Skin Deep

I just left a fashion show on South Beach about an hour ago, and I'm torn in my feelings about the whole thing. I want to clown on what I just saw, but I can't fully, 'cause all those young girls (youngest 14, oldest 21) so desperately wanted to become the next big thing. And I can't fault 'em, 'cause everything about American popular culture these days drives them to strive for a career of looking pretty. Commercials, ads, film, TV, magazine spreads, etc., suggest that you have to look hungry to look beautiful.

I'm not mad at 'em. I want the same thing - not to look hungry, but to go big. I've been working for years to complete fiction manuscripts so I can hopefully sell 'em and blow up as an author, as well as a journalist. We all wanna blow up, but what do you have to give up to blow up?

I was happy for the young woman who won. She was the youngest of the bunch, not a celeb, and genuinely stunned at her good fortune. She got $50K, an introductory modeling deal, and accolades.

But what she - and her competitors - really needed was a platter full of steak and potatoes.

I have no doubt some of 'em were just naturally rail thin. Genetics deal us all different hands. But no one's gonna convince me that some of 'em weren't "engineering" their paper-thinness in order to look more model-like.

Anyway, since when did it become an admirable profession to march up and down a runway showing off scant bodies? Slaves got marched up and down "runways" of sorts, and they sure as H didn't get any trophies, and they didn't share in their cash prizes.

OK, I'm done. Guess I won't be invited back to the next runway show like this one.

But in another life, if I ever become independently wealthy and have a lot of time on my hands, I'm gonna start a model rescue mission, where sandwiches and protein shakes are gonna flow freely like milk and honey.