Scorn's being heaped upon British journalist Samantha Brick for daring to reveal the difficulties she faces because her face is lovely (she thinks). My instinct is to jump to her defense, as opposed to jumping her bones.
But as I've already covered this ground before and it's Friday, I'm going to re-post this September 2010 offering which I think pretty much says it all. I've noticed a rush of traffic to the blog from people who found it based on the search term, "Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful," the original post's title.
Please excuse the occasional re-run. I'm trying to balance accommodating new readers with keeping things fresh and lively three to five times a week. Who knew doing something for free would cause so much professional angst?
I never hated women because they were beautiful. I used to try to sleep with them because they were beautiful.
For years, it was my habit to approach beautiful women in dark bars and ask them straight-faced and in my most sincere voice, “Was it as difficult for you growing up beautiful . . . as it was for me?”
It was this question that led me to conclude that beautiful women share one other appealing characteristic: They love to laugh. Hard.
I’m maybe the last sensitive guy on earth who understands that, yes, it is difficult for a woman to be born beautiful.
Certainly, beautiful women have their god-given advantages.
They can sleep with any shallow man they choose. They can coast through life on their dazzling smiles. Doors closed to the homely swing wide open for them.
Wait a second. Which side am I arguing?
It ain’t easy being beautiful.
I mention all this because of the furor over the way members of the New York Jets treated bombshell Mexican reporter Ines Sainz in the locker room. Apparently, some of the Jets whistled and made adolescent comments when she was interviewing QB Mark Sanchez.
It was so bad Jets owner Woody Johnson personally sought out the comely Sainz to apologize for his team’s inappropriate behavior -- and, yes, the bones in my fingers are practically splintering to keep from typing a lame joke about a man named Woody Johnson thrusting himself into a discussion about sexual harassment.
Woody Johnson! It’s the greatest unintentional porn name since Andy Roddick.
This set off a predictable round of hand-wringing about whether Sainz’s fantastic looks, tight outfits and playful questions provoke such a reaction in a room full of naked, smelly men who can’t catch poorly thrown passes or skillfully block men like Ray Lewis.
First of all, let’s consider Sainz. I saw her picture and immediately made a snap judgement based purely on her looks. It was: Not my type.
She looks like someone Tiger Woods would date, which means she looks like a hooker or someone who’s undergone extensive plastic surgery to make people think she’s a hooker.
Then I heard her being interviewed on one of the morning shows and did an about face. She seemed comfortable with her beauty and didn’t take herself too seriously.
I appreciate that in a woman. I’m married to a lovely woman who is shy about her beauty. It’s very sweet but like a lot of pretty women the fair Valerie lacks confidence in her looks.
I wish she could see herself as I’ve always seen her. She’d be blown away.
Me, I don’t suffer from such trifling modesty.
Believe me, you don’t want to spend a day mirror shopping with a guy like me.
It’s clear Sainz is the kind of woman who can handle herself in any social situation and that puts the 300-pound meatheads who play professional football at a disadvantage.
I tried to think what I’d do if I was naked, in that locker room and had a status and physique that might be attractive to a woman who in 1997 was Miss Universe.
Here’s what I came up with: Nothing.
I’ve been in locker rooms as player, coach and reporter for huge chunks of my life. It’s not a sexy atmosphere.
If Sainz was in any of them, sure, I’d note to myself her beauty, but I wouldn’t act on it. I wouldn’t clown around and make junior high jokes about her. It’s just not the place for such hi jinx.
Heck, that’s what blogs like this are for.
That some Jets players acted the way they did diminishes them more than even their sloppy Monday night loss to the Baltimore Ravens.
You mean professional football players in New York City needs to making leering comments at busty reporters to get their jollies?
What? Have all the groupies simultaneously danced back to their stripper poles?
I just don’t get it.
Maybe I’m just stupid. That’s yet another pejorative ascribed to women who labor under the burdens of being born beautiful.
People just automatically assume beautiful people are balloon-headed dunces.
Happens to me all the time.