and make miserable the lives of anyone who does not measure up to their ill-defined standards.
The Queen Bee in my middle school was a girl named Nina Feinberg.
She did rather well for herself.
She became Executive Producer of “The Golden Girls.”
Wall full of Emmy Awards, mansion in LA, stable full of horses, 2.5 fashion accessories, “beard” for a husband for glamor events, and presumably gets her real jollies either from a good hard ride in her Western Saddle on her Appaloosa or on her personal trainer…..
The Queen Bee at our school was named Cheryl. When i started dating the most popular boy in school (shocking everyone including me), somebody told me she said I wasn’t good enough for him. I spent the whole rest of the relationship (a whopping three months) wondering if I was good enough for him, and I started avoiding him in case what Cheryl said was true.
They just don’t realize the damage they do and probably never will.
They do it because they can do it, they enjoy causing pain, it makes them feel powerful and important, and unless they get brought down, they go on that way.
Nina Feinberg was an upper-middle-class girl in New York's chi-chi Greenwich Village, plugged in to that community. She went to a private Quaker high school with more upper-middle-class and rich people's sons and daughters and obviously enjoyed an easy ride to success.
My wife had a similar problem with her female relatives...she was short, had weight trouble, bookish, rode bike to Catholic high school instead of being delivered by her boyfriend Vinnie Bag O'Donuts, that hot hunk in his cool car, owned a Doberman, and had a wall full of fish tanks instead of posters of pop idols. That made her a freak to them. She still has massive self-esteem issues.
Some years ago, one of those female witches apologized to her at a family funeral. It was a good thing that witch did it out of my hearing and I didn't know until after it happened. If that woman had started spouting it in front of me, I would have hauled her out into the parking lot and dressed her down like the former US Navy Petty Officer I am..."STAND AT ATTENTION! EYES FRONT! Fingers curled! Shut the hell up! You think you could spend 30 years f***ing my wife over for s**** and giggles and one apology sets things straight? Do you realize the damage you have done? Try on her shoes! Nothing bad has ever happened to you..." and so on.
I'm not good at forgiveness. From what I have seen in 61 years, only four types of people get it:
Pamela Anderson holds the record for most nude appearances in Playboy.
Anyway, she and this essay are right...the fashion and beauty industry is wrong. For decades, they have made it sound that you have to have a perfect hourglass figure and use 80 tons of makeup to be attractive.
Which is utter nonsense. All these supermodels -- what a term! -- admit in daytime talk shows and ghostwritten memoirs after they stop flouncing down runways that they owe their success to anorexia, eating disorders, drug and alcohol addictions, and have suffered from sexual abuse, rotten marriages, and lying personal managers and agents.
Fortunately for them, they found new lives in Jesus/Buddha/Giant Blue Chickens and a fantastic new husband and their 3.5 children/fashion accessories and their Irish Setter, and are now dedicated to their foundation to fight anorexia among teenage girls. Or something like that.
Meanwhile, real women, who do not have personal trainers named Ramu, an army of makeup people, abusive NHL players as husbands, and actually finish higher education, get good husbands, good careers, good children, and a dog from the Humane Society.
I will never forget Cheryl Tiegs, that icon of American beauty. Five husbands. First one was Billy Joel. She whined while pregnant, "What if our child looks like you?" She cheated on him, got divorced, she and the new guy were saved in a skiing accident, got pregnant by and married to the guy, and the height of the ceremony was the rescuers holding up poles and Cheryl holding up the results of the test, and yelling, "It's a boy!"
They got divorced anyway.
She later admitted she was in therapy for "relationship issues."
You are so right about all of this. I’m sure the pressure to always be beautiful brought out every insecurity they ever worried about. People can be more concerned with what people look like on the outside (and I have been guilty) than who they are inside their minds and hearts. It’s pretty disappointing.
When my mom came to visit after the birth of my first child, I hadn’t seen her in a decade, and she showed up wearing a pound of makeup and every piece of jewelry she owned. It made me feel so sad. That story also helped me realize that it’s okay to show up as myself, with all that entails, and still be loved.
It starts in middle school, when the Queen Bee starts dictating to her coven on what they have to wear, what music they have to like, what makeup to use, and even what to do with their boyfriends when they start begging to at least SEE what’s under that dress (let alone play with it). Most importantly, she dictates to them which other girls and boys in the school are to be stomped like bugs.
Where does she get all these ideas? Well, from her “sophisticated” older sister, of course.
Then she and the coven go out, wearing identical fashion, makeup, and hair, and make miserable the lives of anyone who does not measure up to their ill-defined standards.
The Queen Bee in my middle school was a girl named Nina Feinberg.
She did rather well for herself.
She became Executive Producer of “The Golden Girls.”
Wall full of Emmy Awards, mansion in LA, stable full of horses, 2.5 fashion accessories, “beard” for a husband for glamor events, and presumably gets her real jollies either from a good hard ride in her Western Saddle on her Appaloosa or on her personal trainer…..
Crime does pay.
The Queen Bee at our school was named Cheryl. When i started dating the most popular boy in school (shocking everyone including me), somebody told me she said I wasn’t good enough for him. I spent the whole rest of the relationship (a whopping three months) wondering if I was good enough for him, and I started avoiding him in case what Cheryl said was true.
They just don’t realize the damage they do and probably never will.
They do it because they can do it, they enjoy causing pain, it makes them feel powerful and important, and unless they get brought down, they go on that way.
Nina Feinberg was an upper-middle-class girl in New York's chi-chi Greenwich Village, plugged in to that community. She went to a private Quaker high school with more upper-middle-class and rich people's sons and daughters and obviously enjoyed an easy ride to success.
My wife had a similar problem with her female relatives...she was short, had weight trouble, bookish, rode bike to Catholic high school instead of being delivered by her boyfriend Vinnie Bag O'Donuts, that hot hunk in his cool car, owned a Doberman, and had a wall full of fish tanks instead of posters of pop idols. That made her a freak to them. She still has massive self-esteem issues.
Some years ago, one of those female witches apologized to her at a family funeral. It was a good thing that witch did it out of my hearing and I didn't know until after it happened. If that woman had started spouting it in front of me, I would have hauled her out into the parking lot and dressed her down like the former US Navy Petty Officer I am..."STAND AT ATTENTION! EYES FRONT! Fingers curled! Shut the hell up! You think you could spend 30 years f***ing my wife over for s**** and giggles and one apology sets things straight? Do you realize the damage you have done? Try on her shoes! Nothing bad has ever happened to you..." and so on.
I'm not good at forgiveness. From what I have seen in 61 years, only four types of people get it:
1. Hollywood celebrities
2. Televangelists
3. Politicians
4. Nazi war criminals.
Amen!
You are the one in my heart, there is no substitute for you. Your love runs through my chest and encompasses the sky.
Even the meanings have not found anyone like you. I am confused by your descriptions. Be and as you are.
O sweeter than the pure, clear water, your closeness is a delight to the heart, and your distance is a torment.
You go like money in the eyes of the miser and come back like a vision in the eyes of the blind