Questionnaire section
What attitudes have changed towards beauty in your lifetime?
1990s the trend was waiflike, skinny and now it has become more about small waists and curves.
There’s more focus now on every body being beautiful and acceptance.
When I was younger women's beauty was measured against Hollywood stars, I think . . . Hour-glass figure . . . Miss World was a major thing and deportment . . . Women were supposed to be 'easy on the eye' and their opinions were secondary!!
Men would not be expected to have long hair or dress too casually and no self-respecting man would have been seen dead using a moisturiser. . . After-shave was acceptable and a dab of 'Brylcream' in your hair!!
As I have gotten older I am less worried about my appearance in terms of wearing lots of makeup. I like to have have my hair done and look after myself health wise more now, in terms of a beauty regime I tend to look after my skin more.
The development of mass media and advertising has made beauty and its definition, a focus for far more people than it used to be.
Beauty is what you decide. No one can tell you what beauty is.
I think beauty used to be seen as more of an absolute ....certain aspects such as hair style,make up were more strictly defined according to the current fashion .....don't think so much now
When I was younger, I genuinely didn't care about what I looked like or how others saw me. I think when I hit around 16 or 17 I started to be self conscious. It's gotten worse in my 30s and I'm at the stage where I can no longer look at myself in the mirror, I don't like what I see
Standards
(Lights up on a group of diverse PEOPLE of varying ages, sizes, and ethnicities standing in a loose formation on stage. They begin in a rhythmic chant, their voices combining to create a symphony of different experiences.)
ALL: (Chanting together) Too tall. Too short. Too big. Too small. Perfect, they say. Perfect, they want.
WOMAN 1: (Steps forward, a harsh spotlight on her) You need to be slimmer, they told me. A size zero, a walking hanger for clothes.
MAN 1: (Steps forward into the same light) Bulk up, they said. Real men are muscled, towering, strong.
WOMAN 2: (Steps forward, the spotlight harsher) Smooth skin, they demand. Blemishes are a sign of negligence.
WOMAN 3: (Steps forward, the light softer) Age gracefully, they whisper. Wrinkles are ugly, a mark of decay.
PEOPLE: (Chanting together) Perfect, they say. Perfect, they want.
WOMAN 2: (Steps forward, the spotlight white-hot) Lighten your skin, they advised. Fair is lovely, dark is... unfortunate.
MAN 2: (Steps forward, under a cold light) Straighten your hair, they suggested. Curls are messy, untamed, wild.
MAN 3 : (Steps forward, the spotlight softer) Hide your scars, they plead. Flawless is beautiful, scars are... ugly.
ALL: (Louder) Perfect, they say. Perfect, they want.
MAN 4: (Steps forward, under a gentle light) Look younger, they urge. Youth is beautiful, age is... undesired.
ALL: (Chanting together, voices rising) Perfect, they say. Perfect, they want.
(Then silence. The group parts as a CHILD steps forward, bathed in a warm light.)
CHILD: (Innocently) But who gets to decide what's perfect?
(Chorus of PEOPLE echo the question, first softly, then growing in intensity.)
ALL: (Growing louder) Who decides what's perfect? Who decides what's perfect? WHO DECIDES WHAT'S PERFECT?
(The stage plunges into darkness, leaving the question ringing in the air.)
(Lights out.)
She
I've looked in the mirror, you know. Stared into it until my own face seemed alien. Strange. I've seen the lines of age creeping in, the contours of my flesh not as the glossy magazines dictate. I've looked into my own eyes, tired, seen the weariness there, the “not-enoughness”. Because it's there, isn't it? It's there in every smile that doesn't reach the eyes, every hushed comment behind manicured hands.
I've been on the receiving end of it all. The disparaging glance from the shop assistant as I hold up a size sixteen, the silent but palpable question—do they even make them in your size? The sniggering derision in the women's locker room, the barbed compliments of colleagues—"You have such a pretty face."
They've weighed me, measured me, found me wanting. Wanting in inches, in smoothness, in symmetry. Wanting in everything but the effervescent glow of airbrushed perfection.
Each day, the mirror becomes less my friend, more my tormentor. It's a cruel reality check, a poignant reminder that I am an alien in the land of the beautiful. I am not what they seek, not what they desire, not what they define as 'attractive'. A ghost in the world of corporeal perfection.
It's infuriating, isn't it? To be quantified, qualified by mere externals. By ratios and curves and colour palettes. Are we nothing more than skin-deep, then? Are our souls too weighty for their scales?
I am angry. And I am not ashamed of this anger. It surges within me, a tempest that refuses to be tamed. How could I not be angry, in a world that prizes the shell while decimating the spirit? How could I not rage against the sculpted, airbrushed ideals that leave so many of us scarred?
My anger is my protest. It is my war-cry against the faceless adjudicators of beauty. It is my stand, my fight, against the silent, insidious erosion of my self-worth.
I am more than a waistline, more than a complexion, more than a dress size. I am anger and softness, strength and vulnerability. I am a sum of parts they refuse to see, refuse to acknowledge. But I will not fade, will not shrink under their critical gaze.
No. I am here. I am real.
Esteem
1. "In the bid to chisel masculinity, the beauty industry often chips away at the self-esteem of our young men."
2. "The beauty industry sells not just products, but unattainable standards. For every boy striving for a six-pack, remember, real value is beyond skin deep."
3. "The pursuit of perfection is a treadmill. It keeps young men running, out of breath, never truly reaching the finish line."
4. "Our young men are being conditioned to see themselves as projects, not people. They're taught to oil the machine but ignore the operator."
5. "The beauty industry creates a paradoxical trap for young men - they're expected to care about their appearance, yet shamed for admitting they do."
6. "In the grand narrative of beauty, young men are often the forgotten characters, their struggles with body image tucked away in the footnotes."
7. "Marketed insecurities are not badges of honour, they are shackles. Young men should not be prisoners of the beauty industry’s definition of ‘attractive’."
8. "The beauty industry peddles a fallacy of transformation. Young men aren't 'before' pictures awaiting improvement; they're complete works of art."
9. "The beauty industry tells young men to compare, to compete. But it's a race with no winners, only weary runners."
10. "In the mirror of the beauty industry, young men see distorted reflections. They're taught to focus on the imperfections, not the beauty of their uniqueness.”
Questionnaire section
What effect does age have on beauty standards?
Men are seen as becoming distinguished silver foxes as they age. Women are seen as falling apart from the inside and outside! There is a big and positive menopause awareness movement at the moment which may make a positive change. I think men and women are expected to look younger for longer much more now than in the past.
As a teenager you notice it a lot more, the standards and all that, but I think as you get older you start to care less of what others think.
More pressure on younger, but with older generation they do not judge eachother but younger people harshly.
Apparently ageing is not allowed according to the beauty industry. Anti-ageing cream!!! Unless it is a Time Machine I am not interested. We can’t have grey hair or wrinkles!
I’m not sure
Esteem 2
1. "The beauty industry, like a broken mirror, often reflects distorted images of femininity, leaving young women chasing unattainable illusions."
2. "In the quest for 'flawlessness', the beauty industry is robbing our young women of their natural, unique, and true beauty."
3. "Young women are not canvases awaiting transformation. They're masterpieces, each beautiful in her own way, and the beauty industry should reflect that."
4. "The beauty industry sells perfection as a product. But remember, young women, your worth is not defined by the symmetry of your features or the shade of your skin."
5. "The beauty industry sometimes acts as a puppeteer, making young women dance on the strings of insecurity and comparison."
6. "Beauty is not a one-size-fits-all concept. The industry, with its narrow ideals, often forgets that diversity is the true essence of beauty."
