Nails in Marbella
I watched in fascinated horror as Piers Morgan interviewed an expat woman living in Marbella.
What horrified me? Well, firstly, she was the kind of woman I just can't identify with in any way.
She was probably about my age but it was hard to tell because she was a curious mixture of permatan and Botox. She had very blonde fluffy hair and a fluffy feathery frock of the kind that nobody looks good in once their age goes into double figures.
Of course, there was lots of ostentatiously-expensive gold jewellery too. And a heavy, harsh, citified Yorkshire accent. Ooh I sound SUCH a snob!
Okay, so people have every right to dress like that if they wish and in some ways I kind of wish that I could - - I couldn't even wear a gold chain without feeling slightly bad about it, for some reason, and I certainly couldn't wear any kind of jewellery that shouted LOOK HOW RICH I AM! It just feels wrong.
I suppose she's at one end of a clothes and appearance spectrum of which I am at the other. I don't think it reflects well on me, necessarily, though - everything about her shouts I AM RICH AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW IT and, thinking about it, everything about me yells I DON'T APPROVE OF SHOWING OFF YOUR MONEY, OKAY?
It's also a question of confidence. I have no confidence that I could even begin to carry off that look - - or really any look at all! Hence I never wear show-off type clothes and have a rather puritanical no-make-up-no-jewellery approach. And hence my self-righteous "Hah! Mutton dressed as lamb!" attitude is undoubtedly a cover for my own insecurities.
But having said all that - - there were her fingernails.
They were about two inches long, curved, varnished white. They looked like claws. They were hideous. They made me feel total revulsion. Ewwwww NOOOOO!
Not only did they look vile, they would mean that she could do almost nothing. They were a self-disabling gesture. That, I suppose, was the point. LOOK HOW RICH I AM. SO RICH THAT I DON'T NEED TO DO ANYTHING AT ALL.
I could not bear to have those fingernails for half an hour. No way.
I think she's at the top of a slippery slope. I suppose the next logical step would be to have her arms and legs cut off. Perhaps she's considering it.
What horrified me? Well, firstly, she was the kind of woman I just can't identify with in any way.
She was probably about my age but it was hard to tell because she was a curious mixture of permatan and Botox. She had very blonde fluffy hair and a fluffy feathery frock of the kind that nobody looks good in once their age goes into double figures.
Of course, there was lots of ostentatiously-expensive gold jewellery too. And a heavy, harsh, citified Yorkshire accent. Ooh I sound SUCH a snob!
Okay, so people have every right to dress like that if they wish and in some ways I kind of wish that I could - - I couldn't even wear a gold chain without feeling slightly bad about it, for some reason, and I certainly couldn't wear any kind of jewellery that shouted LOOK HOW RICH I AM! It just feels wrong.
I suppose she's at one end of a clothes and appearance spectrum of which I am at the other. I don't think it reflects well on me, necessarily, though - everything about her shouts I AM RICH AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW IT and, thinking about it, everything about me yells I DON'T APPROVE OF SHOWING OFF YOUR MONEY, OKAY?
It's also a question of confidence. I have no confidence that I could even begin to carry off that look - - or really any look at all! Hence I never wear show-off type clothes and have a rather puritanical no-make-up-no-jewellery approach. And hence my self-righteous "Hah! Mutton dressed as lamb!" attitude is undoubtedly a cover for my own insecurities.
But having said all that - - there were her fingernails.
They were about two inches long, curved, varnished white. They looked like claws. They were hideous. They made me feel total revulsion. Ewwwww NOOOOO!
Not only did they look vile, they would mean that she could do almost nothing. They were a self-disabling gesture. That, I suppose, was the point. LOOK HOW RICH I AM. SO RICH THAT I DON'T NEED TO DO ANYTHING AT ALL.
I could not bear to have those fingernails for half an hour. No way.
I think she's at the top of a slippery slope. I suppose the next logical step would be to have her arms and legs cut off. Perhaps she's considering it.
posted by Daphne at 9:10 pm
3 Comments:
Ever the practical one and you believing she must have everything done for her, my mind has sunk to toilet humour.
I mean, really ? Long fingernails, thin toilet paper........you work it out.
As she patently can't !!
Well, I clicked on comment...but seems Silverback covered what I was going to......
Scatalogical minds think alike -- my first thought as well.
Do these people only exist on telly or is my life too sheltered?
Post a Comment
<< Home