The Swan

A poem about female facial mutilation as performed regularly on TV makeover shows such as 'The Swan', a US programme in which a group of 'contestants' are given extreme makeovers before being judged by a panel of 'experts'.

Take one over-worked, over-weight and over-wrought housewife.

Under-loved by hubbie and an average of 3 kids.

Ensure:

- low levels of self-love

- wobbly bottom confidence

- a gratitude so deep she'll agree to all your terms and conditions:

'Sign on the line and we'll take care of all your lines'

Wrinkles- filled. Check

Teeth-porcelained. Check

Lips- trout-pouted

Hair- extended

Nails faked, skin-caked.

Check, check, check

Now they're wearing masks I can see straight through-

Layer upon layer.

Keeping reality out.

Keeping reality in.

From woman to swan in 100 painful, bloody steps.

Checking myself out. Yeah baby!

No mirror experiment. Day 2.

What I see in the mirror defines me. This is all subject to the state of my mind on any given day. Or, seriously, from one hour to the next.

I’ve been listening to, observing my mind on this for some months now. Probably since around the time I cut all my hair off with a pair of nail scissors.

You know, “What’s beauty? What does it mean to be feminine? To be a woman? How could that hair be all my beauty?" 

To one who no longer finds me beautiful with a number 2, 'Were you in love with my hair? If I gave it to you in a bag, cut off, would it be beautiful still to you?'

So I’ve been looking in the mirror just as much since the clippers as I ever did before, apart from a period, age 17 or 18 (what I sometimes look back on as the happiest time of my life so far) when I didn't dare look in the mirror but at some distance, in a dimly lit room!! Jaysus!

Anyhoo. Less of the amateur psychoanalysis or I’ll end up on happy pills.

Good mood: 'Good. Nice. Pretty. Sweet. Freckles. Not red. Sexy. Woman.''

Bad mood: 'Jaysus! Awful! Fat cow! Red. Helmet (that’s my hair by the way). Butch. Fat arms.'

Each set of mental habits can determine my mood for the day.

The mind is mad. 

Mad, monkey mind.

Refllections in a mountain pool

Reflections in a mountain stream

‘No mirror’ experiment. Day 1. First hour.

So lying in the bath, I had a great idea to live without looking in the mirror. For ever? For a month?

Cool idea. Really chuffed with myself. Maybe I’ll write a diary? An article for the newspaper? Chick magazine?

So I start going through- who should I tell? Close friends? See what they think? See how I feel going out the door into the public? No idea if I’ve got food on my face or what my hair looks like? Yeah, no bother. I can do that.

Then my mind starts making excuses, “I won’t be able to see to put my contacts in.” “I might have a VPL.” These are quite advanced excuses. I even begin to believe them myself. Then, I’m just mincing about, putting moisturiser on, getting dressed. Feeling my way,

“This is fine. Don’t need to look in the mirror.”

And then I cheat. I actually cheat MYSELF: I look in the mirror when it’s a bit misty and then call myself a cheat and then stop looking. Really.

5 minutes later, I catch myself pretending to look at some framed photos: no doubt so that I can ‘accidentally’ see my reflection in the glass. You’ve got to be kidding, sister!

Am I really that addicted to checking myself in the mirror?!