7. "Too often, the beauty industry turns young women into war-zones, where they fight a constant battle against their own bodies and faces."
8. "The beauty industry should be a tool for self-expression, not a weapon of self-destruction for our young women."
9. "The beauty industry needs to realise that empowering young women is about celebrating their uniqueness, not pushing them towards homogeneity."
10. "In the pages of beauty magazines, young women are taught to scrutinise, not celebrate, their bodies. It's high time the narrative changed.”
(On stage, three women - Girl 1, Girl 2, and Girl 3 - are sitting at a café. They lean in towards each other as a young man walks in. He's a bit scruffy, his clothes are a bit mismatched, and his hair could definitely do with a brush.)
Questionnaire section
In what way does Culture and background affect beauty standards?
Different cultures aspire to different standards of beauty. It can be difficult for people of ethnic minority groups if white features are seen as the most attractive by society.
I think culture and your background has a huge effect of beauty standards. Social norms effect the way people view beauty and look at each other. Media and advertisements also have a bug influence. Not only do perceptions of beauty in different cultures vary, but it also differs between individuals. Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. Whilst true beauty comes from within, external cultural beauty has different standards
Beauty standards for black women are expected higher than other races and are fetishised.
Do you mean Class? Has always made a difference- but not very easily overcome! A lifetime of diet, exercise, beauty regimes etc is inborn- why do rich girls have such thick, long, glossy hair? Always envied that!!
I think that the white communities have always had twisted standards, going from slim to curvy, but black cultures have always welcomed curvy figures.
I’m not sure
I don’t have to try
Girl 1: (Leaning in with a grin) Ladies, look at the masterpiece that just walked in!
Girl 2: (Gasps) Oh, my goodness! Look at that hair! So untamed and untouched. A clear rebel against the tyranny of combs.
Girl 3: (Chuckling) Yes, it's so refreshing to see a man who's not enslaved by hair gels or fancy creams. Look at him...so...so natural!
Girl 1: (Nods appreciatively) And look at his clothes! It's like he got dressed in the dark. I love a man who's not enslaved by the oppressive chains of colour coordination.
Girl 2: Oh, and check out his skin! That spot on his chin! It screams, 'I have not been torturing my skin with chemical-laden products.'
Girl 3: Yes, the market hasn't got to him. No needless obsession over perfectly smooth skin. He's so authentic!
Girl 1: And do you smell that? (She breathes in, dramatically) That is the sweet aroma of a man untouched by the perfume industry. No artificial, musky cologne... just... man.
(They all sigh, fanning themselves dramatically)
Girl 2: (Dreamily) Yes, he's the kind of man who doesn't succumb to societal pressures. He's comfortable in his own skin. Quite the rarity these days!
Girl 3: (Nods) He's not trying to impress or fit into the mould. That's the true definition of attractiveness!
Girl 1: (Raises her coffee cup) To the real men. The non-conformists. The unabashed and authentic.
(They all raise their cups, clinking them together, eyes still on MIKE.)
(Lights out.)
Questionnaire section
What role does social media have on beauty standards? Has it affected you or anyone you know?
Social media can have devastating effects on someone who is vulnerable, already lacking in confidence.
Young people are very influenced by social media. They feel like they must be like others & that what is said by influencers is the true version of how to be. Worry about my grandchildren losing the ability to think for themselves!
As far as I know it has not affected anyone that I know personally, or me, but, although I know who I am and accept my appearance, I'm not always happy with it, but I refuse (and always have) to let others undermine me in this way . . . A lot of young people won't have reached that point of resilience . . . Now that I've reread that, I think that maybe it has affected me, but my self-esteem is quite strong so that the effects were not so great as to be long-,lasting . . . although there was no 'Social Media' when I was young, so it would have been playground taunts . . . and social media will make any effects more concentrated
Social media sells images of perfection that are not achievable or even real. Social media pressure to look good is constant.
