A new club is set to open in West Hollywood, but don’t bother booking a flight just yet because you probably can’t get in. it’s only for the beautiful people.
This club is being put forth by one Greg Hodge, who manages a Web site called Beautifulpeople.com which, as you might expect, attempts to filter out most of us.
Which is fine.
It’s a big world and there is probably some merit to segregating the beautiful people away.
For one, it means better conversation. At the club, Hodge plans to have “a personal hair and make-up artist ” to make sure his beautiful people stay beautiful.
It’s hard to carry on a conversation with someone who spends that much effort maintaining a look. We’ve all had that neighbor who obsesses over mud on his tires or chrome and darts out constantly to touch it up.
It’s the same basic idea. Who wants to talk about cars and makeup?
Beautiful people apparently.
This is almost a cartoonish idea, that the best of the best will drift through his club and stun everyone else into silent, depressing jealousy.
The truth is that while the BP are touching up their looks, no one else much cares. People are getting on with life, with all our flaws. We take our ugly, smelly selves through our lives as much as it pains us to not be one of the BP. Eventually we find someone equally humble to partner with, slightly better if we’re lucky, and we get on with things.
And when we hit about 50, as Orwell said, we all get the faces we deserve.
Of course Orwell died before plastic surgery made face lifts possible, leave alone knee lifts and Botox. His point still stands though.
Mr. Rogers could’ve told us this and probably did: what’s on the outside is nice, but what’s important is all on the inside and as you age it turns inside out: beauty grows outward as the body fades.
Of course if you’re determined to join the club and lack sufficient beauty, there is an option: you can more or less buy your way in.
If you’re very wealthy, a “rare” exception might be made for you.
Or maybe not – they are rare after all.
Either way, if I had a billion bucks I wouldn’t bother joining. I’d build my own club next door and treat it like a mini Vegas. Then I’d hire performers like Drake or Amy Schumer. There would be no doorman and lady’s night would be 24/7. As a matter of fact, ladies drinks would be free. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
I’d also invite all my billionaire buddies and we’d wait for the inevitable: the beautiful women would migrate over to the wealthy club to hang out with all of us unattractive rich people.
Then when the Beautiful People club is only populated by guys and heading for bankruptcy, I’d buy it and turn it into L.A’s premium gay men’s club.
Then I’d bar the beautiful guys from my club, have a mai tai at the pool, and ask Siobhan and Genevieve where they’d like to jet to that afternoon.
Unfortunately I don’t a billion dollars and I can’t build my club, much less by out Hodges. So I guess until I do, I’ll just enjoy my life and remember what Mr. Rogers, a truly Beautiful Person, told me all those years ago: I like you just the way you are.
If it’s good enough for Fred Rogers, it’s good enough for me.