Why Chinese girls who dye their hair blond look cheap – a study of beauty
May 25, 2012
Please do not sexualize this. I didn’t say just because an oriental girl dyed her hair peroxide blond that she is necessarily cheap. I said it looks cheap. That is my opinion, it is subjective, never imputed ontu the beliefs of other men either – that is my opinion. And let me tell you why young lady – I know what is true beauty. I know it certainly doesn’t come out from a bottle or through a needle of an injection or the nip and tuck of a plastic surgeon. True beauty exist ONLY in the mind eye. What we have come to regard today as “true” beauty is something that came out from an advertisement firm that has been hired by corporations that ONLY know how to make this. But since they haven’t figured out how to market what they have manufactured – they hire ad people, spin doctors and the whole motley crew to figure out how to sell to all of us. And along with moisturizing cream, eau de cologne, underwear briefs, these people have also whirled THEIR idea of what a successful person should look like, what should he wear, what kinda car should he drive, right to even what type of wife a successful man should have – and the counterrevolution to this marketing manifesto is one sentence: THAT IS NOT WHAT LIFE IS ABOUT. Life is not about trying to be Peter Pan, we all can’t look as good as we used too, at 18. We can try under the surgeons knife- but that’s really a dead end. What we should perhaps understand about the whole idea of beauty is it has nothing to do with what people are trying to sell us things 24/7 regularly force feed us with – instead, it has everything to do with how beauty is an evolving thing, like a tree. When it is young, it is frisky, in midlife serious, as an old tree stately and in it’s final hours – it is at peace. It is this progression that is beautiful – but the world has embellished this true version of beauty and supplanted it for tight bodies, high ridged noses, fuller lips et al. The whole works, from your make up to scents and even coloring the way you dress.
It is only when we understand that true beauty resides in the progression of life at every stage from cradle to grave can we really begin to appreciate the nuances of it’s multifacetted beauty – The way a woman at 35,, may even look more attractive than a nubile teen – as only at 35, will her hips acquire a fullness, the curl of her lips begin to settle at the right tension, not to loose or tight, just the way it was meant to be. But the most beautiful features will be her eyes, as at only 35 will she lose that sense of innocence that one so often sees in the uninitiated – instead she sees the world with benefit of experience with a sort of knowingness – so you see at age 35, this woman is a ravishing beauty in every sense of the word to the thinking man. She can engage him at many levels of understanding that a younger woman cannot – as she lacks life experience.
What makes all this possible is UNDERSTANDING of how our lives are not frozen along some timeline – where we will always be sweet 21. Rather true beauty is in appreciating the changes that occur within that time line called life. Like the beauty each season offers to the senses – It is only when we are conscious of NOW and not obsessing how tight our bums used to be at circa 18, that we can begin to appreciate the nuances in progression and how every stage of our life offers another layer of beauty waiting to be explored by the perceptive traveller in life – this is what I can ONLY describe as the antitheses of what has been regularly feed into our brains by advertisements and marketing gurus.
For a man his prime comes at 50. This is really the high point of his life – that at least is based on my experience gleaned from older friends I keep. But back to the point – at 50, a man would be who he was meant to be or never. He is cut out there and then, if he is a skirt chaser at 50, he will probably be a skirt chaser till the day either he or his dick expires. 50 is also the age when the man is the most sexy; there is a gravitas about him; a fatherly knowingness that seems to tell you. This is a lau chaiu. He is the guy that knows how to pick his battles like chess pieces – if it favors him he will attack; if not he can wait it out – he is in no rush. At 50 he knows how to play the game of life. As when a man reaches 50, the sleeper has awakened. He is suddenly aware of the fragility of life. He learns to use his energy sparingly, never dissipating it on trivial pursuits, except those that keep him razor sharp. At 50 he has suffered just enough set backs to learn how to cut all the right moves – in his trade, he is professional that understands the art of dealing with people – he tows the line even when it scissors his conscience. As at 50, he knows it doesn’t pay to go against the grain. It is only at 50 that a man acquires a mix of hardness and softness that will be his character till the day he dies – at 50 he is really just starting to see the world with a practiced eye of a cognoscenti. At 50 a man would know the difference between sauvignon and pinot noire; he would realized if offered either smoked Salmon in the cafe Royale, London or the a Poisson de la creme supreme in Maxim’s in the 5th Arrondisment in Paris – which to choose. At 50, he would have realized, those he cannot defeat, he should at least embrace and live and let live. At 50 he would know at least a dozen ways to sweep a woman off her feet; he may fly her to his favorite Jazz bar in Munich for a soiree; take her across the paraffin blue of the Med with his plastic sail boat and whip her a creme boiche cognac for breakfast in his buddies cafe in Cannes – look out at the setting sun and exotic cars that trace across the shoreline from the balcony of the Hotel du Paradis in Monaco. And the best part is only at 50 would this man learn to do a thing cleanly. He never steps into a place that he can’t walk out of. At 50 all these goodies will come to you. From there on, to each stage of the progression in life – you will see and experience another level of beauty (I am still researching this area will write more abt it when I have time to met up with my very old friends.)
