Beauty, like genius, is its own reward.
It’s also a terrible burden.
Imagine then the miserable existence of Daily Mail columnist/narcissist Samantha Brick, who recently tore herself away from a mirror long enough to pen a humble prose piece entitled: “There are downsides to looking this pretty: Why women hate me for being beautiful”
As a man, it was difficult to force my brain to read (and not simply drool) as the column is chock full of pictures detailing every alluring aspect of Brick’s self-described “lovely looks.”
You don’t get this beautiful without a little work. The genetically flawless Brick says she doesn’t drink or smoke. She works out, even when she “doesn’t feel like it,” and she “very rarely succumbs to chocolate.”
Still, the 41-year-old can’t wait to get even older so she can add some wrinkles and gray hair and begin “blending into the background” of visual mediocrity.
Brick, who’s been married to one lucky guy for four whole years, admits to flirting “to get ahead at work” because that’s what “many women do.”
But the advantage of being inhumanly attractive is weighed down by the scorn heaped upon her “tall, slim, blonde” frame by ugly, jealous women.
Female bosses are the worst — they have barred her from multiple promotions.
One “phenomenally tricky” supervisor treated her fairly … until the boss started putting on weight. Supervisor McPudge (a name I have created since none was provided) would “sneer at me in front of other colleagues that she was the star, not me.”
And more than one female friend has quit calling Brick because they can’t handle the hotness.
Brick, who looks like Aphrodite but writes like Sappho, drives her point home with searing verbosity.
“And most poignantly of all, not one girlfriend has ever asked me to be her bridesmaid.”
After reading that, I wept openly and without shame.
I also gave up all hope of claiming this year’s Pulitzer.