The Beauty Experiment by Phoebe Baker Hyde

Author:Phoebe Baker Hyde [Hyde, Phoebe Baker]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780738215433
Publisher: Da Capo Lifelong Books

THAT NIGHT, I SAT GLUMLY ON THE JUICE-STAINED COUCH IN MY own Ikea showroom. It was hard to push off the suspicion that a family would be much happier and better adjusted in a home as beautiful as Aubrey’s. I might be happier, too, with my old hair and a better wardrobe. Aubrey’s attitude toward me was pretty sharp, but she’d never really waved her beauty power in my face; I’d noticed it on my own and had envied it.

This made me think deeply about whether instead of embarking on my experiment I should have just racked up a few thousand dollars in credit-card debt and gone out to purchase my own beauty package: the good-hair headdress, the suit of designer armor, the department-store war paint in shimmering pinks and reds, and the silk throw pillows. Maybe I should have even asked Aubrey to become my personal shopper. At times my inner Voice sure thought this was the way to go. Had I gone in that direction, I might have felt a lot better. I certainly would have looked better. I’d be a bigger hit at tribal gatherings like the birthday party, and I might never have had that terrible moment in the fancy shopwindow.

But in my own way, I’d already tried that route. I’d spent the exorbitant amount on the fancy red dress, and it left me bereft. At the beginning of my experiment, I knew I didn’t have the resources, time, or cash to be like Aubrey, so I tried her opposite. It had been interesting and informative, but was it so much better?

Six and a half months into my experiment, I knew a lot about what I didn’t want. I didn’t want a static identity that hinged on only one thing, like my hair. I didn’t want beauty habits—like slathering on concealer—to obscure real truths about my mental or physical health. I was also tired of living with a mean-girl doppelgänger in the mirror who chronically undermined my best efforts, and I didn’t want someone or something else to use my body as a message board. Finally, I wasn’t so keen on living in a world where women found their power and worth mainly in their looks and possessions.

What I did want was more elusive. There wasn’t a clear picture of it out there for me to point at and say, “Yes, that’s it!” Although I might have been working toward a more flexible female identity, authentic good health, and a positive self-image not based around the ten minutes in eighth grade when I’d been a buxom size 2—I wasn’t there yet. As far as power and worth, frankly, I was really lost. I’d recently pitched a parenting column to a local magazine and had it rejected, and my novel was foundering on some unidentified problem at its core. The liberal arts education I’d spent years amassing meant zero in the context of Important Business-World Transactions. Being a parent gave me power over one tiny person, but this was inconsequential compared to the power Hattie had over me.

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