That my friend is the beauty of life.
“When I was young my teachers called me a bad boy. So as time went by, they all called me a bad boy. This was how it started. There was a majestic flame of the forest just outside my school – she was my friend. I called her aunty. As when I was young, I was told to address anyone taller by that name. So I called her aunty tree. As I didn’t learn the name of trees yet. I loved the tree. She was my friend. One day, they widened the road, another day a water pipe was laid – and I began to notice – the slow progression of auntie Trees death – it started with the tips getting yellowish, the pale ochre. I knew something was wrong with Auntie Tree, so I tried to save her. As a boy I didn’t know about fertilizers, didn’t even know such things existed – so I asked a neighbor who knew an uncle who came from a farming family – he said piss on it. So that was what I did everyday at school – I would cross the road and piss on the tree. One day there was this evil teacher who saw me giving the kiss of life to auntie Tree – she is the ramrod Christian type lah; the ones that you know would end up as CEO of a convent if she was born in the dark ages and still masturbated at supersonic speed and still be counted to say her quota of whatever lah. She saw my natural act of relieving myself as the sign of the devil – so picked trouble with me. She hauled up my parents; they said I needed to see a doctor; I had to be put away – but the final straw was when they got the PE teacher to cane me. I remember the before, during and after – the first whip is usually the most painful, by the second and third it mellowed out; beyond 6 or 7, it could only get better then a white numbing light – one where nothing existed. But I kept pissing on the auntie Tree. As for the canings, they got harder – so did I. I didn’t get it easy either with my schoolmates; their mothers heard about this and they too called me a bad boy – so many of the other boys avoided me – but I kept pissing on the auntie tree – and somewhere in this mixture of pain, isolation and the need to just drink as much water and pissing as hard as I could at Auntie tree – I realized, I’ve got to be my own man. You see it is very simple: I had no choice. A boy who does not have anything resembling a choice, learns resignation at a very young age – and so I excepted this as life.
I built a hard shell around myself – like the one I once saw in comic, it was a force field. I remember it was orange and just translucent enough to believe no one could ever hurt me when I am in that amber light – I called this place in my tiny body my sanctuary. No words will have power over my force field; no number of whippings from the PE teacher either; no amount of evil stares from nasty neighbors. I was alone, yet curiously at peace as best a child could be – pissing everyday at auntie tree like a monk who only wakes up to meditate. And getting caned and teased and always alone.
One day I stopped pissing on auntie tree – I figured, she was definitely out of harm’s way – this was at least how my childish mind figured; as she was starting to flower again after two years of not having done so – everyone was surprised when I no longer pissed on the tree opposite the school, they said that it was due to strict disciplining – he will see the light and saw it he did! I even had a stage manager, that bitch that hailed Mary ten million times a day. She believed that divine intervention had been the sole cause of my keeping my pecker where God divined it to be.
I knew otherwise – you see people believe in what they have too to get by in life. All I really wanted to do was to save my friend auntie tree and now that the job was done I could put back my pecker. When I think back, there is a beauty in the innocence of youth just as there is probably undiscovered beauty in your own life – when kids pop up or when you turn the corner around another decade.
Many years later when I had grown up – I saw a boy like myself – he was looking at birds this time; he looked at them so intensely that his hands and feet even moved like a cheerleader and the grandma of this parents would always sit the boy down. I knew he could see something that we all couldn’t in birds – so I stretched out like a highly trained Mossad agent, I deliberately infiltrated the family, found out the husband gymed nearby at Safra; we even doubled pressed together; they invited me for dinner I was in their home – and although the boy could not speak; I could understand what he saw in the indolent flight of birds – his eyes were the same as the ones I had in the moment of my youth when I first realize I could talk to trees – this boy and me share a kindred spirit hood; where they (even his father and mother) can never understand the beauty of his world) – to them, its a hassle, a perpetual challenge to raise such a kid – maybe if they didn’t watch so much TV, or didn’t feel the need to keep up with Joneses and simply stilled their minds, they too can begin to make out sweet tweets of birds in flight; they too might even be raptured by the simple beauty of a birds flight, their grace, ease and mastery – their beauty. Your beauty.
You see my friends, the world likes to say beauty is really in the eyes of the beholder. Not true. As to be at one with beauty, one is part of it, as it is part of one’s inner being – one can only behold the beautiful moments, never encase it – the look of a newborn baby – the pride of bringing back the bacon – all these things are beautiful. Even the simple act of giving up smoking so that there is more money for the monthly groceries and doing it with a quiet seriousness where you don’t throw your temper at your better half and kids is beautiful. Or going out to far off lands to create a better tomorrow for your loved one’s and facing up to the path you have chosen in life – these things are also incredibly beautiful. May not realize it when you’re suffering and struggling. But when it all settles down and you look out across the vast expanse of your lands in Africa, Malaysia, Honduras or anywhere else – and remember all these things that once cross your path at this age or other; it will bring a smile to you.”
Rated Uncategorized – send directly from the message capsule of Darkness 2012 on board the Free French Cruiser – Les Enfants du Paradis – relayed by the mineral cruiser KDD