Vanity Fare.

I’m back from good ‘ol KL. Was there for work but I’ll spare you the details. Vanity, said Al Pacino in the Devil’s Advocate, is my favourite sin. I couldn’t agree with him more. Sometimes I feel guilty, even embarrassed that I’m so vain. But the great thing about growing older is that soon you learn to not give a flying fff..fish what people think. I’ll admit to stealing a glance in any reflective surface when possible to make sure I don’t have stuff hanging out of my nose or a strand of hair out of place. So sue me.

If you ever want to feel ugly about yourself, visit KL (Disclaimer: Not an anti-KL sentiment so spare me the hate mail). Nothing like air-brushed, size 2, tiny-waisted waifs to make you feel icky about your not-so-perfect skin and other personal hang-ups (Disclaimer: Not an anti-size 2 sentiment so spare me the hate mail). At the risk of sounding superficial (I’m already on a roll anyway), sometimes looking good matters. Why? For the clichéd reason that it makes you FEEL good. I don’t know about you guys but I do feel a wee bit better when I paint my nails or brush my hair.

You know what they about the grass being greener. Yeah yeah yeah, you can’t have it all but…There’s no harm trying right? Ok, here’s my superficial wish-list for Christmas:

1.Better skin. The type you see on magazines that glow and are completely pore-less (hah).

2.To lose another five kilos. At least this one is attainable. I’m not fixated on being skinny but I would like to feel lighter, healthier and finally be able to button my shirts in the chest region.

3.Thicker hair. I got fine hair. And I don’t mean ‘that-chick’s-so-fine’ kinda fine but not-thick-enough ‘fine’.

4.Longer legs. I hate wearing high heels so don’t bother telling me this look ‘elongates’ my legs.

That’s it basically. Oh and I’d like to be taller. Like, another five inches would be nice. I don’t know what’s up with this whole vanity rant but I just feeling bitching. You know what I don’t get? Boyfriends who tell their girlfriends that they like to see them au naturel, sans make-up, t-shirt and slippers but they get whiplash checking out girls wearing low cut tops and hot pants. There are times when I love dressing up. I used to make the effort to look extra nice whenever a particular boyfriend (from the depths of my past) wanted to bring me somewhere special. You know what? He never noticed. And it didn’t bother me until one day when I donned a pair of cut off denims and a black figureless t-shirt and had no make-up on, he remarked, “Hey, you look nice like this.”

I don’t know why I bother.

These days, I wear whatever fits. Heh and I can laugh about it because my weight’s at a stage where nothing looks right. Baggy clothes make me look fatter but snug clothes make me look like a bratwurst with legs. And I realize now it’s not what other people think of how I look like that bugs me. It’s how dissatisfied I am with myself. I wake up in the morning feeling so yucky about my physical appearance and I wish I could lounge in my sweatpants and t-shirt all day long. Strangely, that’s when I feel most at ease with myself. I feel most beautiful when I am not. Ha ha, deep stuff.

For now, I’m gonna summon my writing elves to help me get some work done.

“I feel pretty
Oh so pretty
I feel pretty, so witty and bright.
And I pity
Any fool who isn’t me tonight.”
-Maria in West Side Story. Someone has self-esteem issues.