Television programming this season has left me yawning. For astonishing footwork and plenty of leg exposure, ABC delivers Dancing with the Stars. And if that doesn't suit your Samba, there's always Skating with Celebrities. I don't know about you, but I'm not all that enamored with superstars. And even if I were, I don't think I'd find anything astonishing about a bunch of actors learning how to dance and skate. Frequently, these folks have to acquire new skills for their character roles. So they're just doing what they've always been paid to do. And we're setting there oo-oo-ing and ah-ah-ing (except for that guffaw you cant help when they fall down and go boo-boo) like that's something special. To me, it'd be more entertaining to watch programs like Toilet Scrubbing with Top Models. Or maybe Laundry with the Soap Stars. How about Mopping Floors with the Rich & Famous? Better still, I'd love to see Cooking with Desperate Housewives--especially if Terri Hatcher were forced to eat every morsel of an 8-ounce steak, a cup of creamed potatoes with gravy, and a big ol' slice of banana cream thigh, I mean pie. Oh, sure. I know what you're thinking--that I'm envious of all those pretty faces and hot bodies. Well, let me tell you, those guys and gals don't look that way without a whole lot of help. This was confirmed recently by a Hollywood makeup artist I hired to perform a miracle. (I'd asked her to make me look fantastic for a photo shoot.) "Honey, those gals don't really look like that," she said. "Theyve all been cut on a thousand times." She waived her eye shadow brush in the air. "Then I get a hold of 'em . . . and then their photos get touched up after that." She reached into her treasure trove of cosmetics and dabbed at my ruddy complexion. Then she gave me a quizzical look. Probably she was confused over finding wrinkles and pimples--on the same face. She plucked a lone, dark hair from my chin before I could utter, "I didnt even know that was there!" Next, she attacked my eyebrows without first asking if this was okay. And then with the kick of her foot, she switched on some kind of compressor. I figured I was about to be sheared like a sheep. But she said she was only going to spray on my foundation. "You get a more finished look this way," she explained. After I'd been airbrushed, plucked and penciled to perfection, the makeup lady inserted false hair sprigs between my real lashes. By the time I was on the business end of a camera lens, I must confess I was feeling unnatural yet glamorous. Yet, despite all this effort, I didn't look like a movie star. Hollywood standards aren't achievable through normal means. A good makeup artist and photographer can, however, work wonders. In reality, I don't look anything like my new photo. Come to think of it, that picture might lead to a TV series for next season--Extreme Writer Makeovers. Copyright 2006 Diana Estill |
