Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Everyone seems to have exerted all of the available energy discussing horses and torture and now there is a pause to regroup to consider this very important issue!  Since, as I have previously noted, I never even grew to be 5 ft. tall, I have never been in the running for consideration as a beauty.  Cute, maybe, depending on the haircut or perm, but I have never been chosen to be the ingenue, the beautiful leading lady or the femme fatale.  True, character parts do get some notice - how does one not notice a 12-year old with a wig made of green twine from the lumberyard (I was the witch in that play) or a dimpled cutie in a pair of flannel pajamas stepping out of a huge story book, clutching the hide of a recently butchered white rabbit which my mother had lined in pink satin - so I could sing "Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy's Gone a-hunting."  (applause) 

No, the kind of beauty described above has never been mine, and so I've never been a candidate for facelifts, tummy tucks or any other enhancements.  Stilts perhaps -

Nonetheless, I appear to have survived without consoling myself that beauty was after all, only skin deep.  My skin had pimples - what's with that?

Every other month, I join alumni of the Class of 1947 - those tall, willowy, gorgeous and popular young women I envied 60 years ago among them - and interestingly enough, some are nearly as short now as I always was and they look much older than I do.  What's with that?  I was even voted one of the healthiest a couple of months ago!

Maybe, just maybe, I had to develop my personality - my sense of humor - my wit and wisdom - other talents - who knows?  I can still deliver a powerful speech without a mic -

I know I shall always regret that I could never wear any of those romantic dresses that Mr. Peterman found in exotic out of the way places...

I got rid of one husband who assured me that I wouldn't look so bad if only my legs were longer between my knees and my hips.  I was glad when he found someone who was perfectly proportioned - (after I'd given him three children because he thought I looked like someone who could have babies...)  I still have the kids - he always had trouble remembering the name of one of them.

The love of my life found me much later - and never let a day go by without letting me know that I was exactly what he wanted and he had certainly been around by that time so I rested on my existing laurels and we lived happily ever after - until he flew away with the angels one day - but burned clearly in my memories are his adoring brown eyes...and the way he'd look at me across the room saying, "how tall are you?"  He loved my short legs, and so there was no need for any cosmetic repair!  

Oh, belle, that was so sweet! I'm fighting back tears while I peck away. Thank you so much for making my morning. How lucky we all are to get to read spontaneous literature of such wonder each day!

I tell my daughter (when she'll listen-she's 18) that although she's tall and gorgeous, it's not enough. Beauty is both a blessing and a curse, for pretty people are treated by many with an odd combination of deference and prurience that can quickly warp and artificially inflate one's self-image. So, I counsel her that there's this other thing she needs to work on besides what she sees in her mirror-it's called character, and it requires cultivation, for it will carry her through the previously discussed bad haircuts and just generally crappy days, and help her to deal gracefully with difficult people and situations. There are few things more unpleasant than an awkward, spoiled pretty one demanding that the world conform to her (or his) whims of the moment.

I was fortunate to grow up the only girl (except Mom, of course) in a house full of wild brothers determined that I'd never get the big-head over my looks. I like to think I might have developed humility on my own, but they saw to it I needn't worry. By my early teens I could throw a pretty good spiral, and hit little bro on a down and out (I had to learn to scramble right away too, for they were not overly concerned with protecting the passer, the wee divils); I learned to change the oil for the family car, change a flat tire, soup up my own go-kart, and switch-hit any pitcher. I never got a homer, but I brought in many runners down at the vacant lot (when in doubt, BUNT!). They made fun of me when I started developing my figure, but I had the remedy for that-if they got too mean, I'd burst into tears and generate instant remorse and much cosseting, so I learned early how to work guys-a great power for both good or evil that my daughter uses to advantage now. I answered all my children's early questions on how babies get made with detailed expositions on biological congress, with accompanying descriptions of the joys of damp smelly babies and the ravages of STDs, such that now they are terrified of unprotected sex and unplanned pregnancies, and my daughter has developed a quite satisfactory program of catch and release for dealing with her suitors. My son struggles with the demands of testosterone, but he's winning, I THINK...wait, I don't want to think about it.

My daughter and I both scorned the narcissism and decorative nature of cheerleading growing up (just think, I coulda met GEORGE!), preferring to try our athleticism out yonder: I was running track and swimming, she loved le futbol (soccer). Now I play in a, ahem, mature ladies soccer league when I have the time, I even scored two goals last season! I find such accomplishments far more satisfying than having my picture taken, although I do like to dress up. Yes, my only regret with the whole cheerleader thing was an abiding love of the little flippy skirt, but I can do that anytime-I don't have to wait for game day!

