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| Charlie's Angels: Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson, and Farrah Fawcett |
“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Two “content creators” stopped me on the street the other day, phones in hand and faces lit up with that manic enthusiasm particular to people who film everything. “Sydney or Megan?” one of them asked. I think those were the names.
“Excuse me?” I said, caught off guard.
“Sydney or Megan?” they repeated, as if that clarified anything.
Even though I had no idea who they were talking about, I quickly realized it must be some internet trend, so I decided to mess with them. “Mary Ann over Ginger,” I said, knowing full well the reference was lost on them. Seeing their blank faces, I rattled off a couple more for good measure: “Bailey over Jennifer”—and, getting even more esoteric, “Kate over Jaclyn and Farrah.”
Naturally, the jokes didn’t land. They blinked in confusion—probably thinking I was having a stroke—then wandered off to bother someone else. I never did find out what they were trying to accomplish, but I doubt it was anything profound.
I’m not exactly up to date with pop culture, and judging by those names alone, I doubt I’d have picked either one of them. Give me an Annunziata, a Pasqualina, or a Topazia any day. To be fair, I doubt Sydney or Megan, or whoever they named, would’ve chosen me.
Still, the whole encounter got me thinking about beauty standards—how drastically they’ve changed, and how, in some sense, they haven’t. My own tastes are fairly consistent: I’ve always been drawn to Mediterranean women—dark, gracile, a certain quiet confidence in their bearing. That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate other kinds of beauty; it just means this is where my compass naturally points.
Of course, attraction isn’t the whole story. Beauty may catch the eye, but character keeps the heart. Commonality, trust, loyalty—these things matter more than lip filler, fashion trends, or any other fleeting trait they wanted me to choose between. In the end, all that surface glitter fades. What remains—if you’re lucky—is someone you can laugh with, pray with, and grow old beside.
Instead of “Sydney or Megan,” they should’ve asked something that actually mattered—or was at least remotely interesting—like whether I preferred commitment to convenience or meaning to novelty. Or they could’ve gone with something at least more universal—so even us old folks could play—like blondes, brunettes, or redheads—or, for that matter, naughty or nice. Maybe I would’ve given them a real answer—but more likely, I’d have told them to mind their own business and kept walking, which doesn't make good content.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 19th, Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary
