Narcissism Redux

One woman makes plain why, no matter the shift in culture, we shouldn't "adjust" to it:

...Even though I no longer perform "makeovers," old habits are hard to break, and I often find myself looking at women from the corner of my eye and "adding a scarf" or (silently) screaming, "Moisturize!!!" At the end of the day, however, none of this matters, because all the scarves, "statement" jewelry, and lip liner in the world won't improve the appearance of anyone — male or female — if they don't add "kindness" to their daily beauty regimen. Lest anyone question my credentials, I merely reveal the data based on years of lay-research.

I worked with brides.

Some of "my girls" would have been declared "homely" by universal standards, but I can assure you that the most beautiful brides to grace any home-album were the ones who, on their wedding days, asked anyone entering the bridal suite if they'd had enough to drink or noticed the new hairstyle of an attending guest. These were girls who, in appreciation for having arrived at a most important day in their lives, let both glee and gratitude pour out and radiated sunshine to everyone within a ten-mile radius.

One of these young women was a "little person" who couldn't borrow a gown from any charity-sponsored rental facility, because no one could afford the cost of cropping-down a perfectly lovely dress to accommodate her short stature; but whatever "inches" she lacked was overcompensated for with incomparable goodness. I recall that she arrived late to the hotel where I patiently waited, because she was delayed at the nursing home where she regularly volunteered. When I asked her if she could have allowed herself a morning "off" from this noble work, she stared at me in disbelief. "But I'm taking off eight days after the wedding. It wouldn't be fair." Need I tell you how beautiful this bride was? All 4'7" of her appeared a majestic 7'4".

With his first foray into novel writing, the cartoonist/satirist Jules Feiffer penned a brilliant portrait of the pathological narcissist with the 1963 masterpiece, Harry, The Rat With Women. I read it as a pretentious 13-year-old, which only meant that it would be years before I'd meet men who romanced and discarded women for personal gratification or befriend women who felt competitive with others of their gender. At the age of 13, I had yet to hear the term "catfight" in relation to women, but I was already being fed a diet of gossip and "diss" via recreational reading of Teen Beat and watching Johnny Carson laugh with the celebrities of the day. Quickly, I learned through popular culture that one-upmanship was a competitive sport, and survival belonged to the nasty, serpent-tongued fittest...