Vogue. Glamour. In Style. W. Women’s wear journals are my not-so-guilty pleasure. It’s no secret that I take pride in my appearance. While beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, what’s perceived as “pretty” has risen to a new level of perfection. How do I teach my children about the beauty of balance with a cosmetic bag full of “correctors” and an armoire full of Armani? |
On Being Barbie
by Jenny Block
My daughter plays with Barbies, and I’m starting to look like one. I can’t help but wonder — is this a bad thing?
You see, I believe I am teaching her all the right stuff. That she should respect people and their differences. That neither beauty nor weight speaks to the quality of a person’s soul. That kindness and intelligence are the virtues towards which everyone should strive.
But I do have quite a few fashion magazines lying around, and I do take an inordinate amount of pride in my appearance.
And, well, when things aren’t looking quite the way I would like, I’ve had no problem visiting a plastic surgeon — three times.
In 1991, before I was married or had a child, I had my first plastic surgery, a nose job. My reason for doing it was simple and not the least bit profound: I hated my nose.
No pre-selected “movie star” nose, I just asked Dr. Williams to give me the kind of nose that would seem plausible — normal — on my face. And he did. Most people don’t even notice, though it’s not a fact I try to hide. I’ve been accused of being narcissistic for having the surgery. Interestingly, the nose job actually made me less focused on my looks. In a way, my new nose makes me less noticeable, which was precisely what I wanted.
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