There are lots of body positive and mental health support accounts on social media but in general I think there is a lot of pressure on young people today to look a certain way both in their face and body. AI and filters and Photoshop can be scarily life-like and promote unrealistic ideals.
I’m Not Sure
Best Version
(On a minimalistic stage, MAN and WOMAN sit across a table, covered with women's fashion magazines.)
MAN: (Flipping through a magazine, pointing at a model) I mean, look at her. She's stunning. Perfect, even.
WOMAN: (Nods, absently) She's a model, hon. It's her job to look like that.
MAN: (Persisting) But wouldn't it be amazing if you could look like that? A little more toned, maybe some makeup? Just a touch.
WOMAN: (Pauses, looks at him) Is that what you want?
MAN: (Hesitates) No, it's not about what I want. It's just... It's good to look good, isn't it?
WOMAN: (Frowns) I think I look good.
MAN: (Rushes) Of course, you do! I didn't mean it like that. But, you know, she... (points at the magazine) ...she has an edge.
WOMAN: (Leaning in) An edge?
MAN: (Stutters) You know what I mean. The way she dresses, the way she carries herself, the fitness...
WOMAN: (Coldly) So, you want me to be her?
MAN: (Hesitates, then nods) Maybe a little.
WOMAN: (Tense) Why?
MAN: (Takes a deep breath) You’d feel better, more confident.
WOMAN: (Laughs bitterly) You mean, you'd feel better.
MAN: (Defensively) That’s not what I meant!
WOMAN: (Stares at him) But it's what you said.
MAN: (Backtracks) I... I just want you to be the best version of yourself.
WOMAN: (Slams hands on the table) And who decides what that best version is? You? The magazines?
MAN: (Nervously) No, I... I didn't mean to...
WOMAN: (Stands) It’s not your place to define me. I am not a doll for you to dress up, not a project for you to improve. I am enough, as I am.
(She exits, leaving the MAN alone with the magazines.)
MAN: (Quietly) I just wanted...
(Lights out.)
Was it worth it?
(Lights up, ghostly figure under a pale blue glow, draped in soft ethereal fabrics. Her voice echoes in the still air. A wistful, haunting tone.)
Do you know what I don't miss? I don't miss the sting of his words, the barbs of criticism wrapped in a mock-caring voice. I don't miss the glances, the narrowed eyes at a hair out of place, a freckle, a pimple...any deviation from his flawed idea of perfection.
I don't miss the constant inventory of my body, the constant review as if I were a piece of art in an exhibition. The symmetry of my face, the curve of my hips, the size of my waist... to him, they were criteria on a rubric, an endless set of standards I was expected to meet.
Every wrinkle was a problem to solve, every stretch mark a thing to be erased. As if I were a canvas, meant to be painted and erased at his whim, instead of a woman, a person, a living, breathing entity with feelings and desires.
His comments were like stones in my shoes, pebbles that turned my stride into a limp, that made my journey painful. Every day, I'd brace myself for the jabs, the corrections, the 'well-meaning' advice. "A little more blush," he'd say, or "that dress doesn't flatter you." His words were like invisible hands, reshaping, remoulding me, never quite satisfied.
I was a sculpture forever incomplete, never quite living up to his ideal. A constant work in progress, under his chisel, under his judgment.
But now...now, I'm free. Here in the afterlife, his voice is just an echo, his critiques nothing more than fading whispers. There's an unfettered freedom in this spectral existence, a freedom I didn't have in life. A freedom from judgment, from standards, from his incessant pursuit of perfection.
I float, now, in this spectral plane, no body to scrutinize, no skin to critique, no weight to lose or gain. Here, in this ethereal existence, I am simply me. An essence, a spirit, perfect in my imperfection.
And I do not miss his critical eye. I do not miss his harsh words. I am more myself in death than I ever was in life. Unseen by the world, but finally seeing myself, for the first time. Free. Whole. Enough.
