The True Mark of Beauty
I think perhaps in another lifetime I was from the glamorous Big Band era, or that's a lie a like to tell myself anyway. It started with my friends who often joked with me in high school that I had an Old Hollywood style. By no means a modern beauty, and being impressionable and young, I looked for belonging and validation in the words which seemed to describe my more classic features. I was born with one of those doe-eyed faces like the incomparable Audrey Hepburn, I tweezed and plucked arches to emulate the beautiful curve of Marylin Monroe's eyebrows. I enviously looked for opportunities to wear the belted dresses that graced the big screen and those gorgeous glamorous actresses. I often begrudgingly waiting for Halloween or a photoshoot with my friends to adorn a deep red lip, thick black eyeliner, and flowing gowns. It seemed like an effortless fashion; the curl of ruby lips balancing a long cigarette stem in a manner that was so supremely feminine and, sadly, entirely forgotten by the time I was born in the 1990's. Still, there was only one indelible part of this fashion was unfathomably cool to me because it was, by all accounts, truly bizarre. For its perplexities and for many more reasons, I believe there is a strong case for the return of the iconic, inimitable beauty mark.
Mudi checked his watch yet again, and then again almost immediately. The man had said 3 o’clock, but this was "African time," so Mudi knew it could be another hour, even two. Still, he could not stop grinning. He had fantastic teeth, pearlescent and white juxtaposed strongly against his black skin. Neema began to fidget beside him.