My four kids and three long marriages testify to my ability to attract a mate, I never had trouble, and still don't, getting a date when I want one. Never got prom queen, but I was always more concerned with the clothes than the office, so I'm ok with that. I could dress the part while still having time for reading Mr. Shakespeare and the OED. My big problem with today's fashion is that we fetishise both abstinence and the sartorial presentation of the street hooker, so I can't help but feel that our culture sends a mixed message to the developing mind. Whatever happened to mystery, to the subtle nuances of fans and banter and angling for one's phone number? I would never have called guys, but my daughter does all the time, and texts them too. I suppose it's just the evolution of manner of use of the social equivalent of fly-fishing, but I preferred just living my life and dealing with the calls as they came.

Oh dear-must dash, teaching CPR in two hours-ta to all!

If waterboarding in fine in theory, why do our politicians turn their wives and children (and themselves) over to have the technique applied to themselves and their families?  If torture is ok for 'other folks' why is it unacceptable to use it on our parents or our aunts and uncles?  And if violence is permissible against strangers, why shouldn't folks use it against their enemies at work, or in a city park, or in traffic?  If civilization is the war of all against all, why not equip everyone not with knives or with handguns, but with mortars, grenades, or even more effective anti-personnel weapons -- like nukes?  I suspect many people in our world would find all the available techniques of violence perfectly ok, and (to quote on poster here) "feel fine with it".  I can't help think of the practical critique of the 'eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth' argument: that it leaves everyone blind and without teeth.  And again, I'm sure there are plenty of folks who would be 'ok' with such a world.... BUT isn't it curious that wars seem to end?  For some reason people eventually (after a lot of killing) decide that peace is preferable to war, that comity is preferable to violence, and that intact bodies are better than damaged ones.  Perhaps genetic engineers will eventually breed out the human tendency to form communities, and make humans the ultimate killing machines (sort of like Darlaks without the trash-can bodies).  Perhaps not.  In the meantime, I'm not sure I have the energy to weed out and destroy all those who pose a threat to me.  And the idea that 'collateral damage' is just an unfortunate side effect of me exercising my freedom to kill and maim leaves me with WAY too much work to do!  Even 

Whoops...word of warning... one's postings (if interrupted as one is writing them) can post to the following day's discussion!  And so we learn, making error after error...

Civil War general and later President Ullyses S. Grant's wife, First Lady Julia Grant, was cross-eyed. When it was suggested to her that she have an operation to have it corrected, President Grant replied that he liked her that way. (Source: Paletta's 'The World Almanic of Presidential Facts').  And then some of us like prominent noses and tiny, tiny ears.  Go figure!

Do I love you because you're beautiful? Or are you beautiful because I love you? Oscar Hammerstein posed the question.

Belle is certainly Bell of the Ball. i too was quite touched by her. Bellballs comment was beautiful.

Having grown up with the theatre, the movies, and the opera, I had an early love for dramatic romance.  And I spent my childhood believing that, just as in those wonderful art forms, I could see a stunningly beautiful woman, fall in love with her on sight, and ride off in the sunset to live happily ever after.

Then, life happened.

I faught valiantly to keep the dream alive.  In the small, Missouri farm village where I grew up, I strolled down the street outside the house of the most beautiful girl in town, singing "Dein Ist Mein Ganzes Hertz", certain she would swoon.  She didn't.  Her brother threw rocks at me.

Years later, when I came to New York, I hadn't learned much.  I was still singing Austrian serenades and couldn't fathom why they weren't working.  Then, one day, a woman sang along with me.  Physically, she was not the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  She wasn't even the most beautiful woman I was working with at the time.  And I didn't give a damn.  Because she sang with me.  She was the first woman I ever met who wanted my music and shared it.  Now, that's beautiful.  We also discovered a mutual love of the classic movies and theatre that had led all the farm kids of my youth to brand me a weirdo.  I called my brother on the phone and told him, "I've met a girl!  A girl my age who loves Greta Garbo!  A girl my age who's heard of Greta Garbo!"  Now, we've been married for seven years and our little girl includes Maria Callas and Luciano Pavarotti among the tremendous varieties of music she enjoys.

The most important thing about a "dream girl" is that she is a dream.  The real thing is so much better, not just because she's real but because her glorious imperfections make her infinitely more interesting.  When we dream, our fantasies are short and without detail.  Dreams come in images but lack depth.  I'll take life over dreams any day of the week and twice on Sunday.  I can't imagine trading my beloved for any hollow dream girl of fantasy.  Is she perfect?  Of course not!  And that is a crucial part of the fun.  The sacrifice I make by tolerating such imperfections cannot possibly outweigh the sacrifice I'd make if I didn't.

Morning All!

I am officially still tired from yesterday's ten rounds with the lovely Olivia.

I had this post for my site in the can and decided to post it early so that I could comment on today's subject here over at my site. Soooo tired. . .

It is about my sister, herself tapped to model for Ford in NYC.

DPR and Belle, loved your beautiful love stories. True beauty.

If you have a chance, come see me brag about my sister, who is definitely the whole package.

Love,

Miss Ive

http://sandinmyswimsuit.blogspot.com/2008/08/emily-post-goes-wild.html

Helen Gurley Brown almost single-handedly did untold damage and I always liked what Rosalind Russel had to say: Taking joy in living is a woman's best cosmetic. Besides, Chanel of course.

As a father of daughters I learned a long time ago about the subtle violence perpetrated on females in our culture. Until a girl is twelve or so, we tell her she can be as smart as a boy, as strong as a boy, as clever as a boy, as funny as a boy -- in fact, she can do anything a boy can do, and do it as well. But when she reaches puberty we let her know (sometimes in not so subtle ways) that from now on, she will be defined by her ability to attract and hold a boy's attention. At that point we tell her what her face should look like, how her breasts and bottom and legs should appear, all so that she can curry the attention of males. 

Anthropological analysts might tell us that this is grounded in some ancient survival requirement, but the days are long passed when women need a man to bring home a mastodon for dinner, yet we still cling tenaciously to the practice of gender wide identity theft as a way of raising daughters.

As a psychotherapist, I see too many broken women who, though they weren't classically pretty, knew what was necessary to engage men and lost their souls along the way to popularity. Now, used and filled with self-loathing, they struggle to piece together some semblence of self-worth in an attempt to reclaim what was lost in the pursuit of a misogynistic agenda.

So is beauty bad? Of course not. But I continue to hope that one day it will take an lesser place to intelligence, compassion, creativity, tenderness, humor and a host of other infinitely more valuable (and less transient) human characteristics.

Sometimes I yearn to be one of the beautiful people, one of the tall, slender girls with shiny straight hair, a pert nose, and effortlessly sheik style.  But then I catch myself, and I start to feel lucky that I'm not so.  Because things are so much easier for the beautiful. 

At first, it seems like an advantage - friends, lovers and opportunities abound.  But a life without struggle is a life without certain rewards. Victory is sweeter after a grueling battle.  The summer sun is warmer after a cold winter.  And a friend, lover or opportunity gained after truly earning it, is far more meaningful and lasting.

Like Olivia added, beauty can (though certainly doesn't always) hinder the development of one's character - a much more valuable asset than good looks.  Because looks fade.  Just like leaves changing with the seasons, we're all (hopefully!) gonna get old.  Our skin will sag, our hair will thin, even our bone structure will change- that's life!  It should be embraced.

And when we're really old - too old to climb a set of stairs, let alone make love - beauty ain't even skin deep.  It'll be far, far more important to be with someone who makes you laugh.

I've known many women who were beautiful when they were young who had a terrible time adjusting to maturity. They couldn't seem to accept that as we age in years, if we look after our bodies and our minds, so too does our beauty, however it may manifest itself, grow in its several ways to produce a being of varied interests, agreeable in companionship, handsome to look upon, dignified in mien (except of course when total silliness is appropriate), and cherished in association. I know that I care far more that my friends are humane, empathetic, wonderful in conversation and energetic in dispositon, rather than just pretty or handsome. We value our relationship for the pleasure of one another's company, and that is enough.

I had a young work-study student in my office for a time. She was lovely and personable, but she insisted that any young man she might consider dating would have to be totally handsome, and she would refuse all other invitations. Consequently, she missed some wonderful experiences and became increasingly frustrated and unhappy in her relationships. I tried to counsel her to just have fun with people and don't worry so much about appearances, but she was singleminded in her quest for perfection. She has dropped out of school and works in a makeup store now. I'm sure there's a moral there somewhere. I know I'm sad for her.

Back to the manikins-CPR is indeed a harsh master...

