I woke up yesterday morning, went into the bathroom, blinked at the mirror, and thought, “Faces of Meth.”
Honesty comes in those moments before you’re completely awake.
I actually don’t spend a lot of time looking at my face, but somehow the whole moving to a new environment has led to me looking at everything differently, and now my face is included in “everything.” It probably didn’t help that I’ve been scanning family photos into my computer so I’ve been looking at pictures from my dewy youth (anything before fifty). Anyway, I laughed because even as a half-conscious observation, “Faces of Meth” seemed pretty funny, and then I got dressed and forgot about it.
Well, I forgot about it until I got into the line at the grocery and saw a Star Magazine with the headline “Stars Without Make-up.” Of course, I bought it; I’d just woken up to Faces of Meth. The thing is, the majority of those actresses still looked beautiful without make-up. They just didn’t look perfect. They looked like beautiful human beings. The whole superstar myth evaporated without foundation and great lighting and they looked like people I might know. Star Magazine as Mythbuster. (Just don’t read the text. They must do a special screening for “vapid” when they hire writers. I could feel brain cells dying as I read it.)
So that would have been enough, but then there were some who looked really awful. Faces of Meth awful. Goldie Hawn, in particular, was a great comfort. Yes, she’s four years older than I am and she obviously spent too much time in the California sun, but still, she’s Goldie Hawn. I look better without make-up than Goldie Hawn looks without make-up. It’s the first time I’ve felt warmly toward Goldie Hawn. And yet Goldie Hawn looks fabulous on the red carpet. Maybe I need to get red carpet. And better lighting. And, of course, make-up.
Actually, what I need to get is my grades done, the class description for 523 done, my Christmas presents done, and my book done. Also, I hate carpet. So I put the magazine in Krissie’s room for the next time she visits, and I went back to work, secure in the knowledge that even the great beauties of Hollywood will look like me someday. And the next time I look in the mirror early in the morning, I will not think “Faces of Meth.”
I will think, “Eat your heart out, Goldie.”