Amy Cooper
Beauty's a sad business for blokes
My beauty salon buddy is a straight male friend. We go for all kinds of treatments together and I don't consider this in any way odd.
These days no-one raises a plucked eyebrow at men's familiarity with the cosmetics counter. In some countries men spend more time on average on their appearance than women do. We've moved beyond the term 'metrosexual' to describe men who groom, because just about every man does and the Avon Lady has even been joined by the Avon Man.
Like women, the boys are determined to employ every weapon available in the battle against nature and their arsenal is vast: products promise youthful skin, more lustrous hair and even instant six-packs (I think you paint them on or something). It's men's right to enter the fray- but I can't help wondering if they handle it as well as we do.
Recently I've watched a male friend of mine spiral into product dependency. He started with aftershave balm, which led to moisturizer and then a three-step cleansing routine. Now he takes herbal pills to slim his waistline and worries about enlarged pores. He owns some stylish pots and tubes, but each comes with a free gift: a new set of anxieties. He's even begun to dislike his ears. He was happier before he started exfoliating, but he can't stop now because he's hooked on substances he'd never heard of a couple of years ago. It's as troubling as seeing a remote tribe discover cigarettes.
I'm not alarmed by the prospect of men losing their manliness, smelling nicer than me or stealing my bathroom space. It's the inner effect that worries me.
"Men are more rational in their shopping habits than women," says one cosmetics firm executive, and that's how male ranges are marketed. Rational tools, for rational jobs. Goal-oriented. Some use business-speak: 'no nonsense', 'instant solutions', and 'results every time'. The packaging is slick and streamlined, to match Blackberries and briefcases. Others address man's inner grunt, with testosterone-inspired names more suitable for weapons than cosmetics.
Women's products are different. They seduce in the language of emotions. They promise to soothe and caress, comfort, de-stress, transform. They describe our relationships with our body parts as if they were moody partners in need of couple counseling: "Instant intervention against stressed hair. Eases brittleness, restores control." One cream in my cabinet wants to reward my hands for all their hard work; another even offers to 'awaken' my thighs and bottom. Of course we want results too, but deep down the journey is what we really love - the hopes and dreams, the pleasure and pain of the cosmetics hall, the kaleidoscope of packaging, the smells and textures and wicked extravagances. Smoother skin and shinier hair are our justifications for seeking bottled emotional succour, and we understand nature will eventually win. The potions just make it easier to bear.
"It doesn't work!" growls my male friend after he's spent a small fortune on a 'scruffing lotion'. Actually, it has improved the look of his skin - it just hasn't achieved the outstanding results he'd expect from a decent drill or a top-of-the-range camera. He is disappointed. But he won't withdraw from battle once engaged, so he'll go and buy another one.
That's the problem - men fight to win, even against omnipotent nature. Freakshows like poor, stretched Burt Reynolds and the eerily rearranged Mickey Rourke are extreme examples of the consequences of refusing to accept defeat gracefully. Most, thankfully, w
- by Amy Cooper at 11:10 PM
Wedding stabbings? Doesn't surprise me
Sorry to rain on your meringue, but it seems to me that weddings always end badly, whether sooner or later.
So one weekend of Sydney nuptials ended in six stabbings (from two different weddings). That's just the tip of the iceberg.
I know, because I once worked for a women's weekly true life magazine and every week our mailbag was crammed with readers' stories about wedding brawls. The editorial team became so case-hardened by these stories that we only printed the ones with truly astonishing details - church fixtures used as weapons, a very high body count or the bride setting her canine pageboy (a rottweiler, as I recall) on the groom's mother. My favourite was the wedding in Manchester, UK, which culminated in the entire bridal party of 40 being arrested.
The most peaceful wedding I remember covering for that magazine was one which took place in America's toughest penitentiary. The groom was inside for armed robbery and the ceremony took place within a cordon of prison guards, which made for a trouble-free and surprisingly moving occasion.
These are extreme cases, but very few of my married friends can report a reception free from some sort of disagreement, tension or frank exchange of views. And those who can't were too drunk on the day to remember much about it at all.
No doubt, weddings come with such a high risk of strife attached you'd probably be safer on a night out at one of those bars on the top ten of NSW's most violent venues.