Well-said, Jilly! You have clarified the heart of the matter. Thank you.

Thanks, Olivia!  ...and thank you for sharing such thoughtful and enriching personal experiences.

Physical beauty is such a temporal thing. Whether it be a purely natural physical beauty or something carefully sculpted and manufactured; it can be taken from one, lost forever; in the wink of an eye . . . and then what?

If physical beauty were important, would it not then be a reflection of the thoughts, words and deeds of the person inside? A tender heart needn't be wrapped in porcelain skin; truth and courage are not measured in height, nor are any other attributes of what defines a person as being truly beautiful dependant upon anything as fragile as the human exterior.

One creates their inner beauty and becomes beautiful for it.

If there is anything as beautiful as a fragile, young sapling; it is the tall, ancient, weathered tree with aged bark and deep roots that it becomes.

Ah, Beauty! I guess we get our concept of ideal beauty from the classical Greeks. I'm sure Helen was a beautiful woman in her day, Cleopatra also.  Mona Lisa, too. The "Girl With the Pearl Earing" by Vermeer is a stunner. Beauty can also be the subjecy of fads. Bone-thin pre-teen girl models are not my "cup of tea". Someone thinks they're beautiful, not I.  My "ex" was a tall Swedish blonde.....time has healed the wounds and I'm now able to deal with tall blonde women more rationally. (Ha Ha)

Umberto Eco ("The Name of The Rose" fame) has written a book on "beauty' ....it's well worth the time and money.

I think the difference is mistaking glamor for beauty.  I can look at black & white photographs of the female stars of the 30's and 40's and fall in love with the glamorous image. Evelyn Ankers comes to mind.  I was in love with her when I was a pre-teen. Imagine how shocked I was to discover she was old enough to be my grandmother. And can any man deny the glamour of a Vargas pin-up calendar girl? Or the glamour of a playboy bunny?

But is glamour beauty?  I think not.  When I look back at old photographs or paintings of beautiful women, they are still beautiful by today's standards. Glamour notwithstanding. Paris Hilton and her clones are merely pretty in a superficial way. They are shelf-ornaments, trophies, to be tossed away when we tire of them.

Although, I will admit that cosmetic surgery to enhance your looks is not a bad thing, especially if it improves your self-esteem.  Perhaps there is the secret:  Self-esteem.  That is the true source of beauty. Knowing who you are and acting on it. The rest is glamour. 

Looks fade with age, pretty things fade with yesterday's fads, glamour is an image not a reality. Beauty is....well beauty is timeless. A woman can be "beautiful" but still be ugly inside. True beauty comes from within first, and shows on the surface....a real man knows the difference.

I competed in a triathlon yesterday (still tired...the old man needs a longer nap)...I saw so many women with great bodies (very athletic), some who were not so great. But all were stunningly beautiful by my standard.

My standard is based on self-esteem as the source of  beauty and knowing who you are.  L

Beauty isn't worth thinking  about. What's  important is your mind. You don't want a fifty dollar haircut on a fifty cent head. I don't usually quote Garrison Keillor.

Of course, what must be said is that physically attractive women can also have inner radiance. So maybe we're hard on beauties too and have a need to think they're less than they are. Somehow, we're not as hard on "beautiful" men.

Anyone or anything, that exudes an attraction to someone...even if it is only one person who feels this attraction...is justified as beauty...of course, that is only my opinion.

Dutchman:

There was an interesting marketing study done recently concerning photographs of people on their business cards and mailers. The photograph of a woman, whether attractive or not, got a neutral reaction. It didn't matter whether a woman's picture was on her material or not.  Surprisingly, handsome mens' photographs got a negative response.  People were less likely to call or use their services.

The lesson to learn: don't use photographs of yourself in marketing materials.  I personally never have....I let the message speak. I don't like distractions to take away from the message.   

JillyBean the last part of your post has reminded me of my very sweet Great Aunt & Uncle believe it or not their names were Verna & Homer. I ALWAYS have remembered them as being very short & "OLD"  but yet very elegant.

