I got to thinking the other day, what a shame we have been programmed since the beginning of time into believing that people with amazing cheekbones, who are tall, slim, and glamorous, are so much more attractive than those of us who are short, fat and ugly.
What if things had been different. Instead of everyone going crazy over those glamorous people, what if the short fat and ugly brigade were where it’s at, and everyone wanted to look like that. Then Vogue started offering vast sums of money for them to appear on their cover, and instead of Kate Moss and the likes being feted all over the world, someone like Enid Butterball from Peckham suddenly became the name on everyone’s lips.
The fact that she is 4’6” tall and the same width, with varicose veins, and a 1970’s perm, surely must mean something to those of us who are vertically challenged, and if we had never been made to feel that this is definitely not THE look, no one would have been any wiser, and the Enid’s of the world would have come into their own. Everyone would be lining up to get her autograph, people like Piers Morgan would want to interview her. It would be so much easier for everyone. Instead of having to model yourself on the beautiful people, you could just carry on with your day safe in the knowledge that you too are really HOT.
A male version of Enid Butterball could be Eric Woodlice, a charismatic character with a nice comb over, stooped shoulders, and a moustache with yesterday’s lunch still in it. Imagine the girls screaming his name when he sets off for the library, a bit like when Harry Styles from One Direction appears anywhere, and everyone goes mental. How marvellous it would be if old Eric got the same attention.
So let’s hear it for the Enid and Eric’s of the world, those who are unable to totter about on 9” heels looking glamorous (Enid that is, not Eric) those who are happy in their brogues with two pairs of socks to keep their chilblains at bay, or Eric whose vest is not to make him look tough and macho, but to keep him warm underneath his nylon shirt, and to stop his lumbago from playing up.
We would all be a lot happier. No one needs to peer into the mirror for hours, trying to perfect their pout. Pouting actually just makes you look like a goldfish, NOT Mick Jagger, and the sooner we realise this, the happier we would all be.
So in the morning you just get up and go. Plod off in your comfortable slacks and anorak and you are ready for the day, safe in the knowledge that you really are at the cutting edge of fashion, and certainly one of the BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE.