I nod my head politely as the girl in front of me asks mundane questions about my life. "Good! And you?" has been my response more than once. We've met many times, and we're "friends" enough...we've even hung out during the day, albeit with our respective boyfriends in tow at the time. Suffice to say, I've spent enough time with this girl to know her as more than an acquaintance....yet as we chat here in a crowded club sipping our drinks, I am utterly and totally unfocused. Some girl's glittery purse is holding my attention more than this conversation. I've come to conclusion that, while undeniably beautiful in appearance, dressed to the nines and lovely in all ways the eye can see... this girl is boring. I don't feel bad for thinking this only because it isn't a snap judgement -- after spending as much time with her as I have, I can safely say she has slim to zilch of a personality. Interestingly enough, this girl is insanely popular and is very much a permanent fixture in the nightlife scene in the city. Yes Toronto, I guess we really are that superficial.
Maybe everyone sees something in her I don't, or maybe we simply don't click -- but I think it's more everyone is just insanely superficial. Let's face it; as long as you're beautiful, you're accepted. "Wouldn't it be a ridiculous world if everyone worshiped models?" a friend of mine once joked over coffees in London earlier this year. "But don't they already?" was my other friends brisk but truthful response. How else can one explain the social lauds of some one who's the personality equivalent of expired tofu? Simple: as long you look good, people want to be seen with you. At least in the circles of the city's self-proclaimed young, hip, and fashionable. Beauty equaling convenience isn't ground-breaking news in any way, but it certainly is something worth acknowledging when out and about in the city. Throw a hot dress on a decent looking girl and she's pretty much guaranteed access to a club sans cover and probably into a booth where the drinks are free depending on how forward she is. Throw a hot dress on an agency-rate model and well, there's no stopping what she can do! I'd be lying if I said I hadn't taken advantage of this myself -- waltzing into booths where I barely know the promoters or bottle-buyers is something I've done on many an occasion (albeit graciously as I can) and it fascinates me that this is something I have the privilege of doing simply because some people think I'm pretty. I'm grateful for it, but boggled by it at the same time. But really, as a twenty-something who is just looking to have a fun night out for the most part, I can't really complain.
Obviously the difference between your party friends and real friends is that you actually know your real friends; inside jokes, advice doling and shoulders to lean on trump bottle shots, drunk spewings of "No! I love you!!!", and empty compliments any day. I've been lucky enough to have more than several party friends become real friends the difference being, to start with anyways, is that you see them during daylight hours. Like Carrie and her gals once said about Big, "daytime makes it real!" and I couldn't agree more. Without flashing lights, total sloppiness and an atmosphere where one can get away with anything, you can actually start to get to know the girl behind the sequin dress or the guy behind the v-neck and loafers.
Oh superficiality! For some one who's in the business where my looks are literally my selling point, I guess it's allowed me to dwell on the subject more than I would had I another job. I'm both appreciative and frustrated at how simple things can be when one is seen as good-looking. As long as you don't take it too seriously and are rendered personality-less by it (seriously guys, the equivalent of expired tofu.) it's an interesting world to be a part of. I know my friends are my friends based on awesomeness and nothing else, so in that respect I know I'm still grounded. Capitalizing on what you have is one thing; becoming totally lame and boring because of how convenient the world is to you is another. Give me engaging conversation, martini-coming-out-of-my-nose laughter and genuine caring any day; all the other stuff gets old. x
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