They actually when thinking abou them now it seems they were the prototypes for the characters of the Howells from Gilligan's Island.  They never had children & were very fastidous in their home making ways, back then it seemed weird to a me a young "modern" girl that was mentioned how I should be more ladylike.  Well now with the passing of my Grandmother I happened to inherit all the family pictures. Going through them is a real trip.  My Aunt even though she was under 5ft. tall ALWAYS looked as if she just walked off the latest movie sets. Furs, hats, coats, muffs, purses, diamonds. I can pretty much date the pictures based on the clothing styles & the hair.  My Uncle also when not in his uniform is dressed elegantly & truely timelessly. I was in high school when the tough decision was made to move them for their own safety into assisted living arrangement.  I remember a very old & frail Homer helping an equally old & frail Verna up the stairs & into the home & how they actually did laugh in the fact that their view was a gain overlooking a parking lot like it had been in one of their first homes.  How true it is that you write it's more important & possibly the greatest beauty of all  that someone along with you shares a laugh.           

This may sound idealistic, which means it may be vulnerable to also being hypocritical on my part, but isn't having any kind of "standards" set to determine if one is beautiful the equivalent of placing blinders on a horse so that it will only see what is in front of him?

 I fear that I/we overlook so much of who or what is beautiful by placing so many qualifiers upon it. 

I hope/xpect that I shall be more attentive to the beauty that lies within us all.   I can't remember whereI left my blinders anyway.

I wish I was Gilda, dressed up as her for Halloween one year, MANY MANY people didn't get it, thought I was a very well dressed hooker or I couldn't find the pink dress to be Marilyn in....

Would LOVE To have been/be an inspiration for a Vargas or a Toulouse-Lautrec sketch, a Capote story, a Gershwin song, heck even a Soap Opera Character.... ALAS though I am only me 5 "7" tall with dyed hair & a tiny bit of chocolate wieght on my sides....and upon farther review to be anything else seems like too much dang work & not fun at all. 

I lOVE Glamour,but at the end of the day the stars get zits, have rashes, cut themselves & have a bad hair also. (we just don't see any of it.)   The part of the life that is considered most Beautiful to me is by mostly just being true to yourself. It has taken me awhile to figure it out, but I have realized that you don't need furs, the latest pair of Christian Louboutin shoes or true Religion Jeans to be glamourous. You just have to be comfortable with you. (Although I do suggest taking a few shopping sprees from the J Peterman site or catalog just in case you need some down to earth Glamour at some point in time. )

I can empathize with belleball.  When in high school, I was the only girl in the trumpet section which gave me some sort of reputation that was definitely not positive.  I was also a bit heavy, not as heavy as I thought, looking back at pictures from the time, but definitely not svelt.  Also, I was never any sort of knockout.  I had lots of male as well as female friends, but I never dated.  I did not go to my senior prom..nobody asked me.  The same was true in college.  I was very busy socially, but not when it came to any sort of boy-girl activity.  How many times I cried myself to sleep during those years, I can't count.  A completely negative self-image.  I was a "fat, ugly looser".  But I did find THE man that made the perfect yin to my yang.  We will celebrate our 45th anniversary in a few months.  Of course, his explination is that he wanted to quit his job to go to graduate school full time and he had to fine someone that was capable of supporting him... 

Now skip ahead to last year.  My HS class had its 50th reunion.  I definitely was better preserved than the majority of those old people.  My weight is well under control and I work out religiously so my tone is definitely acceptable for an old lady.  And I have very little grey hair!  And all of a sudden, the ones that had been the "beautiful people" started coming around and talking to me.  Wait a minute.  I am the same person I was, or at least the same with 50 years of experience behind me, and so why am I now acceptable?  In 50 years, you haven't learned that looks really don't count when it comes to who you really are? The same old criteria are as important as when your hormones were so high? The experience actually made me angry.  One guy actually introduced me to his wife as the girl everybody had a crush on!  Who was he talking about?!  I blurted out, "Then why didn't you ask me to the prom?"  No answer..  So all my life I have been shouting to the world, look at ME.  Look at who I am.  Not the envelope that I live in but ME, here inside.  Don't make judgements based on that envelope.  You might very well be disappointed.  My husband looked inside and decided he liked what he saw... and that I could indeed put him through graduate school.

Skip ahead  

Okay, a lot has been said here that makes good sense and clearly, none of us thinks that the intellect should take back seat to the package.  This was to be expected and it's all well and good.  But let's not kid ourselves:  The reason we're all here is because we were attracted to a website that sells clothes!  The clothes make us feel beautiful and that does something valuable for our feelings.  So before we fall too much in love with notions like "beauty isn't worth thinking about", let us be honest about the common interest that brought us all here in the first place.

ExPat,

Interesting observation about pictures on marketing materials.  Coming from the theatre, there was no choice for me.  The headshot and resume were the rule.  Since an actor is selling himself, his photo is his promotional material.  Later, when I went into the tourism trade, I put my picture on my card and website so that my clients will recognize me at the spot where we start our tours.

Speaking of my theatrical background, I want to bust a popular bubble:  Everyone (including some here) likes to say "Beauty fades."  Guess what; no it doesn't.  Beauty changes but it doesn't fade.  Whenever someone speaks of "losing our looks", I wonder if they mean we turn invisible.  When working as a director, I would page through enormous books of actors' headshots, looking at lots of pretty but boring faces.  Whenever I stopped at a picture and said "Now he's interesting" (or she as the case may be), nine times out of ten, it was someone over 50.  Older people have lived-in faces and every line tells a story.  Much more beautiful than the blank slates you see on the 20-somethings.

Consider the point another way:  When the emerald green leaves on the trees turn red and gold for autumn, we would never say that the tree's beauty fades!  For most of us, autumn is the best time for the trees.  There was a big change but hardly a fade.  When the green hills are covered in snow for winter, would we say that their beauty had faded?  These are changes but they do not constitute a fade or a loss.  To contend that they do embraces the very stereotype we claim to oppose.

oh mirror, mirror, on the wal, wh.....insert sound of cracking, splinter glass......

opps, make that a double L for wall.  It's so easy for me to let the hot air out of my balloon.

oh indeed - we were all attracted to Peterman's catalogs - but not just for those glamorous togs - I was first fascinated with that swashbuckling figure in the long coat in that teeny ad in The New Yorker

I remember well the holiday when all of my ten immediate family members received a special gift from the Peterman catalog - complete with the wonderful description that made me choose that particular jacket, football shirt, skirt or whatever for that particular son-in-law, daughter, and the only grandson I had at that time, and each had to read their card out loud!  We had such a festive time, and most still are able to wear their finery - because they were such practical gifts!  I even have one of those wonderful orangeish boxes with the black elastic band that held the lid on..

So here I am middling through the Autumn of life - still singing those great September songs - playing the piano - and entirely familiar with my hard-earned facial lines - that look ever-so-much better when I smile - 

Sounds like we all either have already, or are into the process of, caring for ourselves well as we mature, as good Peterman afficionados would, as we take each day as it comes and enjoy it to the utmost.  Here's to Auntie Mame!

ExPat,

True enough, there will be no additional Spring after our final winter except for that of our children.  Children and art are the only immortality I believe in.

But of course you shouldn't be afraid of Winter.  Rather than worrying about no more Spring, enjoy how the world is covered in a clean, white table cloth.  Enjoy the crystaline sunlight shining through the ice as it clings to the trees.  Enjoy the relief of the fireside and the hot chocolate as you come out of the windy outdoors.  Winter is a beautiful time.  In our lives too.

Is that "Turn, Turn, Turn" I hear playing in the background?

DPR/ExPat, you guys are so right.

DreadPirateRoberts"

I, too, don't believe in any Spring after this life.  Here in California, the almost constant sunshine mocks the very concept of Winter......so unless I take an occassional trip to the local mountains to embrace  that white tablecloth, I have found other reminders.  The Winter here can have gorgeous sunsets, and cool breezes that ruffle the peacefulness of the night. 

But the peacefulness of the San Bernadino Mountains when draped in Winter's white robes is a sight to embrace from the window of a mountain cabin.

After all the deals are done, no one will remember them, but the children and the arts are a true immortality.

The beauty of the little things in life are worth remembering.....a Peterman duster, an antique dresser, a first kiss, seeing my children being born (yes, I helped to deliver them), a great movie, a good book, a sunset, and, of course, those autumn leaves.....

ExPat and Peter,

I was worried I would have "Turn, Turn, Turn" stuck in my head and then ExPat reminded me of "Autumn Leaves".  Life is a song cue.

Who was it who, when confronted with Bach said "Too many notes!"?

Let this be a lesson unto you, fellow eyesters, DO NOT ALLOW the thing to go too long before you start reading.

Starting after 9 PM est, I couldn't quite read it all as carefully as it deserves, though I tried persistently to sample a little of each offering. Someone said something about cosmetics. Revson said he was selling hope in a jar....

Two quick sardonic notes on beauty:

1) (this from several bathroom walls and not a few bumper stickers) No matter how gorgeous she is, somebody, somewhere is tired of her and her [bad behavior].

2) The problem with most pretty girls is that someone has already told them they are. 

I expect someone besides me will wrap up the juxtaposition of torture and cosmetic surgery.

