Since I just watched the Oscars last night for my yearly glamour fix and was drooling over Helen Mirren's spectacular Georges Chakra gown (nobody can touch her; young women, take note: this is what mature beauty looks like), I thought it an appropriate time to post a little something on a more cheery personal obsession (more cheery than misogyny and torture and the bozo in the White House, etc.). And I trust my fellow Cogblogger and beauty aficionado litbrit will join me.
Here's a great little nugget from Bookslut's Jessa Crispin from The Smart Set. She ends her review of a new book by Hadley Freeman with these words of much-needed modern wisdom:
If more fashion writing was done in the tone of smartypants Freeman, we could avoid the fear that caring about our appearance makes us a vain fool or a victim. A work colleague recently took one look at the four-inch peep toe heels I was wearing and snarled, “Don’t you know why men invented high heels?” I doubted anything I said would deflect what was coming next, so I just shrugged. “So you can’t run away when they want to rape you.” I understand. I used to be a humorless feminist, too, complete with shaved head and my father’s combat boots. Then I discovered Charles David heels and got over it. If only The Meaning of Sunglasses had existed sooner, I could have spent less time being a self-righteous twit.
Amen, sister.
P.S. Erin McKean, who regularly unleashes her blazing wit on her daily blog, also reviewed Freeman's book here.