It's no surprise, when you think about it. Weddings are the most potent cocktail of potential mayhem most of us will ever face. Into those few hours of celebration are poured the long-held hopes, dreams, ambitions and expectations not just of the bride, but several of her nearest and dearest too. Very rarely do these coincide. Add the simmering stew of historical resentments common to all but the most saintly family, mix in bucketloads of alcohol and some bridesmaids pissed off about their ugly frocks, and all you can do is be thankful no-one has nuclear weapons.
But perhaps explosive weddings bode best for the future happiness of the couple. After such a concentrated, cathartic airing of fury they may be better prepared to move on to a calmer life together, all grievances extinguished in one big hit. Of all my friends' weddings, the gentlest one led to the shortest marriage. After the break-up one year later, the bride wondered aloud to me if things might have been different had her family actually voiced their unanimous contempt for the groom on the day. I thought it would have been wonderful if someone had beaten him up, too. You live and learn.
Perhaps instead of a wedding rehearsal there should be a Jerry-Springer-style gathering of all the guests in which everyone is encouraged to drink heavily, express their discontent and, if necessary, come to blows. Once all bruises are healed, the wedding could proceed without incident.
Everyone would be happier, and the cells emptier.
- by Amy Cooper at 12:14 AM
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Time for a guilt-free Mothers' Day
On Mothers' Day, spare a thought for the women who bring dictators, psychopaths and serial killers into the world. Not only do they miss out on the flowers and soppy cards - they're blamed for their bad seeds' misdeeds, too.
Being the mum of an evil doer is the ultimate thankless task. You're required by nature's dictates to love the unlovable, but you're also condemned for doing so. And no matter how unimpeachable your mothering style might have been, it's assumed something you did must have sent your spawn off the rails.
Throughout history, mothers have been blamed for the arrested development of every freak and villain on earth and today's self-help culture has only intensified the mum maligning. In the quest to understand serial killers, mothers have been judged almost as harshly as their lethal offspring. After Jeffrey Dahmer was convicted of 17 gruesome murders, his mother Joyce was accused of somehow mucking him up even while he was still in the womb. "They're still blaming mothers," she commented forlornly at the time.
Not long ago, I remember reading magazine articles from the UK that blamed the Iraq war on the mums of Saddam Hussain and Tony Blair. Apparently, little Hussain was ignored by Mrs Saddam, and little Tony was desperate to impress Mrs B. So eventually lots of people had to die.
I saw these stories because my own mother sent them to me with an indignant Mrs Dahmer-esque footnote added in her hand: "they always blame the mums!'
At least she can relax a little now I've reached an advanced age without having a photofit image published in a newspaper (I'm afraid the one above is how I really look). But my friends with babies live in fear that one wrong glance, one failure to pacify, one plush toy with a strange face or even a Celine Dion CD overheard from within the womb might have already formed a future Saddam.
Celebrities don't help the maternal cause either. For them, a mad, bad mum is a trophy, like an Oscar. They complain about how Mom has written another embittered book, posed for Playboy or simply refused to be that other type of Hollywood mum: the obliging, comfy handbag you take to premieres when your image needs polishing. And even she inevitably cops the blame when her little legend implodes or marries for the ninth time.
Of course being a mother doesn't guarantee instant sainthood and there are bad mums, just as there are bad dads and bad cooks, singers and hairdressers. But most just do their best and spend the rest of their life worrying that it wasn't enough.
Just yesterday, Mum asked me: "did I push you too hard when you were at school?" Not at all, I replied, truthfully. The only complaints I remember having back then were not being given a stable of thoroughbred racehorses for Christmas and not being allowed to go and camp in Simon Le Bon's garden. They seemed reasonable at the time, but so did pedal pusher pants and Adam and the Ants.
There's nothing wrong with me that I didn't put there myself - and lots right with me that Mum can take full credit for.
So this Mothers' Day, let your mum off the hook. If, like me, you can remember wailing at her during kiddy tantrums: "It's not my fault! I didn't ask to be born!", try this new mantra: "Mum, I'm not your fault."
This especially applies if you are on death row.
This does not apply if your mother is Britney Spears.
- by Amy Cooper at 11:31 PM
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