I think I'll stick with the easier and more pleasant comparisons of young horses and long legged women. Sorry, Belle, as someone who grew up in a Colonial Ranch and has consistently bought two storey houses ever since, I have to admit that familiarity with petite women only increases my awe of the six footers.

If you think you love somebody, best proclaim it with a shout

If you think you love somebody, best proclaim it with a shout

If you think you'll miss them when they're gone

Don't you wait around waitin to find out. 

I was initially going to discuss how beauty is not skin deep, but it is relevant. I love my wife, and though she doesn't always feel beautiful and isn't six feet tall and doesn't way less than the stars we see on TV, she could not be any more beautiful. Every morning that I see her, I am newly surprised by how breathtaking she is. I love her every second of the day because of who she is, but because of who she is, she is better looking than anyone I know.

Since tv discussion took a turn to the seasons, however, I am reminded of the final panel of Calvin and Hobbes. After a fresh blanket of snow, Calvin addresses his Tiger and states "It's a magical world Hobbes, ol' buddy... Let's go exploring!"

Diana Rigg just turned 70 and Honor Blackman will be 82 the day after Boxing Day.

did someone just mention the magnificent Emma Peel!!!!!!

Gentlemen, you are positively lyrical, poetic, tonight. My commendations!

DPR, I'd like to contest a couple of your statements, While I have bought my share of JP's offerings, what attracted me first, and still, is the writing. Even the items that don't suit me have such interesting stories. AND, I for one never said beauty fades. I think it changes, deepens with the years and with life experience. I feel that I'm as good as I've ever been right now, pushing 55. I'm fit and healthy, I can wear a short skirt if I choose, and I still turn the occasional head, not that that means much to me anymore, because I'm just glad to be satisfied with myself as I am.

Sometimes I still get a bit wistful though, romantic that I am. It would be nice if there was someone to serenade me, write me poems, or just watch me walk about the house with appreciation. I have that sixth sense like most women, I think-we know when someone's looking, and we like it. Then again, it's so nice to live alone and do just as I please for the first time in thirty years.

I love winter, I just don't feel anywhere NEAR the winter of my life-I'm having too much fun!

Heh, heh... >>>But let's not kid ourselves: The reason we're all here is because we were attracted to a website that sells clothes! <<<Actually, I came here because of Olivia and her mind (we've never met in person).  I stumbled in the door without a clue about Mr. Peterman (sorry...)  I'm known for my total disregard for my own appearance, and frequently change from one tie to another simply because someone says, 'Don't you own any other ties?'  So with that out of the way.... Many years ago I worked in retail, and I felt great pity (and a bit of anger) when I had female customers wander about the store, asking silly questions, wasting their days 'window shopping', aimless and lost.  They were fading flowers for the most part, able to not work because they had 'married well', but totally bored not only with life, but obviously even with themselves.  They knew their looks had taken them to 'success' -- but they also knew they were vulnerable.  Would the younger woman snatch their husband away and leave them 'out on the street' with no security except that provided by a 'good settlement' in a divorce court?  These women looked to ME (a store clerk) for companionship!  How sad!  And it was obvious they had no skills (other than being attractive) upon which they could fall back.  No career (except being the perfect 'Little Woman').  Supremely out of control of their own fates.  And frightened!  --- A final thought relative to ">>>Are we living in a superficial society getting more superficial by the minute? Or has the world always been that way? Do we make too many choices based on appearance? Can anyone make sense of it all? <<<<Some of us simply don't care about superficiality... we simply swim through it.  Muddy water isn't anything to think about... it's simply muddy water.  And muddy water doesn't need to be explained.  It's simply muddy water.

*blows Doc and all a kiss*

Mrs. Peel?

As the boy said, Let's go exploring...

Not that there can be a substitute, but  I commend to those who would enjoy a spiritual successor, one Angela Lindvall , as Agent Dragonfly in the movie-within-a-movie in Roman Coppola's CQ ( 2001). She  certainly fills out a leather jumpsuit nicely and the hip-hugging belt is Pure Emma...

Peterman got on the Uma bandwagon pretty big when the Avengers movie came out. I wonder who bought THOSE leather jumpsuits...

Any comments/ comparisons/ contrasts on the topic of Emma, Cathy Gale, et al?

But doesn't anyone ever see a beautiful woman, or man, and say, "What a beautiful person." I'm glad to see them, like a sunset or a shoreline? I do. Often. I love beauty. And it doesn't bother me if it is 'greater' than my own.

