Yes, this is another semi-rant with a conclusion strapped to the end of it. What I'd like to share this time is a rather rare opportunity that was given to me recently. I had a rare glimpse into another world. A very exclusive club with a cut-throat membership and no way back in once you're out. Think the opposite of Live Lounge. I am of course talking about the world of 'Beautiful People' - the club reserved for size 6 girls with perfect tans, perfectly natural and expertly applied make-up who socialise exclusively with 6 foot-something chiselled rugby and lacrosse players who have an All Saints label jutting out of every item of clothing and more. These people have perfected smiles, teeth so flawless that a diamond evaluator looks at them in envy. They smell of pure happiness and the petals of some obscure flower that only flowered once on a secluded island in 1789 and was captured by a perfect mix of fairies and angels. Cameras spin on their axis, aiming at these people square in the face, careful to include the mixture of smiling mouth with eyes that say 'You want me'. I have seen these people in their otherwise completely elusive habitat, and I have good news. These people do not live the fun and interesting lives that they show us.
I know, I know. I'm generalising. I'm sure there are plenty of 'Beautiful People' about who are perfectly normal and accepting of everyone and are fantastic people. But what I saw on that faithful night was beyond anything I ever expected.
I had been invited for pre-drinks over at a good friend's house. She lived with 5 other girls in a rather wonderfully decorated house that reflected them brilliantly. The long, full room-length sofa that leaned against one wall. Opposite, a pair of crisp, sharp fireplaces, and a rather large TV craned out on its movable mounts to welcome the faces of whoever walks into their living room. The wooden floor complimented the girls' foundation perfectly, and a massive sound system stood guard either side of some French doors. My friend's housemates welcomed me with big smiles, glassy, crystalline eyes and fanned, floating lashes. They made pleasant small talk, briefly telling me about some small trials and tribulations with the house and asking about how my friend and I met. All seemed good. I felt pleasantly surprised at how welcoming these people were.
A quarter of an hour or so passed, and soon came another knock at the door. Expecting maybe another 5 or 6 people to enter, I was taken aback when close to 30 people strolled in, each and every single one of them looking roughly like they could and have been featured in each respected brand's catalogue. The hallway became a catwalk. It was actually intimidating, especially considering each person's stance and stride when entering the room. Confidence oozed from every delicately cleaned pore; every single piece of stubble had been manicured to the appropriate length, every single millimetre of the girls' nails had been touched up with the same accuracy as da Vinci would've shown whilst perfecting the Mona Lisa. I was, we shall say, 'out of my depth'.
One housemate glided over to her Macbook, adjusted the volume on the remix of some house song to near club level, and then swanned back over to her perch near a group of lads. She then commenced in some small talk, perfected responses and eyelash flicks adorned every line. And then, less than 5 minutes later, nothing. There was no more talking. The once suave groups of guys had now relaxed into their iPhones, half-filled cups positioned directly between their legs. The girls had relaxed into theirs, occasionally glancing at each other and communicating in a way that the Enigma Code would be jealous of. More of our friends arrived through the sea of 'Beautiful People', and snuggled themselves into the corner I had so graciously prepared for us. We started talking, laughing, asking each other how our Summers went, shared jokes and stories. We drank, we laughed and we soon started about the elephant in the room: we were the only ones enjoying ourselves. The others looked decidedly bored and unsure of how to go about their evening. They were too conscious of themselves to drink, too afraid of judgement to talk. The girls stood on one side whilst the boys sat on the other, and they just existed together in a beautiful cocoon of sterility. The music, despite being dangerously loud and obscure enough to scupper most attempts at a lengthy conversation, was indecipherable to man or beast, and filled the room in place of human interaction. Essentially, those beautiful girls and handsome guys had put on their gladrags to be placed opposite each other in a loud room and pretend that they were texting other, 'cooler' people. One girl proceeded to take a few photos on her iPhone, at which point the boy who she grabbed pulled the muscles in his face into what seemed like a trademark smile, whilst the rather lovely looking girl contorted her face into the shape of enjoyment for the purpose of the photograph at least. This happened a few more times before I realised what I had seen. I had seen the conception of 'fun'. This is where all those exclusive photographs are taken, the very same ones that normal people like me look at and think 'God, I wish I had their life'. It's a sham.
To cut a long story short, I now realise how incredibly boring these 'Beautiful People' are. It's an image, and an illusion. These people probably don't even like each other, they just like being seen with each other to boost their self esteem and fuel their egos.
I will conclude by saying that the people who had asked me to join them were in fact the beautiful people, as they are the most fantastic and lovely people I could ever wish to meet. We didn't get into the club where the 'Beautiful People' fled to, despite an hour's waiting. We ended up going to the ropiest, cheapest club we could find and continued what we started; conversation, enjoyment, laughter. And you know what? We had a fucking amazing time.
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