(Lights fade to black.)
Questionnaire section
Do Beauty standards have a positive or negative impact on mental health?
I'd say negative as it is so much to live up to and unrealistically so in most cases yes
Absolutely and completely negative. They do nothing good for you. They have done nothing good for me.
Very negative as measuring yourself against others & so-called ‚”social beauty norms” means you will always be disappointed & unhappy about yourself.
If you are feeling insecure in any way then yes for sure this could impact your mental health. We live in a self obsessed world where your public image apparently needs to be carefully crafted - no wonder people get anxious
I’m Not Sure
A Work of Art
(A trio of ART EXPERTS: PETER, HARRIET, and ROBERT, stand at a distance observing three MODELS, each posed like a classic statue on their pedestals. They scrutinise the models, gesturing and commenting as if discussing works of art.)
PETER: (Adjusting his glasses, gesturing towards the first MODEL) Ah, the texture, so...unrefined. Almost a deliberate rebellion against the polished ideal. Quite post-modern, don't you think?
HARRIET: (Nods, squinting at MODEL) Indeed, Peter. There's a fascinating juxtaposition of contours here. This subject isn't seeking symmetry. No, it flirts with the asymmetrical, challenging our innate preferences. Very daring.
ROBERT: (Chuckles, shakes his head) Too daring for my tastes, perhaps. I've always been more for the Renaissance ideal, balanced proportions, smooth lines...
PETER: (Interrupting, pointing at the second MODEL) Now, here we see a form paying tribute to the baroque. Generous, unapologetic curves. A celebration of abundance.
HARRIET: (Smiles, appreciatively) Yes, a counter-narrative to our culture's obsession with minimalism. Every fold, every ripple is a story, a stanza in a beautifully written ode to fullness.
ROBERT: (Shrugs) I must say, I find it...overwhelming. Perhaps a touch too Rococo for my tastes.
HARRIET: (Rolls eyes) You always did lack imagination, Robert.
(They all move to the third MODEL.)
PETER: (Almost whispering) Ah, and here we have a specimen reminiscent of the Greek statues. The sharp definition, the athletic poise, it's quite...classical.
ROBERT: (Nods, appreciating) Finally, something I can resonate with. The lean silhouette, the taut muscles, it echoes the beauty ideals of the ancient world.
HARRIET: (Smiles, mockingly) But of course, Robert. The safe choice. (Turns to PETER) Though I must admit, there is a certain charm in the familiar.
PETER: (Laughs) Agreed, Harriet. But wouldn't it be terribly boring if we all adhered to the same standards?
HARRIET: (Raises a glass) To diversity in art and life.
ROBERT: (Sighs, raises his glass) To diversity, and the freedom to prefer the classics.
(The ART EXPERTS toast as the lights dim. They continue to discuss the human 'art' before them, a symphony of contrasting beauty ideals and preferences.)
(Lights out.)
Monster
(Young MAN sits alone on stage)
MAN: (Slowly, almost whispering) I've heard it all, you know. Words hurled like stones, chipping away at my self-esteem. Ugly. Hideous. Monster. Each taunt, each jibe, a lash to my soul.
(Pause, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.)
MAN: (Continuing) You look in the mirror and all you see is a reflection of their cruelty. Their laughter echoing in your ears, their scorn painted across your face. You look, and you start to believe them.
(Pause. He looks down, clenches his fists.)
MAN: (Painfully) Ugly. A four-letter word that's become a branding iron, searing its mark onto my skin. A badge of shame I carry with me. A constant reminder of how I don't measure up, how I'm not enough.
(He takes a deep breath, releases it.)
MAN: (Softly) But you know what? I'm tired. Tired of the ridicule, the scorn, the humiliation. Tired of seeing myself through their malicious lens.
(A moment of silence. His gaze intensifies, determination seeping into his voice.)
