Danny Brillant

The Curse of Beauty

It is always an ego party. Perfect-bodied people reflect each other with cool narcissism, displaying fine breasts and washboard stomachs to each other, playing with the carefully rehearsed refinement of their seductive power. Women as well as men celebrate themselves as glamour toys, the hair, long black locks, or silky blond manes, the lips appetent and full, with a mother of pearl gleam, the teeth sparkling white. Champagne or the après-cigarette in the ringed hand, the acrylic nails French-manicured, heavy silver chains around the neck and hips, thin threads of gold around the ankles, the Rolex and the Patek Philippe on the wrist, G-strings and see-through bras, open silk shirts and thigh-high stockings, high heels and XXL glasses adorned with imitation diamonds: the stylization and maximization of their own potential to attract woos with perfected poses and gestures, but indeed turns into a self-constructed trap in keeping with these very optimised standards of beauty.

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