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When Should We Start Worrying About Beauty?

A pre made-over Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada

Now, clearly I love the beauty and fashion industry. I delight in it. But this wasn’t always the case. Back in high school, I was the girl who took pride in arriving to class with her hair in a messy wet bun, wearing only lip balm and a snug t-shirt with drawstring pants. Vans were my footwear staple. I considered myself independent, a little bohemian, and I looked scornfully at the girls with smoky eyes and straightened hair. There was also, I’ll admit, a little bit of envy. In their fashion, their stilettos that clacked across the beige tiled hallways, those girls had what I didn’t: sex appeal.

Last night, I watched The Devil Wears Prada with my 12-year-old stepdaughter. She is uncommonly beautiful, with no trace of the awkwardness I suffered at her age. She is smart, perceptive, and a budding fashionista. (The night before, she’d killed thirty minutes by trying on half a dozen pairs of my shoes, then texting all her friends back in Seattle about her newfound love for high-heeled boots.) But as we watched Prada, she’d declare, “Ugh! I have such a big butt!” or “Look at all this baby-flab over my hips! You don’t have any of that!” or “I’m confused. How come my thighs touch when I’m standing up? That’s not right, is it?”

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Gallery: When Should We Start Worrying About Beauty?


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