MAN: (Defiantly) So, I'm ugly. So, what? Does it define me? Is my worth measured by the symmetry of my face, the clearness of my skin?
(He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips.)
MAN: (Firmly) No. No, it doesn't. I am more than my looks. More than their cruel words. I am my thoughts, my dreams, my resilience. I am my kindness, my empathy, my strength.
(He stands, his back straight, chin held high.)
MAN: (Passionately) Ugly they may call me, but I choose to see myself differently. I choose to see the beauty in my struggles, the grace in my endurance, the charm in my uniqueness.
(He looks directly at the audience, his eyes filled with newfound conviction.)
MAN: (Decisively) I am not the reflection in their distorted mirror. I am not the cruel labels they stick on me. I am not their scorn or their ridicule. I am me. Ugly, beautiful, human. And that's all I need to be.
(Lights fade as he maintains his stance, a symbol of quiet defiance and hope.)
(Lights out.)
Lost Decades
(Old LADY sits on a faded armchair, a cup of tea in her hands. She looks out into the distance, a melancholic smile on her lips.)
LADY: (Softly, as if talking to an old friend) You know, when I was young, I spent countless hours in front of the mirror, scrutinising every line, every wrinkle, every grey hair. Oh, I'd hoist my sagging skin, imagining a younger me, a 'better' me, I suppose.
(Pause. She sips her tea, lost in thought.)
LADY: (Continuing) I think I lost decades, just fussing about my reflection. Not one for vanity, mind you, but fear. Fear of ageing, fear of fading into oblivion, fear of no longer mattering to the world, to anyone.
(Pause. A small chuckle escapes her lips.)
LADY: (Smiling) Now isn't that a laugh? As if the world ever cared about my crow's feet or my thinning hair. As if the sun ever refused to rise because I had a few extra pounds around my middle.
(She places the cup on a nearby table, leans back into her chair.)
LADY: (Sighs, wistfully) Oh, the time I've wasted. The smiles I've missed, the laughs I've stifled, the delicious cakes I've denied myself... all in the name of 'beauty', of 'appearance'.
(She shakes her head, a twinkle in her eye.)
LADY: (Firmly) Well, I tell you, dear, if I could do it all again, I'd pay no mind to such frivolities. I'd wear my wrinkles as badges of a life lived, of a love lost, of a battle fought. I'd let my hair grey, a testament to the wisdom I've gathered, to the years I've weathered.
(Pause. She picks up the cup again, cradling it between her hands.)
LADY: (Softly, a determined spark in her eyes) I'd love myself, every sagging bit, every creaking joint. Because, you see, I've earned it. Every line, every wrinkle, every grey hair... I've earned it.
(She sips her tea, her gaze focused on something far beyond the confines of the room.)
LADY: (Whispering) And no mirror, no magazine, no judgemental glance can ever take that away from me.
(Lights fade as she continues to stare into the distance, lost in her thoughts, her regrets, her quiet defiance.)
(Lights out.)
Questionnaire section
Do beauty standards differ between genders and how?
In my generation I would say yes women definitely were expected to take more care to look good in terms of clothes and make up but not so much now especially as genders are more fluid. Good thing I think
Yes. Beauty standards for women are higher for men.
I think all genders now focus more on beauty than before.
I think they do differ significantly. All a man needs to do to "make an effort" is to put on a nice suit and put gel on their hair. As a woman if you dint brush your hair or wear make up, people think you look ill or "awful". Women have to make such an effort to just look acceptable.
Some parts of the world cause men are as a majority portrayed to have to be more sturdy to be considered beautiful whilst woman are portrayed as soft and dependent on men
Women are still expected to achieve certain beauty industry standards. More so than men
I’m …..Of there opinion that……Indeed, beauty standards display significant divergence across gender spectrums, accentuating a cultural praxis that imbues the body with normative aesthetics. Masculine beauty standards often prioritise physical attributes such as muscularity and height, metaphorically mirroring power and dominance, whereas feminine standards generally emphasise youthfulness, thinness, and subtler curves, reflecting historic conceptions of fragility and fertility.
