1. If you could style yourself, what would you choose as the accoutrements?
2. What is the best way to describe today’s society?
According to my sociology major it would be, “Me, me, me and more me!”
3. Interesting. Where are you happiest?
On my sociology major, obviously. She’s a real pistol, this one. Taking society to task and, I have to say, it’s rubbed off on me in spades.
4. How did you end up on a sociology major?
I was a gift from her great-grandmother, a reclusive billionairess who’s currently going ten years strong without stepping one foot outside of her Sutton Place home. A year ago the sociology major promised to never accept a dime from anyone in her blue-blood clan but when she opened up the box, pulled back the excelsior and saw me sitting there, she couldn’t resist. I would be the last item of luxury she’d ever accept.
5. What kind of things have rubbed off on you?
Well, she’s currently working on a paper that gets to the bottom of the real reason women are against plastic surgery undergone by other women. She argues that once you decide to wear clothes you’ve given yourself over to society’s conformities and have no right to weigh in on any other synthetic additions to another’s body or face. I’d be loathed to disagree. Live and let live as far as I’m concerned.
6. However, it’s about growing old gracefully. I want women to not feel like they have to conform to this so-called “type” in order to feel beautiful. Is that so wrong?
Ha! It’s cute that you believe that I believe that you believe that. Yet women over a certain age can’t wear skirts above their knee? Can’t wear low-cut tops? Why? Older knees are ugly? Older cleavage is disgusting? So, let’s say they are. When women try to help matters by going under the knife and trick society into thinking the knees and breasts are the right age thus appropriate to be seen in public they get chastised for it. You guys won’t let each other win. Don’t get mad at me or my girl. Ask yourselves why you’re so quick to jump on the bandwagon. Why do you care that much about what another person decides to do to their bodies? Are they hurting anyone? Are these rules to preserve a woman’s grace and self-worth or are they an extension of the inherent competitiveness you all have coursing through your veins? What is “growing old gracefully” anyway? When did this specific trajectory take effect? Was it a man who started it? Open a magazine; every other page is another rule or guideline shrouded in hot pink and seductive pouts masquerading under the guise of being helpful and solidaristic. Honestly, I don’t know how women do it. The whole thing’s exhausting.
7. Okay fine. So what does your sociology major think is really going on?
I just said it! Competitiveness. It galls a person to know someone might have a leg up. Period. That’s where it all lies at its core. Is the lobster theory true? Don’t ask me, I’m just an exquisite, ruffle explosion crafted in the mind of Mrs. Burton. Talk amongst yourselves. Or don’t. It’s your life. Your tits. Your problem.
8. “Tits”? Really?
9.*sigh* So, what caused your sociology major to get wrapped up in this theory?
Her own mother altered her face to the point of Jocelyn Wildenstein. Watching the progression was difficult at first but after about the 22nd alteration, she began to actually see her mom as some swollen, alien hero. They never talked about the work but walking down the street and taking in all the reactions to mom turned on its ear this whole notion of “staying young,” “looking better.” She thought back to all the girls in high school who underwent nose jobs — mostly due to deviated septa but we all knew that was one big steaming pile of lies — and at the time how much respect she lost for them. However, from where she stood now (looking fantastic in me, I might add), why? Why did it upset her so? She didn’t want a nose job. She didn’t want any kind of job. Was it the fact that these girls, post operation, returned happier than ever with a new lease on life? Two hours, two painfully pact nostrils and a healthy squalling of “Mommy, it hurts so much!” later, they were granted the chance to start over again, on their own terms. The self-love was finally felt. Go ahead and call it fabricated self-confidence, it was self-confidence still and at the time that was the thorn in my girl’s side. She realized this now. Seeing another woman happy, content, progressing didn’t sit well with her if she wasn’t existing in the same state. She had to get there first; then and only then was it okay for another to arrive. If my girl could, she would contact the former classmates through Facebook — they were members. There’s no way they couldn’t be — and apologize, but my girl loathes the entire social network construct in its entirety and so that was never gonna happen. Instead, she would send doses of good vibes and apologies out into the ether and hope they would land in a significant way on the intended. The end.