And, sorry, I do find an 'innate' difference between Gene Wilder and Audrey Hepburn. I just do. I think most people do. Don't see a lot of people trying to mimic Wilder's aura.

Was so glad to hear all the wonderful love stories on here today. Touching. Makes me optimistic.

Night, all.

Willie,

I'd have to add "Trinity" from the "Matrix Reloaded" to the mix.  

MRS. PEEL!  I knew there was a reason why I like the bowler hat in my magritte painting! Who didn't want to be John Steed (and because we've discussed horses is their a psychological significance behind John Steed's last name.?

As for autumn leaves falling....the theme to Thomas Crown Affair (1968) comes to mind (Windmills of My Mind). I for one hope and believe that the falling leaves of my autumn will take several decades.

Willie,

It was Mozart, not Bach.  One of the king's advisers was asked to critique a new opera.  The man was an idiot and thought "too many notes" would make him sound intellectual.  Mozart asked if he felt he should remove every third note.

Olivia,

Come now, my dear.  If turning heads meant so little to you, you would not take the trouble to mention it.  As for the writing, yes of course that is key.  And dare we refer to the writing as... BEAUTIFUL.  While I have read more Owner's Manuals than I have bought Peterman's products (though it's close because I really do wear a lot of his stuff), the purpose remains the same.  The writing is wonderful but it is there in order to sell clothing.  Otherwise, our host goes out of business and we would not have known each other.  As for the deepening of beauty, you have stated my earlier point more eloquently than I did.

Missive,

Surely, you do not object to another's beauty being greater than your own because that is a truly rare occasion.

ExPat,

The Thomas Crown Affair is ("Windmills of Your Mind" notwithstanding) one of the extremely few examples of my preferring the remake to the original.  Normally, I say "Just say no to remakes" and Norman Jewison is one of my very favorite directors while John McTiernan is not.  Nevertheless, I thought the second film was far more intelligent and better cast.  Rene Russo's calculating, risky portrayal of the female lead far outclassed Faye Dunaway's far more vapid model-turned-detective.  But mostly, Thomas Crown is supposed to be one of those men who seems to have been born in a 3-piece suit.  That is Pierce Brosnan to a tee, whereas Steve McQueen was always Mr. T-shirt, totally out of place in such a buttoned down character.  And transforming Crown from a bank heist mastermind to an art thief was a stroke of aesthetic genius.

DreadPirateroberts:

I think your assessment of the two "affairs" is the way most people feel......Thomas Crown is based on a real man and both movies have elements of the "truth."  Now just don't ask how I know that....it's a secret!

I was never comfortable in a three piece suit, but I do look good in one - (LOL)

The real "Thomas Crown" stole (or relocated) Renoirs.  He drove a dune buggy and loved to take risks....perhaps he still does. As to whether he was Irish (like Pierce) or American like McQueen.....all I can say is he wasn't an American born (still LOL)

Come on, ExPat!

Did you think I didn't recognize the certain similarity to a certain scene in a certain movie when you mentioned that story about "You may have screwed me but you paid twice what the property was worth"?

I am extremely comfortable in 3-piece suits and everybody looks good in them! (see, we're back on topic)

DPR:  I agree completely that the remake is much better. (Although I miss the Dune Buggy scene)  The song by Nina Simone (from NC), "Sinnerman", played during the "replacement/heist" scene is wonderful.  The entire song has a lot of Gospel in it but it is excellent.  There are rumors of a third remake.

DPR-Of course it makes me feel good to turn heads, just not as much as it used to, man dear. Everyone likes to be appreciated, but I meant that it has greatly diminished in importance. Although the writing's object is the promotion of desire, I submit that it also gives an objective pleasure to both scribe and lector.

I'm with Miss Ive in the enjoyment of a beautiful person, as with any lovely animal. Especially those who wear it well, instinctively. The horse topic comes to mind.

I totally agree with you re: Thomas Crown-you hit the nail on the head. I'll never forget Faye's seduction at chess though-that was pure art!

Ex Pat:  Just remember: At this point in time, in this "season", at this moment; you are in your Prime.  It sounds like your doing just fine and are in medal contention.

Beauty is art. Art is beauty. Both are the fulfillment of our aesthetically-fed ego-dreams. I love it all.

DreadPirateRoberts:  Just seeing if you remember your comment about me being "a mysterious gentleman". And playing it for all I could.

Capt Neptune: Thanks........