antecoitus

When
I was younger, my mother had this constant urge to bribe me with shoe-money to
buy sexy fuck- me sandals. I stayed with my DM’s for two years and with
trainers for another two, they were comfortable and they afforded me clean feet
at the end of the day which I didn’t use to manage to have in sandals. I have
fat feet and I think I look absolutely undeserving of a second glance. Unlike
Librans who are predisposed to grace and attractiveness and Scorpions who ooze
sex appeal like a toothpaste tube with a hole, Sagittarian women are apparently
more masculine than most. The genderless look is a look I go for or maybe it’s
more appropriate to say— it’s the look I cannot seem to avoid. I used to
wonder (and believe me I like knowing more than wondering a thousand times
more) — Is it the way I walk or the way I skip when I’m extremely happy. Is
it the fact that I take on my guy friends’ challenge of unbridled jousting on
about any joke they want to throw at me, whether they are sexual, sexist or
simply stupid? Is it because I cut my hair, when having it long endows me a 75%
probability that I will automatically look like a woman, and a 25% chance of looking
like a hippie child/punk rocker. When I wake up each morning, I look at myself for
two whole minutes waiting for that ever elusive fertility goddess look to
miraculously appear. They told me that French fries go straight to the hips,
I’m overloaded with saccharides and yet my hips remain unperturbed.

 

I
wanted to look soft even if I know it is virtually as impossible as growing more
tantalizing breasts without the silicone implant. Women (or anyone of any
gender) who are beautiful and fragile looking are easier to forgive and easier
to do favors for. When you look like you can smack someone in the head with a
mere dagger look, even if you entice him with the sweetest gelato voice that is
3 octaves higher than Mariah’s limit, it won’t work. If you can say f*ck off
without having to raise your middle finger, if you can make a joke without fear
of stepping on their testicles, or if you laugh heartily without throwing your
hair to the side, smiling your sweet slightly flirty smile and putting a
kerchief to prevent people from seeing what you had for lunch — you can be
sure that men will think you are one of the guys, you’re in the friend zone,
you’re simply not the girl to bring home to momma to help with Christmas dinner
but… you’re really cool to just hang with.

 

When
I am not having any man hanging around me for more than chilling with a drink
or an occasional joint when they’re really depressed, I used to tell myself in
order to feel better, ‘ah they are intimidated by me, damn, that is the bane of
my existence – my independence, my fabulousness’. At the back of my head though
there’s this teeny annoying voice saying (as annoying as Kris Aquino’s
infotainment addiction – she thinks she’s royalty and that its actually public
service to announce to millions of viewers that she has VD) – ‘But what if the
reason is because I am simply challenged in the face value department?’

 

Why
do we hype beauty so much when it’s something which must be measured only with
a carefully chosen yardstick? How do we know what to hype? Why do some people
who think they’re beautiful bully other people who aren’t up to their
standards?

 

I
realized that a lot of women in Europe can make a lot of money in the p h i l i p p i n e s. In
the p h i l i p p i n e s
where talent scouts hunt for faces without talent attached and make them into
celebrities. Showbiz in our country is filled with too many Paris Hiltons. A
lot of them are celebrities… not actors, not singers, just celebrities. Most of
them should just end up in porn, really. In our country
or maybe in the whole of Asia (though I don’t dare generalize about a s  i a )– we want fair skin, preferably long hair, a nice
straight nose. You can be sexy but if you don’t look good enough, you’re shrimp
(the rest of the meat is eatable, but you throw away the head). Here they want
blonde hair, big boobs and solarium burnt skin with full lips and a cleavage. Very
different and yet somehow the same, we still demand something out of each
other.

 

Beauty
is simply relative. Yeah, who doesn’t know that, right? Well tell that to all
the skin and bone models and the throngs of people who have suffered from
anorexia because they don’t want to be people, they want to be models. Tell
that to all those who have had cheek implants, botox injections, too much
facelifts you couldn’t tell if they’re in rage or in rapture. We all want to be
beautiful the way other people tell us what beautiful is.

 

I
realized that as you grow older you are less and less impressed by it. Beauty
which doesn’t go with anything else is like drinking non-alcoholic beer. You taste
it but it doesn’t cause a stir in you at all. Me, I go for that look which
makes me stop and say ‘interesting’. It’s more than beautiful, its worthy of my
time. When it’s too simple, too everywhere else or worse, when there are people
who seem to be beautiful just because they look a certain way because of height
or hair I don’t seem to notice at all (or sometimes some women cover themselves
with makeup and clothes, that they draw attention because of their ability to
accessorize instead – which is real talent, I agree). When there is somehow
this special spirit that draws you, that’s beautiful for me. The good news is
there are more and more discerning people out there who understand ‘interesting’
because there are simply too many other people trying to catch their eye with being
flashy.

 

I
do not really know what beautiful is. In photography there is this magic number
1.618, the Golden mean which is the basis of the rule of thirds – a photography
rule/technique. Years ago, apparently there was this study that discovered that
the faces of fashion models (who we regard as beautiful) have characteristics
which have exactly the ratio 1.618. This ratio is found in all of nature –
petals, seashells, etc. Should we start measuring the ratios on our faces, then
to find? =) Hell, no. And risk a lifetime of shallow insecurity because we are
off target by a couple of decimal points? I believe that there are parts of our
character which we somehow exude without the help of rouge. It’s a very
difficult task to allow ourselves to see what’s really beautiful about other
people, much more about ourselves. Everyone is inevitably hung up on beauty in more ways than one. I mean, look at me, as I write this, I still think I look like a pole
with nothing to offer and I would willingly go lesbian if Angelina Jolie would
join me.

 

All
I am saying is that for me beauty is so difficult to grasp that people should
not give each other a hard time about it. Or more appropriately we should not
give ourselves a hard time about it. We must never let the beauty of others get
the better of us. So when that bitch at work and in school who thinks she’s all
that gives you a cold shoulder while fake-smiling at you, sarcastically
compliment her on a flaw and you have her by the throat. Everyone is anyway in
one way or another insecure about how she looks. So, everyone should just put
herself out there and flaunt whatever he’s endowed with and learn to appreciate
other people’s attractiveness as well. What do we have to lose?

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Friday, March 16th, 2007 at 2:56 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.