Intersectionality further complicates these narratives. Beauty norms are not a monolithic entity, but an intricate nexus of intersecting socio-cultural factors, including race, class, and sexuality. These multidimensional forces collaborate to construct beauty ideals, entrenching them deeply within individual identities and broader social structures. Genderqueer and non-binary individuals also encounter distinctive standards, often underscored by the ambiguous boundaries of androgyny.
However, these paradigms are fluid and influenced by socio-political changes. Contemporary discourse increasingly scrutinises these standards, challenging the confines of normative beauty, and advocating for a more inclusive understanding that encompasses diverse body types, ages, and genders.
Mannequin
(A retired MALE MODEL paces the stage)
MODEL: (Bitterly) Ah, the life of a model. The glitz, the glamour, the adulation. Everyone thinks it's a dream. A never-ending party filled with beautiful people and beautiful things.
(Pause. He scoffs, shaking his head.)
MODEL: (Sarcastically) What they don't see is the objectification. The reduction of a person to a mere...mannequin. A collection of physical attributes to be paraded, to be dissected, to be judged.
(Pause. His expression turns grim, his hands clenching into fists.)
MODEL: (Angry) Do you know what it's like to be valued only for your looks? To have your worth dictated by the sharpness of your jawline or the abs on your stomach? It's dehumanising.
(He punches the air, as if battling invisible foes.)
MODEL: (Yelling) I am more than my looks! I am more than a chiselled face or a sculpted body. I am a man with thoughts, with dreams, with fears. I am a man, not a bloody prop!
(Pause. His breath comes in ragged pants, his anger a tangible presence.)
MODEL: (Bitterly) But no one cares about that, do they? No one cares about the man behind the model. To them, I'm just a pretty face. A hunk. A stud.
(He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow.)
MODEL: (Scornfully) A piece of meat to be gawked at, to be lusted after. A symbol of fantasy, devoid of any real feelings, any real desires.
(Pause. His gaze turns steely, a spark of determination igniting within.)
MODEL: (Firmly) But no more. I am not an object. I am not a plaything. I am a man. And I demand to be seen as such. I demand to be heard. To be respected.
(He stands tall, a picture of quiet defiance against a society that had once objectified him.)
MODEL: (Whispering) I am more than my looks. And it's high bloody time the world recognised that.
(Lights out.)
(A middle-aged WOMAN sits comfortably in her favourite armchair, a wry smile playing on her lips. The soft light gives her a warm, inviting glow.)
WOMAN: (Chuckling) Oh, Harold. Now there's a sight for sore eyes. And when I say 'sore eyes', I mean it quite literally.
(She laughs, a hearty, infectious sound.)
WOMAN: (Continuing) He wasn't what you'd call a handsome chap. No, not at all. He had a face that only a mother could love... and even that would be pushing it, I dare say.
(She snorts, a twinkle in her eyes.)
WOMAN: (Leaning forward, confidentially) His nose was too large for his face, his ears seemed to have a life of their own, and his hair... well, the less said about his hair, the better.
(Pause. She shakes her head, her smile widening.)
WOMAN: (Happily) But you see, that's the thing about Harold. He wasn't conventionally attractive, no, but he had this... this charm about him. A charm that made you forget about his peculiar features.
(Pause. She chuckles, a soft, fond sound.)
WOMAN: (Smiling) He was funny, you see. Not just 'ha-ha' funny, but 'belly-laugh-until-you-can't-breathe' funny. He could lighten up the gloomiest of days with his quips, his silly antics.
(She leans back, a faraway look in her eyes.)
WOMAN: (Dreamily) And his heart... oh, his heart was the most beautiful thing about him. It was kind and generous, always ready to help, to comfort, to love.
