A Pretty Lie

I lied on Twitter yesterday. Deliberately and on purpose, even.

The truth: I saw a woman of indeterminate age. Logic infers early 60s but appearance not so much. Her hair ranged from honey to dishwater blonde. Her arms were toned, her skin laser-taut. Her face was preternaturally smooth. Time, pain, money and a whole lot of work went into that. The effect should have been lovely or at least pretty. At the very minimum, she should have been attractive -- except she wasn’t because of two things: her sneer and her slouch.

The tweet: “A slouch and a sneer cancel out a pretty face. Pity.”

While that’s true, it’s not what I meant. What struck me at the time was that this woman put so much effort into her appearance, only to stop short of two necessities that don’t require surgery and can’t be bought either at Nordstrom’s or the beauty salon. A pleasant expression and straight posture are readily available to all of us. She had neither. I find that fascinating.

What I find merely interesting is that I didn’t think my tweeties would appreciate those nuances.

Most of the world is still repelled by surgical and artificial beautification. I remember Torquemada-esque eyelash curlers and lye-based perm solutions; painless non-ablative lasers seem facile (though expensive) by comparison. I no longer get Botox, but that’s due to laziness rather than high-mindedness.

With my lined forehead and gray streaks I can’t say I’m in a beauty closet. I try to wear lipstick more often now that my hair is boy-short and I’ve given up my beloved plaid flannel shirts for the same reason. I won’t castigate Joan Rivers, nor will I decry extreme measures should I develop more of an ego in the future. I just won’t tweet about it.