Remember those putrid shampoo ads from the 80’s with Kelly LeBrock entreating us not to hate her because she’s beautiful? And insisting that Pantene was the magic potion that made her hot enough to play a sex object created by a very dorky Anthony Michael Hall in Weird Science? No? Shit, you people make me feel old. OK, here it is.
The point I was getting at before we headed down memory lane, Madison Avenue edition, is that I need to people not to hate me just because I’m NOT beautiful. There was a time, in my late teens and early twenties that I perhaps could have laid claim to some hotness cred. I was thin, I had shiny hair, I had clear skin and I had red lipstick and wasn’t afraid to use it. Guys looked and they liked what they saw.
(A total lipstick aside. I read about this lipstick that changes color when you want to have sex on Masala Chica recently and OH MY GOD! In college? I would have had lips that signaled horny like a baboon’s hot pink butt. Now? My lips would become invisible because of how stinkin’ tired I am most of the time.)
Now, I know, I KNOW, being over 30, and a mom, who works, does not preclude beauty. But it sure does inhibit it. OK, maybe if I were Gwyneth Paltrow and had a team of super-duper, eco-conscious, more-perfect-than-thou stylists and make-up artists and personal trainers at my beck and call I could muster up some beauty on par with her. OK, maybe not on par with Gwyneth. My genetics don’t allow for that. Dammit. But I don’t have help. I have a toddler and a job and a house and wrinkle cream that gives me pimples.
Don’t think I don’t understand the irony of that.
No, the real reason I’m not beautiful these days is a total lack of desire to be beautiful. I finally passed whatever threshold it is where my looks are no longer a form of currency to me. For years I reveled in being smart…and HOT. Successful…and HOT. Funny…and HOT. Or if not exactly hot, at least basically attractive and working what my mama gave me to the best of my ability. But the point is I felt like everything about me was better paired with a side of “OMGshe’sHOT!”
|Kate = Trying Too Hard|
No, now I just want to be funny. Or smart. Or successful. Or the Best Damn Mom Walking the Earth (Sorry, Mom, I know that was your title since the day I was born, but I’m totally gunning for it now.). I don’t need to spice up the Inner Me with a hot exterior. And I sure as hell don’t want to be that 30-something mother who is plainly trying too hard to be hot. Because if you go too far down that road you turn into Kate Gosselin.
This is not to say that I’ve stopped trying to pull myself together. There is still a hair and make-up routine every morning but it’s more about under-eye concealer and less about lip-liner, if you know what I mean. My look could be described as Utilitarian With A Touch of Blush. It works for who I am now and I hope it shows off my best physical features while at the same time letting me highlight the rest of me, because those parts are pretty cool.
But, um, the wrinkle cream? That gives me zits? I’m trading that in for something better because there is a limit.