(Pause. She sighs, her smile radiant.)
WOMAN: (Fondly) And that's why I fell in love with Harold. Not for his looks, but for his laughter, his heart, his essence. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
(She chuckles, her gaze focused on something beyond the confines of the room.)
WOMAN: (Whispering) After all, as my dear mother used to say, you don't marry a man for his looks. You marry him for his... character.
(She laughs, a joyous sound that fills the room.)
WOMAN: (Chuckles) And character, Harold has aplenty.
(Lights out.)
Ribs
I used to be scared to take my shirt off. I thought if i did that people would all look and laugh. Of course what actually happened was that it drew peoples attention even more….What’s wrong with him? Does he have a third nipple or something? I was amazed when people actually took absolutely no notice of me at all in the end. Now I’m an old git, nobody ever looks at me, and II wish I could have that time all over again. I wish I could go back, and be more self confident. Be more outgoing. I had nothing to hide really. I see more confident young people now. Life is far too short to be worrying about frivolous things like the size of muscles or visible rib cages. I had dysmorphia without understanding what it was….I just thought I looked awful. I was a freak. I hid it in dark baggy clothes. Always wore a coat. Pretended that the heat didn’t bother me. Ironically, I can see the popular lads from my school now on social media. The ones with the classic good looks and acceptable bodies, and pretty much without exception, they’ve all aged really badly. Is physical beauty something that you earn the right to keep? People who were deemed as ugly when they were at school now seem to me to be far more attractive. Quirky in some cases, but still a damn site better than I ever imagined them to be. And what about me? Well, I’ve grown to love myself a little, though not too much…that would be vulgar! But I can look at myself now without crying. I can even let other people see me naked. Although apparently it’s frowned upon in Sainsbury’s.
Dorothy
(Standing before a faded, dusty mirror, she examines her reflection. A woman, aged by life and time, seemingly unremarkable to many, but in her own mind, a universe.)
You know, I remember the days when I was a force of nature... a spark that illuminated every room. The eyes of the world, they followed me, greeted me, cherished me. But time, time has a cruel habit of smudging one's mirror, blurring out the vibrant hues.
Ageing, they call it. A process, they say. But, it's more than that. It's a journey into oblivion. You don't just grow old, you fade away. Little by little, day by day. Like a painting losing its colour under the unforgiving sun. The laughter grows quieter, the echoes fainter, until you're left standing in a silent room of memories.
But there's a kind of freedom in that silence, an anonymity, a release from expectation. I find myself liberated from the preening eyes, the assessing glances. Once, I was a book read aloud in a crowded library; now, I am the forgotten manuscript hidden in the quiet corner, dust gathering on my cover.
To be unseen is not to be unimportant, mind you. There’s a strange power in invisibility, in being underestimated, under appreciated. I am the roots of a tree, gnarled and unnoticed, yet holding the world together. There’s a beauty in the shadows, a depth unseen in the stark light of day.
My voice may not echo as loudly now, but when I whisper, oh, the universe leans in to listen. It hears my song, my unadorned melody. Because I am still here, still standing, still breathing, still weaving tales. My form may blur into the background, but my essence... my essence is un-erasable.
So, as I stand here, staring at my reflection, I embrace the lines etched into my skin, the grey strands interwoven in my hair, the silence that fills my world. I am not less, I am more. I am not invisible, I am invincible.
John Smith
I wish you’d just leave me alone! It’s none of your business what I like….OR what I look like. I can be fitter IF i wanted. But what use are our bodies anyway? Aren’t they just vessels to get us from one place to another? Just feed them as fuel. What’s all they are. I don’t need other people to tell me what I should and shouldn’t look like. It’s none of their business is it? I don’t tell them what they should do? Not that I bother talking to anyone anyway. What do I care what they think? I’m happy being alone…Being with me….I don’t have to worry about what I look like….
I just wish…..
I wasn’t alone
Curtain
